Anxiety Following Authentic Actions

This week calls for steering clear of a poem as we explore the topic of anxiety following or accompanying authenticity. Being that this is a challenging topic for me to explore and explain, I’m naturally inclined to drape it in an assortment of euphemisms and give it some rhythm but I think tackling it bare is going to require more vulnerability, and right now, that’s exactly what I need.

I’ve noticed that anytime I write the poems that are hardest for me to write – meaning ones about trauma, traumatic experiences, the people that played a part in inflicting or contributing to the trauma, my own role in accepting the trauma at the time and not putting an end to it, the more damaging relationships I’ve found myself in – I am excited and proud as I’m writing them but it always, without fail, is followed by this overwhelming sense of dread, overwhelm and anxiety. My chest becomes tight, I find myself over-aware of my breathing, and I am sure of nothing but the fact that doom is soon to follow. I can never pinpoint the source of doom but it has regularly backed me into the corner of “unschedule that post”, and that’s a truth that I feel shame for.

It hurts me to acknowledge that I still let the feelings of other people trump my own feelings. I feel embarrassed to admit that true authenticity still often feels foreign to me and leaves me shaking, literally. But I know that nervous excitement and anxiety are two sides to the same coin and my body confirms this truth with the same trembling at the knees and rattling at my throat when presented with both. The difference presents in the way anxiety shows up when I’m exploring territory that has a history of being a minefield of fear and nervous excitement tends to be reserved for uncharted territory that hasn’t yet had the chance to become corrupt.

So when I’m writing those hard poems, when I’m exploring and explaining my truest self, my experiences of life, anxiety sneaks up to remind me of all of the times I didn’t feel safe to be myself. The shaking sets in as a reminder that I’m jostling loose the shackles that don’t belong belong and there is excitement as I write but anxiety during the waiting that follows as I anticipate the explosions of the minefield. If I spend enough time sitting in this fear, exploring this anxiety, I find it subsides as I discover that I’m exploring from a new perspective of safety.

All of the mines have been disabled and my weight can no longer trigger explosions. I’m safe. But the memory of fear still lingers and often I have to acknowledge it for what it is, a memory, before I can reclaim my power from it. In the event that I refuse to step forward, refuse to trust the ability of my own mine-dismantling, refuse to face the fear that a memory holds – my mind sets off an explosion to justify the fear that I’m letting reside there. This is what they mean when they say we create our own reality. Every time we are faced with a choice to be authentic or to be safe, justified, we are choosing the reality we’re going to live in.

I’m proud to say this time, I didn’t unschedule the hard poems. I didn’t put my feelings on the back burner or choose silence and hiding when I felt my voice needed to be heard. The feeling in my chest hasn’t completely subsided but it’s getting better and I’m learning to trust myself and prioritize others less.

Much love, until next time.