Dear Mom,

“It’s exhausting taking care of me.” You wrote that in a journal entry titled A Day in the Life dated 3/21/13.

I understand. Maybe not in the same way, but I get it. Your exhaustion was due to all the medicine you needed to take throughout a day to combat the effects of your chemo. Your body was drained, and your mind was cluttered. You mentioned at one point in that journal entry that you got tired just reading your own words. 

My exhaustion is more mental but lately I’ve been feeling quite drained from all the work I’ve been doing to overcome my own insecurities. Focusing the majority of my energy on my flaws and what I need to work on has turned out to be a massive project that does tire my out. So, I’ve been asking myself how to change that and I think I’ve found a solution.

As I’ve been thinking a lot about all the things that make up the fabric of my identity, I’m starting to find the desire to flip the script a bit. Like I said last week, I see my fabric sections as my positive aspects and my thread as my insecurities. But it seems my writing has been reflecting the thread more favorably and I think it’s time I focus on the fabric for a bit.

As I look to an issue to overcome, what if I start to focus on the growth aspect more heavily. 

What if I spend a tiny amount of time recognizing that flaw, calling attention to it, understanding it’s role and its origin. And then that’s it. Name it and then immediately move toward overcoming.

I believe there is a time and a place for talking about our issues. I’m sure your writing about your physical symptoms did help in many ways to get it off your chest and onto the page. When I began this blog, I definitely found it useful to emphasize my flaws in an effort to bring awareness to them. To avoid hiding them and pretending they weren’t there. I needed that. I needed to face my past and my demons head on. 

But now? I’m ready to flip it.

So, I’m going to do just that. I am going to make actual concrete changes in my life, so I can achieve more without holding myself back.

I’ve thought of an example to work on this week. One specific problem I have that I would like to overcome and a very specific solution for it.

What I would love to discuss is fear. Listen, I could write an entire book about my fears, but what I’d like to focus on specifically is my fear of getting physically hurt. Of falling or getting into a situation that could possibly lead to my own physical pain. 

And I’m sure I could trace the physical fear back to your parenting style. 

Do you remember being overprotective of me while I was young? Stopping me as a little kid as I tried to move my body through the world in such a way that could possibly end with an injury. I know that you were worried about the safety of your children. I know why. It’s not a huge mystery to me. Paul was disabled. Paul lived in a home with other disabled children. You heard stories constantly of disabled children and adults who weren’t born that way like Paul was. Some people become disabled after catastrophic injury. And I think you worked very hard to avoid that future hell for your other two kids.

Your fear of your kids being injured to the point of being disabled was such a real fear of yours, and for good reason, but it prevented us from taking chances and trusting ourselves.

I remember, soon after Scotland was born, I heard about a study that was done regarding phobias and it turns out that people who climb trees and fall out as children are less likely to develop phobias later in life than those who never tried. And it makes total sense to me. If you fall out of a tree, and survive, it is clear to the brain that this isn’t that big of a risk. If we never try. If we never climb in the first place, we develop this irrational fear that it could all go wrong.

This is me. Totally. I see it. I never climbed trees. I was a relatively safe kid. I now have a fear of physical risk. And it’s not a true phobia. For example, I can cross bridges, but I am very uncomfortable doing so. I don’t want to drive on one. I definitely don’t want to walk across one. My body tenses and I feel woozy when I’m on a bridge. But I will cross it. So, I know it’s a slight discomfort compared to people with true clinically diagnosed phobias. But I can trace this back to my childhood and the way you spoke about potential catastrophe. And I developed this idea that if I cross a bridge, it could crumble while I’m on it. It does happen. It could happen to me. And therefore, I should avoid it.

When I had my own kids, I had to unlearn to physically protect them at every moment. I had to learn to step back and let them fall. That they weren’t going to get up and brush themselves off and try again if I was constantly there to catch them.

Both of my kids love climbing trees. Sometimes I have to walk away and not watch so I can ensure that I don’t bring my fear to them, but for the most part I have learned to be ok with their physicality. 

Just last week, I was sitting at my table getting work done and sensed some movement close by. I turned my head to see Idris standing on a piece of Pilates equipment (wunda chair) with his body slightly bent over as he was getting ready to launch himself to another piece of Pilates equipment (ladder barrel). Of course, I had to stop him as this was a very bad idea, but I also found myself feeling envy. I wish I could be that person. Willing to jump so effortlessly.

For the days following, as I retold this story a few times, I realized something. Idris has been, since pretty much birth, fearless. Absolutely unafraid. He climbs. Launches his body off everything. Life is a physical challenge to him. And what I’m noticing about myself is that I want whatever it is that allows him to be this way. I wish I could be more like my son. That I could trust like he does.

Now, I am fully aware of the fact that he is approaching six and his brain isn’t fully developed. But I also know that I was not this free as a child. I missed out on the joy of risk, and I do wish I could feel that freedom instead of being held back by fear.

I know why I have this fear. It’s no secret. What I want to focus on now is overcoming it. I want to spend no more time thinking about my why and start spending my energy on my how and my what. What will I do about it and how will I accomplish my goal.

I’ve come so far out of my comfort zone as a parent. I really do allow my kids to jump and fall and skin their knees because I know it is best for them and their development.

So why can’t I do it for me?

Here’s where flipping the script comes in.

First, I will start with my new goal.

I want to jump. Literally. For the last few years, I’ve been putting myself out there in ways that I haven’t always been comfortable with. I’ve posted my blog which is super personal. I’ve been querying my book and went to a writer’s conference recently where I pitched agents in person. So many ways I’ve been getting out of my comfort zone. 

Now it’s time to be physical. I want to learn to jump.

I know. I know. Sounds crazy to say. But I am literally afraid to jump onto a box. I can leap successfully. One foot on at a time. But I cannot jump with both feet simultaneously.

I’ve tried. I psych myself out every time, bringing my progress to a screeching halt. It feels irrational but also so real. It’s rooted in a deep fear. I’m not entirely sure what the fear is of. Pain, I guess? Failure? Embarrassment? Shame? 

It feels like I risk not being physically able to do it, so I stop myself short. It’s the self-sabotage idea coming back.

What I am discovering now is that I need to simply trust my process. To in a sense close my eyes and launch my body into the world. 

And ultimately what I’m doing by flipping the script is getting out of my own head. That’s my biggest problem. I overthink everything. That’s where the second-guessing and worrying and contemplating every decision over and over comes from. I’m stuck in the mud of my own mind, and it provides this endless loop of wondering and worrying. So, in order to get out of my head I will get into my body. I will make a physical jump to change. I will launch my own body up. Both feet off the floor at the same time. Taking a chance that could end in pain or embarrassment. Because it’s the chance I’m taking that means the most in my world. I can’t keep myself in a little bubble and protect my fragile psyche forever. I need to take that leap. And if I’m being totally honest, Mom, I can feel my exhaustion dissipating by simply planning my jump. Just thinking about the accomplishment, I will have. The determination. The ambition. My belief that I can do it is so freeing. So refreshing. And it’s a giant step closer to my being truly alive.

One more thing. Will you accompany me? I know you can’t hold my hand. That wouldn’t be helpful even if you could. I need to go on this journey for myself by myself. But I feel I’m owed a little nudge from you. A small push. I deserve your support. After all the years of you worrying about my safety. Let me go. Let me jump. 

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel

P.S. I know that jumping onto a box sounds so simple. I know it’ll be enough of a challenge for now. However, I can feel summer approaching and I already have my eyes set on my next goal. I want to learn to dive. Headfirst into a pool. First, I will jump. Then I will dive.