Fear Is My Traveling Companion

My mind started racing almost as fast as my heart pounding in my chest. Clammy sweat made my neck prickly. I felt the familiar buildup of dread creeping through my body as my breathing quickened and my mouth became parched.

“I don’t feel like I can do this!” I said.

“You’ll be just fine,” said my husband.

I leaned the car seat back and lay down as still as I could as waves of panic washed over me. “I am calm and relaxed. I AM getting better, and I WILL get over this,” I repeated aloud. Systematically I tensed all of the muscles in my body and then let them go, feeling the relaxing sensation that would eventually replace my fear. Only halfway there, the six-hour drive to see our new granddaughter seemed as daunting as a trek around the globe.

Anxiety has been my default setting from the womb. Not only am I hardwired for it; I also had it drilled into my brain by my parents – “Don’t pick a pimple, it could turn into cancer. Don’t cross your eyes outside in the wind; your face will stay that way. Don't scratch your itchy toe - my Uncle had an itchy toe and it turned into gangrene and he had to have his leg cut off! Don’t lie. God will punish you for that. Don’t talk to strangers.” And worst of all – “Don’t leave the yard!” Thus any natural tendency towards adventure was quashed throughout the rest of my childhood.

One time Mom allowed us to go to the public swimming pool while Dad was at work. We were not to tell. My brother Ron and I were having a wonderful time jumping in and out of the water until he decided to do some twisty kind of jump, landing on the edge of the cement, splitting his chin open. A sickening dread permeated my gut. I couldn't call Mom. She nearly fainted at the sight of blood. If I called Dad from work, we’d be in trouble. I had to handle it myself. I walked my brother to the hospital and waited while the doctor stitched him up. Our lesson was learned – If you leave the yard, bad things will happen.

Dad took us on a trip once or twice a year, either to visit my grandparents or to go camping. Those should have been times to look forward to, but because of Dad’s alcoholism and changeable temperament, fear was my traveling companion. A seven-hour drive in a car where we weren’t allowed to make noise or have fun had my stomach wrenching in turmoil for most of the drive.

Mom and Dad separated when I was thirteen. I took three bus trips, each one eighteen to twenty hours, one way, to visit my Mom. Two of them ended with accidents. Once, it was raining, and the bus driver didn’t see the pedestrian crossing the road. The bus hit her, breaking her hip. Another time, the tie-rod broke, and the bus ran across the oncoming lane of traffic, landing in the ditch. The windshield flew off in one large sheet and shattered. My face slammed into the metal-backed seat in front of me, giving me a bruised nose and black eye – confirming my mindset that it was indeed unsafe to leave the yard.

Fortunately for me, I am also hard-wired with a fighting spirit – a driving force that propels me forward to work on overcoming my challenges. So, I learned as much as I could about anxiety and put my new skills into practice to help make my traveling experiences more bearable.

One memorable trip involved driving to London (about a half-hour drive) to shop with my then-teenaged daughter. As a distraction from fear, we tried to sing You Are My Sunshine in harmony. It was not a very harmonious endeavor, but the time flew by, and our journey overflowed with laughter and joy.

In 2012 my husband was diagnosed with leukemia and given only six weeks to live. I remember one of our last conversations where he told me he was not afraid to die. A big lump welled up in my throat, and tears streamed down my cheeks. “What will I do when I’m scared, and you’re not here? Who will tell me, ‘You’ll be just fine?’”

“You’ll just think of it in your head, and you'll be just fine,” he said.

A few years after my husband passed, I felt strong enough to make a life-changing decision for me and my mom (who also lost her husband and was living in a granny-suite in my house.) We decided to sell the house and move back to Woodstock to be near friends and family. That was a challenge for me, as I had to do all the driving for the six-hour journey. For two months before the move, I kept a journal and drew little sketches of my mom and me driving to Woodstock successfully. I wrote out positive affirmations to calm my inner nay-sayers.

I refused to entertain any negative thoughts on moving day. That day, I decided that fear would not be my traveling companion. Confidence would sit in its place. Mom and I had a triumphant drive to Woodstock. Our trip ended with us raising our fists in the air, whooping our celebratory cheers aloud.

Progress is often two steps forward and one step back (so they say). So, not all of my journeys have been fear-free. But, at 60-some years of age, here is what I have learned: I can do more than I think I can – life is about the journey and not the destination, and, not only is it okay to leave the yard – but that’s where most of the fun is. And, above all… I really am just fine.

***

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