Do It Scared

I had unpacked all of my stuff in my friend Dan’s house. I kept only the essentials: bags of clothes, the futon, and my desk (which Dan graciously brought up stairs for me). I didn’t bother to unpack my clothes from the many bags I had… I didn’t want to feel settled and cave into fear of the unknown by staying any longer than necessary. I kept busy that first night, to stave off the sadness that was hiding behind my face like water pressed against a dam. Dan and I poured ourselves some scotch, got a pizza, and toasted: “Here’s to healing!”

I laid down that night and faced the worst night of sleep I’ve had in a while. I get random bouts of insomnia from time to time (mostly Keto induced) but that night I was terrified. I was somewhere new, my bed was hard as a rock, and I was missing the warmth of my human security blanket. The only times in my adult life where I’ve had the best sleep ever are: in hotels (them pillows man… *Chefs Kiss*) and in our bed in Camarillo. We developed a codependency with each other over time, which I know is super unhealthy. My last night there I woke up with her patting my stomach and placing her hand on my chest. I lay there, convincing myself that I’d sell my right kidney to be able to pause time. Sleep was always a place of comfort and foolishness for us. We’d lie in bed and talk to each other about our days and what we wanted out of life. We’d read, show each other silly videos, and talk openly about a variety of things. I used to Snapchat mustaches on her while she slept. Why? Because it’s hilarious. It’s STILL hilarious to me even now. A few days after we called it off, I woke up to her screaming my name in her sleep from a night terror. It scared the living hell out of me… and I wasn’t sure if I woke her if she would punch me or not, but she grabbed me and made me hold her until she fell asleep.

So I did. Our breath was our prayer, our warmth settled the rocky seas of anxiety, and soon we both slipped back into sleep. As I said, we grew codependent in this regard, but not in a bad way I suppose. Now, being alone, I feel like I’m untethered, floating in space; the only time this was most apparent was when I went to sleep. My sweet reprieve is my dreams.

But lying in this shitty futon, I was scared in that room… scared to be alone. I’m so scared I’ll get stuck in this literal hell on earth; this town where so much trauma happened to me. My hometown. The place I’ve tried so hard to escape. I hear the faint sound of the dog barking in the distance, which takes my mind off of things until it stops. Now I’m stuck in deafening silence. I use my phone to turn on rain sounds I’ve grown so used to; she would play them every night, and now that’s the only way I sleep. In the blackness of this room, I feel the demon lurking in the corner (not a real demon… it’s a metaphor, people…). It’s a demon of despair and loneliness that sucks out every ounce of warmth in the room. I’m terrified of it. I feel like I’m trapped with it… trapped in a cage with a tiger. Lying in this dark, cold room with my face buried in this pillow that still smells like the Camarillo house was one of the darkest places I’ve ever been.

But I’m also the strongest I’ve ever been. There is no other option at this point then to just deal with it. Literally, that’s it. I call it the “poopy pants” mentality. What do you do when you poop your pants? Do you sit in it and cry about it, or do you just change your damn pants?

Fig 1. A Typical Buzzfeed Article

I froze my damn ass off that night. I found myself wedged into the corner of the futon, hammering with chills, making myself the smallest ball possible. I’m always cold these days.

Alexis texted me that night to make sure I was ok, and mentioned that I am chasing self-worth. I told her I know my worth, but I wasn’t sure what she meant. She told me one day I’ll figure that out in my journey, and I’ll tell her. I’m actively trying to figure out where in my armor of self-worth do I have a hole; I’ll work on that throughout this journey.

My Uncle Chris sent me a text reminding me that I am loved, resilient, and not alone. My Sister-in-Law, Kacie, texted me “Happy first day of your fresh start!” the next morning as I got ready for work. Being back in the office after being gone for almost a year due to the pandemic was refreshing to say the least. I’m an extrovert to my very core, so I feed off interactions with people. As my friend/co-worker Christy toured me around our hangar, I felt myself get warmer and my mind clearer with every person I interacted with. It was like I was starting to feel human again.

So about the title of this post: I didn’t mean to hijack this one with talks of my sad sleepy time routine, but I wanted to make a point to talk about fear. You learn a lot about yourself doing the things that scare the shit out of you, hence why I’m taking this massive journey and doing crazy things along the way.

If you can believe it, I was once someone who suffered from crippling anxiety. It was so bad that I had to go home after my first day of college in Fresno because I was having panic attacks. I was 20 at the time. I felt like a complete and utter failure for it. My anxiety would get so bad that I’d lay on the floor and my whole body would hurt. I was terrified of travel, even though I spent my entire childhood traveling around the US with my parents. I had this irrational fear that I’d turn down the wrong street and then all the street signs would be in Arabic and I’d have no cell coverage and nobody would help me and I’d DIE. I was scared to do anything! Terrified of living alone, terrified of travel, terrified of making an order in a drive through. I look back on it now and wonder what the hell was I thinking? This of course was likely the result of a concussion I had when I was in high school where I took a soccer ball to the face and got knocked out on the field. Because of that I no longer remember who my first kiss was (it’s one of three people… if it was you, please call me and tell me if I was any good at it. K Thanks). Most people don’t believe I ever had an anxiety disorder if they meet me today, as I regularly do public speaking events, trainings, and engage in high stress situations like Search and Rescue and Ski Patrol. Not to mention the fact that I’m adventurous as hell.

I was talking to my brother about this last week and he concurred. He said that the Linnie he knows now is absolutely not the Linnie he knew over 12 years ago, in a good way. That’s expected though! We evolve or die, that’s how life is! I credit a lot of it to the people I surrounded myself with, time, and a cognitive behavior project I did on myself during college (thanks, Dr. Thatcher!). My mom, who was very empathetic, would encourage me to get out more and more. She would gently guide me to the edge of my comfort zone, say “I know, sweety,” then shove my ass over like a mama bird making her babies fly.

You have to do things that scare you. You have to push yourself to the edge of your comfort zones to grow. Now I’m not encouraging you all to jump out of a damn plane right now if you can’t even manage to ride a commercial airliner, but what I’m trying to get at is that you need to set small goals of doing things that make you uneasy and do them. Start out small, then work your way up. Soon you’ll build that resilience and grit you need to keep going.

Cognitive behavioral therapy helps too but… that’s expensive.

I have no other choice but to do this journey and be alone. I can’t magically make someone change their mind. I can’t control what she does, nor would I ever want to because I loved her; she was a partner, not a possession. I owe it to myself to rely on myself, and in this loneliness I will find out so much about who I truly am and what I am made of.

I am SO EXCITED for the woman I’m about to become.