Transparency

Sometimes I think that I'm brutally honest in writing my posts, but maybe sometimes I need to step out just a bit more. I read a friend's blog recently that challenged me (indirectly) to occasionally be truly transparent in my blog. What she shared in her vulnerability so touched me that I felt I wanted to do something similar. Maybe there is someone--even one person would make this post worthwhile--out there who can identify with my struggles and feel encouraged that she is not alone.

 

*deep breath*

 

I'm mildly afraid of a lot of things that most people fear. You know what I mean: snakes, tight spaces, armed robbery, rape, an accident occurring to my baby, my husband's death, hitting a pedestrian while driving, that sort of thing. And I have some very strange fears, too, like the fear of my teeth falling out, losing my sight, never having running water again, being pulled underwater by a rip tide, telephones, athletic balls coming toward me, scorpions climbing into my bed. Yeah, okay, so I'm a little eccentric.

 

But my biggest fear of all is of being alone. Oddly enough, this manifests itself in sometimes polar ways. For instance, I was at a concert once at Wheaton--not in attendance but looking for someone--and had a panic attack...in the middle of the crowd. I was surrounded by people, lots and lots of people, and I didn't know any of them. I was there all by myself, a theoretically stable adult, and I panicked. My heart raced, I couldn't breathe, and I could feel my palms sweat while my throat went dry. On the other end of the spectrum, when I house-sit, I get anxious, especially after the first day or two. I turn on the TV and just leave it on so that I don't feel totally alone. I play music. I keep the lights on in several rooms. And--if possible--I sit down at the computer and chat with someone. I'm on edge the whole time.

 

Now that I'm married and have a baby, this fear is somewhat less than it used to be. But some nights, especially when David is on call, I climb into bed and wish that I could just cling to Timothy rather than have him sleep in his own bedroom. I crave something tangible to remind me that I'm not alone.

 

I'm no psychotherapist. I can't analyze this fear and explain its inception by relating it to a childhood trauma. I've been alone a lot in my life, so maybe this is just my reaction to it all. I have no idea. But the fact remains that I am terrified of being alone, and this permeates my entire being, especially my social life. I don't want to go to parties or large gatherings because I know I'm more likely than ever to feel alone, even though I'm surrounded by people. I avoid crowds. I use Timothy as a security blanket. Yes, my ten-month-old is one of my best companions. It's pathetic, perhaps, but it's reality. Crippling? Very possibly. I know I ought to remind myself that Jesus is my best friend and that I'm never ever alone, so I'm probably extremely unspiritual for being afraid, but there it is. Do with it what you will.