Fear on a healing journey

A poem and piece (from 2017) with my reflection (with audio).

fear on a healing journey (p. 56 in my book breaking open, a healing journey back home):

fear is like a snarling beast
beating at my door
let me in, it growls
goosebumps pop out
up my spine
stomach clenched
in a tight ball
no breath

Actually there is no beast. And I can move away from fear when I drop into awareness long enough of this moment. Right here and now. Awareness of my body, and of the deep breath I take low into my belly.

Fear struggles to take root where there is slow breathing. That’s just how we’re wired. Deep, slow breathing usually means safety.

Healing journeys don’t always feel safe. Sometimes they’re the most frightening roller coaster ride you’ll ever take. Up and down, round and round, waiting to be spat out at the end.

What condition will I be in then? Will I have all my limbs? Will there be parts of me missing?

no, you can’t come in
yes, I know you’re there
your stale breath is in the air
I know I used to let you rampage
around my home
me cowered in the corner
in the dark
afraid
feeling powerless
to do anything

It’s not like that anymore. That neural pathway I let you rule is growing over, like a well-worn path to a deserted rubbish dump. It’s not in use anymore. That’s no longer my game.

I’ve chosen a new pathway.

Yes of course I know you’re not leaving for good. And yes, I know you will visit. But no, I will never give you back the reins to my life.

You will never get to call the shots again.

---

From memory, the end part of this piece was inspired by

Elizabeth Gilbert

’s letter to fear (in her beautiful book, Big Magic). She and Creativity are on a road trip and she says to fear, among other things:

You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the road maps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours; you’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you’re not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.

I still feel these pieces of writing from my book, breaking open, even though I wrote this one in November 2017, six and a half years ago. I had recently returned from fistula surgery in India and was navigating that healing journey. I could suddenly move freely in the world; liberating, like air under a new set of strong wings. Yet the tiniest pin prick of pain in that area could sometimes tip me into a frenzy of fear.

In a year I would be catapulted deep into a journey quite different to that, where my bowels wouldn’t stop running for weeks on end, often all my body could process was rice, and energy eluded me. Not just that year, but the year after, and the one after that, and so on. A wild roller coaster. It hasn’t just been a physical healing journey (of course not). It’s been emotional, mental and spiritual, also intrinsically tied to the drawn-out and deeply taxing separation from a partner of twelve and a half years (completed in Feb last year).

Did fear show up? Hell yes it did. Has my relationship with it been different? Yes. It is no longer in the driving seat for hours and days on end, yet it still sometimes feels like the strongest sensation burning into the soil of my skin, the only neural pathway I can follow in those moments.

A big difference is that I can zoom out and watch myself in the spiralling of the stories my mind creates around the emotion of fear. I mean fear is important, right? It’s what saves us when we’re in real danger in our environment. What doesn’t serve us though, is the stories that our sweet minds blow up around a twinge or jolt of fear, into novels and trilogies to follow.

I realise on re-reading my own piece, and Elizabth Gilbert’s letter to fear that my relationship with fear has softened and expanded. I used to want to avoid her at all costs, run when she showed up (again, useful when you’re in real danger, but not so much when the danger is in the mind). Her presence felt like the end of the world.

Now when fear shows up, which it seems to at the drop of a hat on a healing journey, I do my best to acknowledge it, instead of catapult into story. To acknowledge that it is a sensation in my body I can choose to label as good or bad, or simply a sensation, possibly with a message.

Of course fear has a seat at this table. Of course she has a voice. And even though I won’t give her the reins to my life, I want to listen to the wisdom my body brings in the sensations of my solar plexus tightening, my heart racing or my breath short and shallow. This is part of my healing.

What message is there for me?

What if listening to it brings the thermostat for today’s journey into a little more alignment?

What then?

I would LOVE to hear from you!

Did this stir any sensations in your body?

Do you have a favourite quote, line, or story about your journey with fear to share?

It would mean so much if you shared here, or sent me a DM.

As always, so much love from me to you and your wise body xx

(I’d also like to acknowledge that I am deeply grateful to be living in a place in the world where my biggest challenge with fear is what my mind does with those sensations, rather than being in constant alert to life-threatening environmental dangers.)

If you’ve read all the way to the bottom, I wanted to remind you I’m using notes. You’ll see some snaps (like this one), some poems, and also highlights from others’ writing here on Substack.

One of my fave reads this last week:

From an incredible human,

Andrea Gibson

, who really changes perspective on things that don’t suck, thank you for the incredible gifts you share:

The Lifegiving Benefits of Befriending Our Mortality

And last but not least, this is my first post from the 24 Essays Club challenge set out by

Claire Venus

here, thank you.