Tunnel vision

The only thing I have to fear is fear itself. Daniel said that to me this week when I was overwhelmed with emotion and anxiety about our upcoming trip to Italy. The thoughts were coming at me too quickly and my anxious mind was going to places that didn’t make sense. A small logistical twist in our plans meant that I had no dog sitter for Lewis, my 75-pound, sensitive and extremely attached puppy. I freaked out. Three weeks until we leave and I have to find a dog sitter –for spring break! They’re all booked. It’s too late. We have to cancel the trip. My body felt like I was on the brink of a panic attack. I somehow managed to make it through the night.

The next day I made some phone calls. Daniel made some phone calls. And in the end a good friend who also takes care of our cat, pulled through for us and agreed to stay at the house and sit for both animals. Whew. Sometimes having pets you adore and can’t live without but that also depend on you for their existence really gets in the way of living your life. So does anxiety and worry.

This week was tough. I was very emotional, cried a lot in public and in private, worried a lot, had no appetite and just had to sit with so much discomfort. I called on friends who came through in so many ways and that really fortifies me right now. When you don’t feel you can stay home alone and a friend is willing to come bring her laptop and sit and work at your table across from you drinking tea and just sharing the space, that’s true friendship. When a friend knows you’re not feeling great and can’t get away but checks on you frequently via text, that’s a true friend.

And Daniel. My angel. He lets me follow him around the house, asking him stupid questions, lets me lean on him too much, lets me cry in the mornings and holds me while doing all he can to make me feel safe. I do feel safe when he’s with me. It’s when he’s not that I don’t. And he has a job and responsibilities and needs to also live his life. So it is not an easy time. One of the hardest times in my life. But I know it won’t be like this forever.

“Our issues live in our tissues,” is what my yoga teacher and owner of the studio said to me the other day before class. I told her that I had a little breakdown after class the previous day and that everyone there hugged me and allowed me to fall apart and made me feel less alone. I said I was afraid that might happen again and she said, “It’s okay. This is your practice. You do what you need.” I appreciate this space so much and, as I tell people all the time, yoga is literally saving my life right now.

In therapy yesterday Deborah checked in with me about a session of E.M.D.R. we had done a few weeks back. She wanted to know my stress level when thinking about that event now. I told her it was very low and she said, “Good. The recovery is stable.” The positive belief I held about myself during that session–and still do– was “I am healthy and I know my limits.” She said it seems as though I have integrated this belief further into my life. I don’t go out when I don’t feel strong. I don’t drink AT ALL, I go to bed at the same time every night and I do what I need to do to keep my nervous system calm. Sometimes, like this week, that is still not enough.

We talked about this and she asked me what I do when I start to get anxious or worried and I told her I distract myself with a book or TV or I take a walk or try to eat something healthy. She encouraged me to use the phrase “refocus my attention” instead of “distract myself.” It feels like a good modification. Distraction can sometimes have a negative connotation and refocussing my attention feels more appropriate for the kinds of things I need to do.

Deborah also brought up something yesterday that was so meaningful for me, something I’ve thought about myself for a number of years now: the tunnel metaphor. A few years back I gave myself a birth chart reading with my good friend Kat who is a divine being, I’m sure of it. She is one of those people whose energy spoke to me immediately upon meeting her and I knew she was someone I wanted to be friends with. The girl has depth. And magic and so much insight. We did my reading over zoom on a day in November a few years ago and she said something that really stuck with me: “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure.” I detest caves. I avoid them at all costs. They do not interest me in the slightest. But I clearly am going through a dark cave of the mind right now and have been for some time and it’s not fun. It’s so incredibly hard. And I hate it. She was so right.

So when Deborah brought up the tunnel it clicked for me right away. We talked about it in the context of my worry about our upcoming trip. Will I be okay? Will I be able to handle the stress of airline travel, airports, possibly delays, masks (yes, I am still wearing one for travel) and just all of the unknowns of international travel? It is, I believe, what is causing me so much physical and emotional anxiety lately. “The tunnel is necessary,” she said. “The only way to Italy is on an airplane.”

This reminds me of a trip Daniel and I went on last fall to the Smoky Mountains. We went hiking one day on a trail not far from where we stayed in Bryson City, NC. Our route was a 3.2 mile loop and he chose the direction that would make the huge tunnel we had to walk through appear at the end. It was called “The road to nowhere tunnel” and it was 1,200 feet long. Not an inviting name, and not that long but way too long for me. Had I known about it before the hike I probably would’ve refused to go. He knew my fear of caves and tunnels, dark places in general, but he also knew I could handle it. It was a gorgeous October day, crisp with the leaves in full color and the three of us (Lewis was there too) walked at a brisk pace, enjoying every minute. When we got to the mouth of the tunnel I gasped. It was so dark. I turned my phone light on and focused on my breathing, almost running to get to the other side. When we got within sight of the sun every fiber in my body felt happy and relieved. I did it. I imagine this is how I am going to feel when I get off the plane in Rome Fiumicino Airport, buoyed by the accomplishment of making it through the long flight, stronger for it and ready to enjoy the vacation. At least I hope so.