Tag: fear

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Driving Blind

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Once I dreamed it was black as night, I could see neither left, nor right

I was driving, although I could not see, the road right in front of me.

I was not afraid until I became aware, that FEAR had dropped out of thin air.

“What am I doing!?!” I shouted in fright, because driving blind is obviously not right.

“I’ll crash, I’ll hurt someone, or myself!” Panicking, I looked around for help.

“Here, I’ve got this,” he said with a smile, “slide over, let me drive for a while.”

I didn’t move, so he sat on my lap, he moved as gracefully as a cat.

“Let me take the wheel, my dear, I’ll soon have us out of here.”

I almost listened, he seemed so sure, besides I didn’t know how to steer anymore,

because it’s impossible to fight that fight, when you don’t know if you should go left or right.

I lifted my hands to let him steer, and that is when I recognized Fear.

“Wait a minute! I know who you are! Get the F@#$ out of my car!”

His time was up and he knew it, once again he knew he blew it.

“I’ll get out, but you’ll see, you can’t continue without me.”

He slunk away, with threats to come back, but I knew I’d know him by the way he attacks.

Alone again, I still couldn’t see, but a new thought bubbled up out of me.

“I’m doing it!” I thought, “I’ve been doing it the whole time, I’m still on the road, I’m doing just fine!!

All I have to do is keep going, even though no path is showing.

It doesn’t matter that I can’t see, in fact that’s what has set me free.

If I am blind and yet can still move, God is in control, and that is the proof!”

He heard my cry and didn’t let me crash, kept me from scary teeth that nash.

And like a Good Father, He let me drive, so that I could learn, and grow to be wise.

And if again I’m blinded by fear, I’ll never doubt that it is HE who steers.

 

Joshua 1:9

 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.”

 

 

 

 

 

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Fight or Flight

Posted on by Susannah Warner

D1A62D9C-8964-4F5C-800E-D29DFBBAD4BDThere I was, innocently flipping the switch on my bedroom wall, reminiscing about the nice evening my husband and I had just had; riding bikes, watching the sun set over the river, watching a movie, my head in his lap so that he would play with my hair…When out of nowhere I felt a swoosh go right by my head, followed by flapping wings. My feet registered what was happening and started moving towards safety before my head did, my fight or flight instinct alive and well. Evidently, the flight aspect is my go-to when faced with what my body thought was grave danger. I screamed and ran, ducking at the same time as if under fire, to the bathroom, where I promptly slipped and fell, while trying to slam the door. After I assessed that I wasn’t seriously hurt, I opened the door a crack, to see a bat, frantically making a bee-line, or maybe a bat-line, for my head. I slammed the door shut, only to realize too late, that my phone was on my bed; I had no way to summon help.

“Wait, yes I do,” I thought, “I can open my window and yell to Tiny,” who was in the garage at the time. I’m not much of a yeller, so when that failed to elicit a response, I resorted to whistling, actually more of a high-pitched squeal until I saw a shadow and heard my husband say incredulously, as this is the first time I’ve summoned him with a whistle in 28 years, “Is that you Bugs? WHAT are you doing?” In a shaky voice, dripping with adrenaline and fear, I shouted to him, “I’m trapped!!” “Huh?” he said, struggling to reconcile the peaceful easiness of the night, with the note of hysteria in my voice. “I’m trapped!” I cried again, as my plight came out in a tumble of strung together words. “There’s-a-bat-in-our-room-and-I’m-stuck-in-the bathroom!!” And, just like any hero who is worth his salt would, he replied, “I’ll be right there!”

And he was, work gloves and an old flannel shirt on, a hat on his head, and a towel in his hands, as if he had a “bat disposal kit” at the ready, for just such an emergency. “C’mere, c’mon,” he cajoled the frenetic bat, while I peered through a slit in the door the width of a dime, and shouted unhelpful exclamatory remarks. “Get him! Get him! Oh, he’s terrible! I hate him!” “What?” he said, huge smile on his face. “He’s beautiful! Look at him!” ” I don’t want to look at him! I want him to go!” Just then, he lighted in the corner of the room, and my batman snuck up to him, covered him completely in the towel, and with a triumphant look towards the slit in the bathroom door, said “Don’t worry Bugs, I got him, you can come out!” Breathing a sigh of relief I emerged shakily from my hiding place, while he brought the bat outside and freed him.

It was at this point, I noticed that I had skinned my knee and bruised my thumb while I was fleeing. It made me think of how ridiculous I had just acted, especially considering that I am a nurse, and should be calm under pressure; and I am, but apparently not when frenzied, flying mammals are involved. I mentally added bats to my growing list of fears that I’m developing in my advancing years: surly dogs, mice, heights and now bats. I also realized that I am more of a runner than a fighter, and that conveniently my husband is a fighter. I don’t think this is just a gender thing, because I know for a fact that my own daughter is a fighter, something I learned quite by accident, when taking a walk with her when she was 16, and I cowardly jumped behind her when a German Shepard lunged at us. Using my own daughter as a human shield was not my proudest mom moment, but it did allow me to get a glimpse of her strength and fearlessness. “Get out of here! Go on home!” She demanded with such confidence and authority that the dog, who no doubt outweighed her, stopped in his tracks and slunk back to the decrepit, elderly house trailer he had attempted to defend.

