I have been neglecting my blog space of late. I have been preoccupied with my memoir, my passion project. Writing it is tearing me open but allowing me to feel and process things I thought I had dealt with long ago. There is no finish line when it comes to healing I'm afraid. Making progress sure feels good though.
I thought I might share an excerpt of it here - just to show anyone who is interested what I've been writing, what kind of writing style I'm using, and how very vulnerable I'm being. I truly don't see this as a "book deal, going to get properly published" kind of project, as I feel the only people who would be interested in reading it would be people who actually know me, but that's not my goal. I'm writing it for me. It's all still very much in first-draft form, including the part I am going to share here, I know I have a lot of work to do, but I feel pulled to put some here, to share what I'm doing and what is taking up the very limited writing time I get these days.
If you do take the time to read it, please let me know what you think. Thank you for being here xo.
*******
A big indicator that there was more going on for me than just “normal” nerves, was when I turned 16 and was able to start learning to drive. I had zero interest, absolutely none, when it came to driving. Most people were desperate to get their licence and couldn’t wait to have their freedom, but I wasn’t that fussed. It wasn’t worth the fear. I just didn’t want to drive. At all. Ever. The thought of it was enough to make me completely panic. My parents had to basically force me to take the Learner’s test in the end. My Dad had bought this really old, green Mitsubishi Colt (I think he paid for it with a carton of beer from memory…) for me to learn in. It was a manual, spider-infested, torn seats, heavy on the steering - basically an old bomb which is often the Australian way when it comes to learning how to drive. We lived on a gravel road that all up, is about 5 kilometres long, and I logged my first ten hours of driving, on that very road. Every time Mum would make me get in and drive, I would basically just cry the whole time. I couldn’t work the clutch, I didn’t want there to EVER be another car near me, I didn’t want to have to turn around, I didn’t want to have to change gears or turn a corner - basically I just didn’t want to do any of it - are you getting that idea yet?
The only thing I can really think of, as far as triggering this fear, is unfortunately, Gary. He used to take me places and drive so fast (it seemed fast, anyway), I would be clinging to the sides of the seat, absolutely petrified. His accident definitely saw a shift in me, and whether that created some kind of subconscious fear that driving = accident, I’m not sure. All I know is that the intense fear is there, to this day.
I eventually got my Provisional licence not long after I turned 18, which once again, baffled my family because legally you can get it when you turn 17, but I didn’t care. I eventually bought my own car, a 1986 Toyota Corolla hatchback, four-speed manual - I loved that car, but still didn’t love to drive. My friends would want me to take them places, or wonder why I didn’t drive to school every day (that was the only way I eventually got my 50 hours of driving up - Mum started making me drive to Hobart every day for school and she would then take the car to her work), and the total fear that all of this created within me is something that I have never been able to overcome. It is a source of constant teasing and mockery from the people close to me, and I laugh along, because I do realise how ridiculous it seems - but it is incredibly difficult being so petrified of something that is second nature to most people. There are certain places I am happy to drive to, but it is a very small list. My sense of direction is practically non-existent; it truly seems like that part of my brain is somehow missing. I could go somewhere a hundred times and still not know where to go if I had to drive there. It’s a very strange phenomenon and it’s something I have mostly learned to live with. Whenever I had to drive somewhere different for my job as an Employment Consultant (more on that later), my poor husband Reid would have to come with me on drive alongs so I could practice how to get there and where to park before I had to actually make the trip. It’s mortifying and feels so infantile, but it is incredibly out of my control.
The person who has helped me the most with these issues, is without a doubt, the most patient man I have ever met, my husband - Reid. Thankfully, he really enjoys driving, and so 99% of the time, he drives us where we need to go. I no longer have to drive far for work which makes a huge difference, but his support of me, when it comes to this, is one of the many reasons I am so in love with him, and have been for the last thirteen years at the time of writing this. He has many other wonderful attributes of course, I didn’t marry him purely for his ability to drive me places, but he is one of the only people in my life who doesn’t belittle me about it, and that means more than I could ever appropriately put into words.
