Fear is a Liar

I've been having these messy skirmishes in my head of late. One of them is about what I should write about in my blog. I want to uplift. I like making people laugh. I want to perpetrate joy and compassion in what I communicate. But then good old Ernest starts nagging me.

"Write hard and clear about what hurts" - Hemingway. 

But Ernie - people are going to read this. People are going to judge this. And the fear invades like a hoard of locusts, gnawing, attempting to decimate my confidence and esteem. Writing about what hurts means exposing the most vulnerable part of me. Being known - what freedom!  Being known - terrifying! 

I've had this uneasy relationship with fear my entire life. It held court for way too many years. It made all my decisions for me. And one fear would perpetrate five others. It is a massive foe - one you can never trust to retreat for long. No matter how many times you defeat it - face it - vanquish it - it never dies. 

I remember being fearful as a child. It wasn't until recently that I realized that I had suffered abandonment at a very young age. It was my mother who chose to leave when I was about 18 months old. There is no way to explain to a toddler why a key person in their life is suddenly gone. That inexplicable emptiness and fear never leaves you - I can attest to that. That abandonment was revisited when I was 52 years old. My daughter cut off all contact with me when I left my 34 year marriage. With her abandonment of me, she took my grandchildren too. I have never stopped feeling the pain of this, nor have I ever stopped agonizing over how she might have explained the sudden departure of me from their young lives. I never want them to feel I abandoned them but I fear this is exactly what they will internalize. I have learned in my lifetime that people - no matter who they are, or what they might say - don't stay. The fear of being abandoned is present in my everyday relationships. And yes, this new relationship with the Boy - the Beau - the Ball Cap, despite his attestation that he loves me, I fear that this too will wane and he will move on.  

I also remember, as a child, how afraid I was that I might be given away. After my mother left it was my maternal grandparents that raised me. It was them that moved me to the Valley to be near Granny's mom and dad (my Great Grandparents) and her sisters (my great Aunt Annie and Aunt Lillian). Granny and Grandad gave me a home. A roof over my head, three squares a day, the requisite birthday parties and presents under a tree. They sent me to school and to church and Granny paid for my piano lessons. It was good of them to do this and I don't think they ever meant to make me feel unwelcome but it became clear that my good behaviour was paramount in determining if they would keep me or not. Gifts were used to coerce apologies and manipulate me into a change of attitude when my frustrations and anger would bubble over. I was reminded by my mother (who made random and confusing appearances a few times throughout my life) that I owed Granny and Grandad a lot for what they were doing. Just be a good girl, be a good girl, be a good girl and everything would work out fine. So, I made sure that I was, at all times, a good girl in order to keep a roof over my head, to garner favour with people so they would like me, and to make Granny and Grandad proud of me. The fear of displeasing people weighed heavy, heavy, heavy on me. 

A lot of this is why I stayed in a very bad marriage for so long. I had no where to go or the means to get there - but moreover - I knew exactly who would abandon me the minute those words "I'm leaving" left my lips. But this bad marriage was also the tipping point in my life. To survive, I had no choice but to face the fear and tell it to FUCK. OFF! Sorry for the ugly profanity - but fear is the most egregious enemy next to shame - and fighting it, stepping into the battle with it - requires more bravery, tenacity, and ferocity than you can imagine. It was a grotesquely brutal fight and many times I thought it had beaten me and considered giving up. It is necessary to tell you, at this point, that the only way I survived these battles was because I had a comrade in this fight. 

God told me over and over that He was knee deep in my battle. And although many times I feared He would abandon the fight He kept reminding me of the same thing over and over via 2 Chronicles 20:17 

"You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position..." (ESV) 

"This is God’s war, not yours... You won’t have to lift a hand in this battle; just stand firm...Don’t be afraid, don’t waver... God is with you." (MSG)

Don't get me wrong - standing firm when all hell was breaking out around me - when people were hurling pain and accusations and lies and declaring you broken and bad and dangerous; threatening you, coercing you to keep the status quo - you want to run. Run far and hide deep. And never be seen or heard from again. Standing firm makes you a target. There were plenty of close calls. Hits that threatened to topple me. Wounds to the heart that I thought were fatal. These were the times I staggered and fell to my knees. And a precious voice, a grace from my earlier life, would calmly remind me to fight for my dignity. And I would struggle back up and plant my feet firm once again while the battle raged. 

The battle is behind me for the most part, but like I said, fear is always lurking. And while I wish in the worst way that it would be gone forever, I think this is one foe that just won't quit until the day I die. 

I had someone ask me once, why I write. I'm not really sure. People tell me I write very well, so maybe the reason I write is because I can. This person also asked if what I write had a larger purpose - for humanity. I laughed then nearly fell off my chair. Goodness no. The thought that anything I might have to say would be of benefit to humanity is ludicrous. I'm still not sure why I even exist let alone how anything I might have to say would benefit the world. I don't know the purpose of my existence and I don't know the purpose of why I write. I only know I do. And I do both by  pressing through the fear of judgement and abandonment. Of ridicule and shame.  And hoping something I have to share might help heal a wound or create joy in another person.

I woke up this morning and felt fear press into me. The Boy - the Beau - the Ball Cap is headed out of town for a few days. It's been almost 7 months (can you believe that!) and our days are marked by a familiar routine and comfort. But the fear he has grown bored with me started to taunt me the minute my eyes opened. Then he phoned while he was on the road to say good morning. Fear skulked away in that moment.

I am contemplating going to the Good Friday service this week. And fear told me I was going to come face to face with The Betrayer. The one who systematically led me down the garden path in early 2017 - whose lies were exposed at last years' Good Friday service. Avoid the betrayer, says the fear. No - the betrayer should avoid me. 

I paid some bills yesterday and fear gripped me. Resources are tight. A decrease in my pay is on the horizon. No better jobs in sight. The weight of being one income and the cost of everything dependent on me alone filled my gut with dread. As a result, I had to risk disappointing someone, telling them I could not make a trip I had initially agreed to. Fear of not being able to meet my obligations - financial or personal - taunted me. Fear makes me forget I have talent and that I don't need to sacrifice my personal well-being for others. 

The fear about my future. The fear I will never see my grandkids again. The fear that my daughter will never reach out to me. The fear my dad will never step up. The fear that I will always be an orphan. The fear that I will have to survive another broken relationship. The fear that I will be forgotten and passed by. The fear that being a good girl, being a good girl, being a good girl counted for nothing. 

Maybe it's fitting that on the cusp of Good Friday, that I turn and face these fears that are nipping at my heels once again and remind them that I'm standing firm - that I'm not the one fighting this battle - and they are so screwed.