Worn Down

Fear is a big motivator.  The mischief it can cause in your life is like a complicated upright row of dominoes being nudged and having row after row tumble down. Then, once the fear has passed and you've come to the realization that you survived and that maybe it wasn't as bad as you anticipated, you begin to meticulously realign your life, again.

This road I'm sharing with addiction has refined my vision and understanding.  I have been afraid to varying degrees, my whole life.  I don't think it has stopped me from a lot, but it has stopped me from experiencing some opportunities.  In general, though, there has been this little ant force in me that at the last moment, will push and propel me toward the moment I was afraid of and low and behold, I make it through.  Whether it was confronting someone who had done something wrong, or speaking in front of a group of people, or calling a manager of a store to compliment someone's work, I have been afraid to some degree my whole life.  It has been exhausting.

Fear is exhausting.  It's time consuming. All of the scenarios that I play in my head of what could happen are rarely the result.  Even if I do hit the right outcome in my head, it is never as devastating as the fear painted it to be.  A little feeling of dread and then, "That's it?"  I would exhale, feel a little smile of relief pulling at the edges of my mouth, and then move on.  Fear is deceiving.

 I have written before that, the worst has already happened and I'm still moving forward, but fear still tries to jump back on board.  Like some train robber, it runs alongside of my life, trying to jump aboard or at least hang on to some opening in my mind so that it can whisper it's influence.  My understanding was reinforced this week with my dad.  My dad is a fearful person.  You wouldn't  know it by talking to him or if you first met him. He's not afraid to speak his mind or tell you what you're doing wrong, but he is afraid.  He was valedictorian of his high school back in the day, and turned it down because he was afraid to speak to the class.  He survived the depression as a child and that fear, I believe, embedded itself deeply in him and he's never let it go.  It surfaces in subtle ways.  I can only imagine how the reactions and words I heard as a child, that I have no memory of now, helped to train my thinking to align with something similar.  Fear the future. Fear what might happen--what could happen. 

Heres' the light bulb moment.  Almost every day I've come home from work, he as had a 'fear' question for me.  "The phone rang, today."  "Did you answer it?"  "Well, I wasn't going to be then I thought it might me you, or J, so I answered it."  "Good.  How'd it go?"  "It was someone asking if you wanted to change your electric company."  "What did you tell them?"  "I hung up." Said with a hint of a worried look.  "That's okay, dad. You can answer the phone anytime it rings."  Conversations like that.  But the one that clicked on the light bulb and gave me the 'ah ha' moment was,  "I didn't let the dogs out."  "That's okay."  "What if they have an accident?"  "Then I'll clean it up.  Don't worry, dad, it's no big deal." 

I realized that I used to worry about those things.  I have a clean house and house train my dogs, but accidents happen, and I clean it up, and life goes on.  When my dad asked me that question, with that familiar sense of this unknown dark dread attached, it took another one of those layers off of me.  I'll clean it up and life will be the same, nothing will have changed.  It's not going to melt through the floor, or damage the carpet.  I'll clean it up and it will be over.  We won't have to worry about it anymore.  I wasn't worrying about it, my dad still was. 

So, this experience with addiction has helped me in some ways. Made me stronger, more aware.  But it has also worn me down. Ironically, that wearing down has been the key that unlocked this cage of fear I've been trapped in.  I'm out and looking around, and I wonder, "What was I so afraid of?"