Courage and Fear

When my brother was in the military, just after 9/11, he stood on the coast of Djibouti with his commander. The commander pointed toward Yemen and discussed a larger mission. Essentially, my brother would be dropped off in the Middle East to work with locals to form their own army to fight back against al-Queda. He took all of his patches off, dressed the part, became the General, and established a local military. I heard this story from the actual four-star general who led that particular unit. That four-star general told the story at my brother’s funeral as an illustration of how courageous my brother was. Yes, that was unclassified.

I didn’t know my brother as a coward. In fact, his courage was what I most wanted to emulate. If he told me to do something difficult, I wanted to both impress him and prove to myself that I could do anything. I was going to be courageous like him. Now I know that despite never really showing fear, my brother no doubt felt it often and had to function despite the doubt.

One of the most frustrating things in life is the relationship I (we?) have with fear and courage. I can be courageous in one aspect of my life while being fearful and paralyzed by something completely different. For example, I have no problem hiking or camping alone in the woods, often with no cell service, but ask me to observe my thoughts and sensations and all bets are off.

Hiking with 25-Year-Old Becks

A few weeks ago, my therapist suggested an exercise to me and asked if I’d be willing to try it. The exercise requires/required courage, curiosity, and compassion, among other things. She asked me if I would go for a hike with my 25-year-old self. I agreed. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, which may be part of the reason it was and is a big deal.

That very same day, I took my 25-year-old for an easy 6-mile hike. I didn’t ask her to come along. I didn’t get permission from her. I didn’t check in with myself to make sure I was in Self. Instead of compassion, there was judgment. Instead of communication, there was arguing. Instead of Self, there was criticism.

“You made decisions that have ruined my life.” (To 25-year-old)

“I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified, confused, and just trying to get through.” (25-year-old)

“Yeah, well, you chose the worst possible way to do it. Great job.” (To 25-year-old)

“Oh, and you are so much better?! You are still stuck in the same patterns. I can’t trust you to listen, change, or help.” (25-year-old)

“And I’m this way because of you. You MADE me this way.” (To 25-year-old)

And so it went until I finally said, “Okay, I’m listening.” Except I wasn’t really able to listen. She tried to tell me how much she was hurting, and I couldn’t (wouldn’t) handle the hurt. I didn’t want to feel what she was feeling. So, I would listen until it hurt, and then I would distract myself. No one likes to hang out with someone who says they are listening but isn’t present. That was the end of that attempt.

My next time out on a hike, I didn’t hop on the trail until I had permission to bring the 25-year-old along and could commit to listening. There was no shouting match this time. It was me, the 25-year-old, and a moderately difficult 6 mile out and back; moderate because I chose to run about half of it. I heard some incredibly difficult things that, had I not been in a state of Self, I would have likely gone into a full-blown attack mode. Instead, each time I heard something difficult, I forced myself to look at it from an outside, compassionate stance. I was able to say, “That makes sense,” many times over. More importantly, I didn’t run from the emotions that came with it.

I tried to go out a third time. I didn’t ask for permission, I was not in Self, and I didn’t have the emotional capacity to sit with my 25-year-old self. I tried to force it all, and what I ended up with was suppression, restlessness, and a difficult and frustrating few hours.

Next Steps

When road running uphill, my ultimate goal is to get to the top without stopping or slowing. When running on a trail, my goal is to safely take the next step to avoid injury, even if that means slowing down and walking. My recovery/healing isn’t so much about getting to the top of a paved, familiar hill. It’s about focusing on where I can put my foot next in this unknown, uncharted territory.  

There is a dip in one of the roads I drive frequently. When you hit it, it causes you to jolt a little in your seat. Every time I hit that spot, I relive a benign memory. I was headed to church with two other people. One of the passengers was putting on mascara, and the driver called out “bump” so she didn’t stab herself in the eye. It is a vivid memory and one not at all traumatic, but it causes me to shiver and immediately distract from the thoughts and sensations.

I am so fearful of what the 25-year-old has to say that I can’t even be with her during memories like the one above. My goal for the next few weeks will be to allow those memories to unfold. I won’t shut them down. I won’t refuse to feel whatever might come up. I won’t run when the 25-year-old transitions from a memory like that to one that may be more trauma-related.

When?

My therapist asked me a simple question the other day. “If not now, when?” I have thought about that a lot. Seriously, why not now? I don’t have anything to lose. I want better. I want to heal. I don’t know why that process scares me so much. I don’t know why the potential gain isn’t enough for me to choose to move forward. I hate that. Yet, I also know I am a courageous person who is finding my voice. I am fighting for me. I ran across a quote by J. Mike Fields that said this: “Bravery is the willingness to look inside your Self and say, ‘I’m ready to feel this now.’ No more running, hiding, or distracting. It’s time.” A good place to start, among other ideas I have, is with memories like the one I shared above. And a good time to start is now.