You would think a whole bunch of exposure to the fear would help, right? Nope. Not in this case. I have been forced to drive a lot, especially when I was an Employment Consultant, as I mentioned briefly before. I drove from my small home town of Orielton, to Sandy Bay close to the city (about a 40 minute drive) for University every day for three years. I drove to the city every day when I started full-time work and had to drive to many other places for outreach appointments and marketing. It has never seemed to matter how much I do it, the struggle remains.
A huge internal issue that has come along with this consistent fear of simply existing and doing “normal”, daily tasks, is an incredibly heavy sense of shame. I have told myself over and over again that my struggles aren’t valid, that there is something I am simply doing wrong in life, to be struggling with things that everyone else finds simple, so very intensely. I have always seen my constantly heightened emotional state as an inherent character flaw; something that should be hidden and desperately pushed away at all costs. The problem is, you can only push emotions away for so long before they explode, usually very messily and angrily, all over the people you love. I wasn’t a rebellious teenager, I didn’t sneak out or anything even vaguely resembling risky behaviour; but my goodness, was I emotional. My poor Mum copped the brunt of it all, as Mums so often do, I guess, but I was out of control. I felt out of control but I didn’t know how to rationalise anything in my struggling, developing brain. I felt flustered, overwhelmed and constantly on-edge, just waiting for something to go wrong, something to feel so catastrophic and life-altering, as my racing heart and mind constantly had me on edge.
I feel like I have been guilty of getting caught in the trap of becoming my anxiety. Letting it define me. Therapy and medication have helped me break out of these patterns in most ways, but the fear of driving remains. I’ve come to the conclusion that sometimes, there are simply things that we can’t “get over”. The key, however, is not to completely shut that thing out of your life so you never have to face it - that would be letting it control you. Yes, I hate driving - I have made that abundantly clear - but, I do still drive. If I had to go somewhere I hadn’t been before, I could do it. I would be intensely uncomfortable, likely panic a bit, but I do know I could do it. I believe that fact alone, is where the strength lies. Doing something you hate, regardless of the fear, shows strength and a refusal to be defeated by your own mind. I could have not accepted the job offer to be an Employment Consultant, where I knew I would need to drive fairly regularly, although it would offer so many other opportunities - that would have been letting the anxiety win. Never getting my licence at all, because of the fear (not that my family would have allowed that, and rightly so!) - that would have been letting the anxiety win. Not seeking help, refusing medication, refusing to go to therapy and making excuses about not having time, not being able to afford it (appointments are heavily government subsidised in Australia) - that is letting the anxiety win. Avoidance and anxiety go hand in hand, I am an excellent avoider, but I now have the self-awareness to know the difference between self-sabotage and rational fear. Most of the time, I’m self-sabotaging. The only way I have learnt to decipher the difference is through… you guessed it, therapy! I feel like I want to have that word in sparkly, flashing lights to really get everyone’s attention. I truly believe that every single person in the world, would benefit from therapy. We all have toxic traits and suppressed trauma of differing intensity that we can benefit from working through with a professional. In a following chapter I am going to go into more detail around my experience with both psychiatrists and psychologists and some tips around finding someone who you connect with and who can help provide you with strategies that are suited to your own personal situation. Go to therapy guys, have I gotten that message across yet? 90% of my life would have completely crumbled without it and that is not an exaggeration. If you think your life is crumbling, or has the ability to crumble - go.to.therapy! Even if it’s not, or you think your life is perfect - then you definitely need to go to therapy!
When I lost my mind to anxiety, I gained so much inner strength that I didn’t know I had access to. I sought help, I sought advice, I pushed and I fought and even when I was terrified, I didn’t hide forever. I refused to lose every battle with my mind and I became a warrior, and eventually, an advocate. I thought I had lost my mind, never to have control of it again; but really, I had found my purpose through the fighting.
Comments
Post a Comment