Stepping Out of Fear
Last September a family friend of ours invited me to join her at the Holiday Half, a run in east Portland in December. I’m not a runner but my exercise routine had been waning and some of the weight that I had managed to take off over the past year was starting to re-emerge, so…why not? She asked, 5K, 10K, 10 mile, etc? I said 10K.
Much more bragging rights that way, I thought to myself while, deep down, also thinking…would I actually do this? If so, why???
I’ve never been a runner, and had never run more than a mile in my life and that had been three decades ago, in high school, as far as my 45 year-old memory could figure.
But still…The bragging rights!!
As I started preparing for the training (buying shoes, downloading a training app) the realization fo what it actually looks like to run 6.2 miles (to my office and back) stirred up a number of feelings and I began to doubt that I could acutally do this.
On September 20th, I stepped outside and ran and walked in intervals for a total of 15 minutes and made it 1.84 miles. It was hard and I felt self-conscious running but I did it.
After Teresa passed away there was an overwhelming amount of things to do and an even more overwhelming amount of feelings felt. There was a constant feeling of unease and dread; a searching and longing; periods of crying until it hurt and times of wondering what was wrong with me if I hadn’t yet cried that day.
It was unreal and all too real.
I kept it together as best I could because I needed, wanted, to be there for the kids and to keep life as normal as possible for them, and for me.
They went back to school, I stayed home and worked; going to the office made my skin crawl and all I could think about was getting out of there as fast as possible, not because my coworkers and boss were unsupportive, they were incredibly so, but that’s where I sat when I heard the message from my son about them finding Teresa not breathing that morning.
I didn’t sit still much those first few months not because I wanted to keep busy and not think about Teresa but because I was terrified that I was going to mess everything up. I feared that the house was going to turn into a dump and the yard a jungle. I vacuumed a lot, I did the dishes often and cleaned the bathrooms. I kept meal times the same as they had been and didn’t change anything in the house for quite some time. Teresa had worked so hard to keep our house clean, to keep a good schedule for the kids and I didn’t want to mess it up.
I didn’t want to fail.
So much of my life I have feared failure.
My fear of failure stems from many sources, some known - some yet to be discovered I’m sure, but regardless of the reason why, this fear kept life at arm’s length from me.
If I didn’t try I couldn’t fail.
If I did try I did so in such a narrow way so that I already had a good idea what the result was going to be, positive or negative, and that reinforced choosing the narrow path as being safe and predictable.
I chose not to speak, and usually regretted it.
I chose not to pursue various interests, brewing, writing, etc, as I didn’t want to know what it would feel like if I wasn’t good enough to do those things.
I chose to do things so as not to fail, rather than because it was what I wanted.
What if I had tried? What if I had spoken up?
What if I had tried and failed, over and over and over again?
What if?
On October 22nd, I ran (20 min) and walked (15 min) for a total of 35 minutes and went 2.76 miles. A month into the training and the overall soreness was starting to go away as my body got more used to this new way of working, though after most runs my knees would subtlety remind me that I was about to turn 46 and, maybe, I should have done something like this 15 years ago instead.
Still, I hadn’t quit. In fact, despite the nagging from my knees, I felt really good physically and found that I was actually looking forward to the next run.
How far can I go? I wondered with curiosity and a bit of excitement.
The fear of failing took on a different look and had a different texture after I met Teresa.
Teresa’s presence, her encouragement, her believing in me and what I could do gave me a sense of safety in the world and allowed me to learn to explore life in ways I hadn’t been able to before meeting her. Teresa’s presence brought me so much peace and made me feel so loved, but the fear of failing remained.
There was such a sense of wonderment and disbelief that Teresa not only liked me, but also wanted to spend the rest of her life with me and I tried to enjoy it and soak it in as best I could. Still, I often feared that I couldn’t be the husband that I wanted to be for her.
When we decided to start a family and our first son was born, I was in such awe of him and surprised myself at how much I enjoyed being a dad. As life got busier I started to have my doubts that I could be the kind of father that I wanted to be for him.
The idea of having a second child was difficult for me. I was struggling with the feeling of not being enough for Teresa, for our son, for work and for others. When our second son was born it was both beautiful and terrifying. I broke a bit, emotionally. The idea of not being enough was overwhelming.
How could I find enough time to spend with both kids so that I could be the dad I wanted to be for them?
How could I find enough time to spend with Teresa to be the husband that I wanted to be for her?
