Fear sucks, friends.
It can debilitate, it can handicap, and it can seriously suck the joy out of life.
When my mom was killed in a car accident while on her way to work on November 4th, 2003, my life changed in every single way possible. I lost my best friend, my confidante, my advisor. My heart shattered into a million pieces and I felt every single minute of it. I felt it deep, I felt it hard, and to this day, while I have healed greatly, there is still a gaping hole in my heart that aches for her.
My mom's death didn't just leave me with an immense amount of heartache, it also left me with a debilitating fear of mortality. I became aware of how fleeting life is for the first time in my life. Of how one second someone can be here with us and the next they are gone. That they could be taken away in such a stupid, accidental, and unnecessary way.
For some, the loss of a loved one comes as a wake-up call...a reminder that life is short and that every minute should be used to explore, take chances, and really
live.
That was not the case for me. My mom's death left me absolutely terrified. I felt lonely, angry, and cheated out of happiness. I felt like I had been robbed. After the shock, the denial, the anger, and the acceptance, came pure, unrelenting fear. The fear that the most innocent activity can be the end of me, or even worse, the end of the ones I love. The fear that if I let go and relax (as I did so purely and wholly when I was studying abroad in London before learning of my mom's death), that something bad would happen again. The fear that if I'm having too much fun, if I'm too happy, life will punch me in the stomach again. I had decided that in order to protect my heart and my life from the cruel reality of fate, I would not take too many chances. I would play it safe. And most importantly, I would not let myself be so happy or love so deeply again.
My fears were not only a part of me, but they were becoming me. Day in and day out, I felt like I was just waiting for something horrible to happen. I was always on edge, and always ready to break down. I met Dr. Love during this time. He was like a breath of fresh air. Very logical, very relaxed. My trust in him and his words allowed me to lighten up a little, and I fell deeply and madly in love with him in no time. I laughed with him and I
lived with him...became more adventurous and spent less time thinking about what I had lost and more time thanking God for what I had.
That doesn't mean that my fears disappeared though, and eventually, they would rear their ugly head again. The deeper I fell in love with Dr. Love, the more I feared losing him. My fear made me angry, and my anger made me snappy and stressed out, which made me anxious, which made me angry..... It was a vicious cycle and one that was only exacerbated and magnified during "significant" times in my life (such as my mom's birthdays, the anniversaries of her death, my birthday, and every other holiday). Essentially, every special moment was stained by my sadness over losing my mom and by my fear of losing someone important to me again.
I finally decided to see a therapist after I was laid off from my job and left with far too much free time to sit around and be sad, angry, depressed, and afraid. I hadn't seen a therapist since the first few months after my mom's passing. That first encounter with a therapist had been short-lived, but had helped me rid myself of the panic attacks that had me holed up in my room for weeks. Knowing the real and effective impact that my visits had had on me years ago served as motivation for me to once again seek out professional help. For the past few months, I have been seeing a new therapist. I go, I talk, I cry, she listens, she talks, she teaches. I have been working through every single thing I can think of, anxiety/stress/fear/anger/pain, and I have never ever ever felt better. Not because my therapist has "cured" me, but because she has helped me accept a lot of things. To accept why I feel the way I feel, to accept that I'd like to not be so anxious, and to accept that, with hard work and commitment, I can slowly take back the reigns from fear.
Why did I decide to share all of this with you all here today? Well, simply because, with the nine year anniversary of my mom's passing quickly approaching, I have taken a few minutes to reflect on the past 9 years, and particularly the past few months, and I can see how much better I feel and how much freer my heart and mind are. I flew across the country not just free of anxiety, but actually relaxed..I actually
enjoyed flying for the first time since losing my mom. I went on a roller-coaster and actually had fun. With November 4th around the corner, I recently felt a sudden rise in my anxiety level, and for the first time, I didn't run away from what I was feeling. I let myself feel it, I talked it out, I accepted it, and I understood it...Today, I am the most relaxed that I have ever been on an October 17th since my mom passed away. I am also thankful...I am not only thankful for my therapist and for the tools that therapy has armed me with, but I am especially thankful for having had a mom who was so open-minded and encouraging and a direct cause of my openness (and resulting success) with therapy.
Friends, if you believe you can feel better, you can. You will need help, support, and patience. You will need honesty, strength, and persistence. Most importantly, you will need self acceptance. My mom is gone and I miss her always. There is nothing wrong with missing her and there is no reason why I should not let myself feel that sense of loss and sadness. However, I also have learned to accept the flip-side of the coin of acceptance. While, it is not fair that she is gone, it was also not fair that I had such a pure, kind, encouraging, loving mother while so many other people don't. I have learned to accept that truth as well and to remind myself of it often.
Mom, I love you so much and thank God every single day of my life that I am your daughter, that I had the privilege to learn so much from you, and that Zub and I have the honor of carrying on your legacy.
x
