Surf Your Fear to Find Your Joy

Photo by Samuel Scrimshaw on Unsplash

Anger crawled hot and prickly over my skin and up my spine. I didn’t care about the damn squash, and why did it matter anyway? I was busy, dammit, and the squash would be fine. 

It was our third almost fight that evening. Over a spaghetti squash. 

The actual chain of events doesn’t matter; my husband and I were both tired, groggy and unable to heat our dinner without sniping. 

Everything he did got on my nerves; my skin felt raw. The slightest emotional touch rubbed like a towel on a fresh sunburn. Although I had a bowl of delicious spaghetti sauce (made by said loving hubby), with chevre melting into the squash in question, I only wanted to growl. 

To keep it civil, we retreated to our corners. Literally. Hubbie with his wine into his green chair. Me with my bowl of gooeyness in my red chair.  

Like boxers in opposite corners between rounds, we held our phones in the space between. 

Mouth full, I offered an olive branch;

“This sauce is really amazing.”

“Thanks.”

We went to bed in silence, too exhausted to fight, too numb to unravel it. 

Under the next dawn, clear and cold, the mountains of BC glowed through our front window. Their beauty cradled me as I unraveled the crazy knot in my gut. 

The living scribble I’d felt inside me was quieter now. I breathed, anchoring in my body, picked the end of the knot and… lifted. The knots fell out, and beads of emotion floated to the surface. 

Anger was the first. I was angry with myself for not communicating last night. Angry that I wanted spaghetti squash, not zucchini, but forgot to put it out. Angry at my lack of grace, love, and gratitude. 

Everything hubby did last night rubbed that anger. Standing in our micro-kitchen waiting for me to move hit me as a passive-aggressive pressuring. Like I was expected to read his mind.

I was. The kicker is that I expected that. Not him. 

Whew. 
Breathe.
Release. 

Anger dissolved and a more tender frustration bubbled up. I hadn’t been perfect. Hadn’t gotten everything done. All the “Hadn’ts” piled up. Now instead of a roiling tangle, all I could feel was a lava lamp bubbling with frustration. Viscous waves of frustration smothered me. In so many ways, I am falling short. 

Hang on, I know you, voice. You’re my inner critic. We’ve had this discussion. Ok, yes, yes, I agreed to hear you out, and honor you, in your place. Oh. This is your place. Ok, it’s not the place, but the method that I object to. Constructive criticism, remember? Your presence here means something tender is near. Thank you for protecting me, but you can go now. 

Breathe.
Release. 

Clutch. The lava lamp disappeared, replaced by an icy fist squeezing my chest;  My heart froze, my breath caught. 

Fear, my old friend. So old, you live in the oldest part of my brain, sometimes called the reptile brain. I can see a snake waving its head, tongue flicking, tasting danger in the air.

I’m afraid. 

What am I afraid of? This question in a tiny voice, a whisper on the wind.

I’m answered with a roar: 

YOU’RE NOT MAKING ENOUGH MONEY. 

The echo hasn’t died away before the avalanche of thoughts begin; It’s because I’m not doing enough, not working hard enough at writing, not learning fast enough. 

The “not enough” spurs my actions daily; my effectiveness scatters like shotgun pellets. Do I market? Email? Research publishers? Outline an article? Research an article? Pitch ideas? Tweak my blog? Workout? Check social media? 

Fireworks. Poof. My brain explodes.

Ok, fear, let’s back up. 

Breathe. 

It slaps me in the face – a cold wet wave

YOU’RE NOT MAKING ENOUGH MONEY.

Ride it, surf. Yes maybe you’re right. But I am still ok, right now.

Breathe. 

Another wave.

Ride it, running down the face. The next wave I break through like a seal.

Another wave.

You know what? This is getting fun. 

It’s just waves. 

Waves are kind of fun when I realize I will not drown. 

Woo hoo!

This is… what is this?

Fun! Excitement! Energy!

I care. 

That’s where fear lives, what numbness tries to smother, what exhaustion tangles up, and what anger tries to guard. 

That I care. 

Fear lives right next to what matters, to our joy, guarding it. Brene Brown talks about how we dress-rehearse catastrophe because joy is so vulnerable. It doesn’t work, it only steals our moments of joy. 

We have to be brave to feel joy, because we will confront fear. 

If you’re afraid, it’s ok, it means you’re alive. Breathe.

Get excited.