Winged intruder gone, I conducted a thorough search of the bedroom for guano, then gratefully dropped into bed, but not without a wary, soured feeling which particularly distressed me as I had taken advantage of the beautiful day earlier, and washed and hung all the bedding out on the line. The sun-drenched, fresh smell I had been looking forward to all evening now felt tainted, but at least the bat was gone. “That was fun!” Tiny chuckled, reliving the moment with a smile on his face. When I didn’t respond, he looked at me and his expression softened, “I love that you were so afraid of that bat, it was very endearing.” I smiled at him, grateful that he relishes any opportunity protect me, even if it’s only from a bat. “Well, I love that you weren’t.” I said. So, content with our day, the fresh linen and each other, we slept.

 

 

 

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Bravery in the Face of Fear

Posted on by Susannah Warner

To leave the safety of your bed, knowing that you must fight off a blanket of darkness, climb a wall of despair, and be pelted with boulders of hopelessness, all while negotiating a razor wire of fear, is not weakness. It is strength. I’m grateful that I don’t fight the battle of anxiety and depression, but for those of you I know and love, who grapple daily with these demons, you are more powerful than you know and I am proud of you.

 

I wrote this a year ago today, and posted it on Facebook. It popped up this morning, which was strange because I’ve had this subject in the back of my mind for a while. I’m so thankful that I have only felt a wave of panic well up in me twice in my lifetime, but those two brief episodes were enough to convince me that people who have felt that tidal wave of fear wash over them, and still carry-on, are freaking superheros.

The first time it happened, I was in a small plane which was experiencing an abnormal amount of turbulence, enough to make the attendants, whose facial expressions I always scrutinize for any signs of fear whenever there is a flight irregularity, quickly take their seats and buckle up. Out of nowhere, my heart started to pound, my palms got sweaty, and I almost started to pant as I fought off a sense of impending doom. I felt like there wasn’t enough air and my seat-belt was squeezing the breath out of me. This passed through me in a matter of seconds, until my brain realized that I was experiencing a natural reaction (ok, slight overreaction) to a potentially life threatening situation. Thankfully, I was able to calm myself down with deep breaths and the whole episode only lasted about 30 seconds.

The second time I nearly panicked, was when I accidentally swallowed acetone (long, ridiculous story!), and as I was washing my mouth out with water at the sink, I started to hyperventilate and feel like I was choking, a thought made even more scary by realizing that even if I wasn’t alone, no one could do anything because I wasn’t choking on anything except chemicals. Again, I was able to calm myself down, and think rationally enough to call poison control.  I was fine, and both of these autonomic responses were fairly reasonable, as there was at least a potential for harm. But what if there was no threat to my safety? Imagine how it would feel if anxiety welled up for no reason, unbidden and unwanted, and could not be rationalized away?

The two experiences I had, lasted only seconds, but they were so intense that I remember that feeling, years later. It is enough to give me empathy for the people in my life who experience sheer terror even when there is no real threat to their safety. I have seen people whom I love, experience this, and their eyes look the eyes of a person who is drowning. Pupils dilated, hands shaky, some have grasped my arm like it is a life raft.  Some of these people have been patients, rendered breathless from lung disease, and some have been family. I once had to take a panicky friend to the doctors, who would not leave the perceived safety of my car, so I had to go the appointment in her stead, and implore the doctor to see her in the car, which he kindly did. I’ve had patients grip my arm so tightly they have left crescent shaped fingernail marks in my skin, and say, “don’t leave me!” I didn’t.  I’ve escorted people to psychiatrist appointments, and one time was asked to go to the appointment myself because, “you can explain how I feel much better than I can.” Again, I didn’t, but I sat with this person, while they fought the urge to run.  I’ve had to drive two different people to the emergency room because they both were convinced they were having a heart attack. I’ve had children hide their faces in my neck, and cling to me like a baby monkey, and I’ve had family members lean their head on my shoulder, to try to slow their breathing and their pounding hearts. Why am I surrounded by anxious people? I can’t say. I like to think that calmness is a gift from God, so when an anxious person leans on me, I always pray that His peace will pass through me and bleed onto them.

“I wish I had your strength,” a dear person once said to me. “I’m not strong,  I’m just lucky.” I told her. This is true. It is not strength or bravery to feel no fear. Bravery is feeling fear and doing it anyway. To the people I know and love who feel anxiety or even full on panic attacks and yet quietly work, care for your children, pay your bills and live your life, in spite of your fears; YOU are the strong ones and I admire YOU.