Steel Toe Boots

I want to kick fear right in the ballsack. Hard.

With steel-toe boots. 

Fear is my primary issue. It’s holding me back from my conscious quantum leap. If I want to get from here to there, I have to go through this first. 

I think I was born afraid. My mother said the first day she dropped me off at kindergarten I was in a complete state of full-blown panic attack. I don’t remember that, but I do remember being in first grade and feeling like everyone was staring at me. Like I didn’t fit in. Like I didn’t belong. Like, I was different. An outsider. An outcast. And that feeling carried me through my life until present day.

They say that you can inherit trauma from your parents, and if that’s the case, then I most certainly inherited my mother’s PTSD, but as if that weren’t enough, I developed plenty of my own trauma throughout life - now it's complex, comprehensive PTSD. Big, layered trauma. Lots of it. Now, I’m not a victim, I’m not stuck in that dark place (although I do know it well from my past), but it is to say that the life I live today is one based on fear, not love. Chaos, not peace. It’s the primary reason I do not leave my apartment and haven’t made any friends. What if they don’t like me? What if I say something wrong? What if I embarrass myself? What if I fall and hurt myself? What if I get lost? What if I lose my credit cards? What if I lose my keys? What if I get kidnapped? What if they judge me? 

That fear is what kept me in unhealthy relationships. I was afraid to be alone. Even if a man was controlling and guilty of gaslighting, it made me feel safer than being “unattended.” If a man, in public, would “steer me” by his hand on the back of my neck, then it meant I didn’t have to pay attention in public. If a man spoke for me, I didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing. If a man made the choices, then I was liberated from that responsibility. 

You’d think I’d have outgrown that by now. I’m supposed to be in my I don’t give a fuck era. I’m supposed to be part of the menopausal, we do not care club. I’m supposed to be living it up in what feels like the last good stretch before old age creeps in. How much longer will it take me to grow up and be brave?

Like now. I’m almost 53, right? And yet I’m sitting here today in the loud silence of the living room in my tiny one-bedroom apartment, feeling like I’m going to get in trouble. For what? By whom? And this has been my struggle of late. The apartment is clean, the freelance work is done, and I’ve spent plenty of time on my website (though I’ll spend more after this little mental break). I spent time outside reading. There’s nothing that needs my attention - there’s nothing to do. Everything is done. Literally. There’s not a single thing to do. And I’m not bored, but I feel like I’m panicking because there’s no one to check in with. I’ve already called the grandkids this week, and my son, and my daughter. But I think that’s kinda the whole point of this learning not to need the external validation journey I’m on. 

Be alone.

Be.

I also feel like someone’s just going to teleport into my living room and tell me I’m being lazy for just sitting on the sofa not “doing” anything.

When I think about my aloneness - like on a big scale, I feel like I can’t breathe, or like I’m free-falling. Or worse, suspended in space. How can I be left unsupervised? Who is going to tell me what to do? Who is going to make sure I’m okay?

And there it is – the golden nugget. The reason my words called me here. Let’s go ahead and unpack that.

Who is going to make sure I’m okay?

And that’s the trauma talking. That’s childhood neglect, and physical and sexual abuse. That’s the sudden premature death of loved ones (some self-inflicted). That’s the fear. Abandonment. Vulnerability. The feeling that I'm not worthy of attention.

And the fear is keeping me nailed to the ground.

I’ve been to therapy. I take the meds. I meditate. I journal. I do my shadow work. I know the answers intellectually, but I’m still standing on the edge of the diving board, afraid to jump into the deep end of frigid waters. If I weren’t afraid, I’d have gone to Kentucky last year instead of waiting it out here to feel safe.

If I weren’t afraid, I’d already have a new job.

If I weren’t afraid, I’d probably have bought myself a car by now.

If I weren’t afraid, I’d have probably explored all of the coffee shops and bookstores in Omaha.

If I weren’t afraid, I might consider dating again.

If I weren’t afraid, I’d do more things outdoors.

So the list of demands the Universe is making is getting longer by the day. And that’s okay. At least it’s laying the groundwork and letting me know what I need to do to work the amount of magic I’m trying to generate. This one? Live, not without fear, but in spite of it. Do it anyway.

I think this is why this writing space has become so sacred to me. I know it's new, but it's not my first, where I can come talk and listen at the same time. I can "check in" with my own self. I can be proud of my own self and show myself compassion.

And so the direction now is to kick fear straight in the ballsack. Hard.

With steel toe boots.