The Fear Never Leaves Us
I knew - in a sense I was deeply unwilling to admit - that I was supposed to be divorced for several years before I was able to look at that fact squarely, let alone talk about it. I remember sitting wide-eyed in my therapist’s office the first time I told her, “I don’t think I’m supposed to stay married.” At that point, my stamina for holding my own truth was so low that I could barely get the words out of my body. I was crouched over myself holding my stomach together with my forearms, getting a few words out at a time in sobs, sometimes having to stop talking altogether because my body had lost control, my hands covering my face in shame. That used to be how every conversation I tried to have about my needs went with my ex-husband, too.
I was so deeply unaccustomed to having - let alone holding and communicating - a truth separate from anyone else’s in my life that my entire body would revolt when it came time to get it up and out of my throat. I was wracked with anxiety and distress at disrupting anyone else’s peace of mind for the sake of my own.
Years of practice under my belt and precisely one session of Kundalini yoga (a story for another day) eventually guided me to a place where I was able to speak my truth with a straight spine, a steady voice, and a calm body. “This simply isn’t working.” I remember the day, the place, the chair, the moment, that I set my truth free. How, moments after my ex left the room, my body, like she was possessed, started bubbling up with laughter, of all things. I clamped my hand over my mouth, aghast, unprepared to feel both gutted and gleeful at the same time. But my body knew. Had known. And she was delighted I had finally listened.
It has been hard not to mark that particular point in time as The Moment I Conquered My Fear. My brain is always looking for ways to oversimplify its experience in the world, forgetting altogether that aliveness is full of uncertainty, is uncertainty, fundamentally.I’ve been living a different life entirely now than the one that had me weeping on a therapist’s couch for a while.