How could I find the time between work, being a dad and husband, to have time to learn how to become who I wanted to be?
I couldn’t. Not because there wasn’t enough time, but because I had created this idyllic version of myself that I wanted to be for everyone (and myself) a version that was unattainable and, more importantly, unnecessary. I had set myself up for failure no matter what I did.
If I didn’t live up to this impossible version of myself I had failed.
If I stopped trying to become this “perfect” person I failed.
If I expressed my need and worries to someone, I was admitting that I couldn’t, wasn’t, this perfect version of me and I failed.
I look back at this point in my life a lot as many of my regrets in life are kept there. The missed moments spent enjoying the company of my family. The missed intimacy of sharing my self (and all of my flaws) with Teresa instead of hiding behind a shroud of false-self. I had all the time that I needed to just be me with each of them but I didn’t.
On November 10th I came home from the office a little early so that I could get my training day in. I hadn’t eaten yet and had had a couple of cups of coffee. As I started the run I knew immediately that I couldn’t, I shouldn’t do it. I was dizzy and felt a bit lightheaded but continued on. I didn’t want to quit.
After a mile, I stopped.
I didn’t quit.
I listened to my body. I listened to my needs and did what was best for me.
When Teresa passed away one of my biggest fears became reality. I lost my friend, my wife my one love that day and there was nothing I could do to change it.
At one of my first counseling appointments we talked a lot about my fear of not being able to be everything that I needed to be: a parent, an employee…me. My counselor shared the imagery of a tree with me and talked about how she saw me as the trunk of the tree and the branches being all the various roles and responsibilities that I needed to hold. She talked about the importance of the trunk being strong enough to hold these things and how, by taking care and proving the tree with what it needs (water, sun, etc) the trunk will get stronger and better able to hold up what it needs to hold up.
A few months later when I felt like I wasn’t being a good enough parent for my kids there was a time of fear and a feeling of failure again but I also tried to listen to what I needed. I felt like I wasn’t being present enough for them and was being to reactive instead of listening to what they needed/wanted. I needed to strengthen myself in this area. I started doing a weekly meditation class and an occasional yoga class to learn to be more present and to slow down.
When I could see myself trailing off at work and panicking that I wasn’t doing my job well enough I learned to shift some of my resources (time and energy) to building that part of my life back up, a momentary sacrifice for a significant relief of guilt and worry.
Over the last two and a half years I’ve had to face a lot of fears. Some small. Some big. All scary in their own way.
The fear of failing is still with me but, perhaps, quieter now. It whispers in my ear when I try something new. It whispers in my ear when I use my voice. Sometimes it regains its loudness when I make a mistake, have failed or have put off responsibilities for too long but I try to listen to it more then and ask: why? Why are you yelling? What do you need me to know?
In the end, I think this fear is trying to protect me from getting hurt, and it did a good job of that for a long time but, I think, the hurt, the failing, is sometimes how we grow, how we learn. So I’m grateful for this part of me and the protection it tries to provide but living from a place of fear is not something I want anymore. I want to feel, I want to experience and I want to speak.
On November 20th I ran (60 min) and walked (10 min) for a total of 70 min and went 6.77 miles. With three weeks before the actual run I had just completed a 10K and change. I was elated and had to show some serious restraint to not brag to everyone that I knew what I had just accomplished. In two months I had gone from not having run a mile in decades to running six.
I was proud of myself and started wondering if I could do 10 miles or maybe even a half-marathon. While my knees screamed their protest to the idea of running farther my spirit wanted to know.
I didn’t fear failing, I feared not knowing.
In the end my training for the 10K came to an abrupt halt at the end of November as I threw my back out bringing a box of Christmas ornaments up our stairs from the garage. While I was disappointed that I couldn’t keep training our friend and I still went to the race and managed to run about half of it. It was a great time and I’m grateful that she invited me to do this with her.
While I haven’t run since that day I continue to have the urge to do so. Whether I end up running again or not doesn’t particularly matter; it’ll always be an experience I can reflect back on and say, I did that.
I had approached something that was difficult and a bit intimidating from a place of curiosity and wonder, not from a place of fear and, really, that was what mattered (the bragging rights were pretty sweet too though).
As I continue to move forward in life, at whatever pace feels good at the time, I hope that I can remember to approach life with a feeling of awe and wonder rather than from trepidation and impending failure.