"Quite an experience to live in fear isn't it. That is what it is to be a slave" (Bladerunner)
When we imagine someone living in fear we picture the timid
scared woman, curled in a corner of her home, trembling, worrying from one
moment to the next about her safety, her future. We imagine her heart
constantly beating, her breath heavy as she cowers scared of what he might do.
We heavily associate fear with panic and we don’t often associate it with
strong feisty women who argue back.
But it’s not like that, or at least it wasn’t for me. I
didn’t even think about being scared, I just got on with life. And life had
happy moments. It was just that those moments were punctuated by the worry
about my husband and his behaviour.
I was worried a lot about his health because he took drugs,
was grossly overweight, had loads of medical issues he wouldn’t get treatment
for and lived a terribly unhealthy lifestyle. His many suicide attempts made me
fear he’d kill himself. Becoming a widow was always something I feared. I spent so much time worrying about my husband’s
wellbeing I rarely thought of much else except how I could help him. As well as
this I ‘walked on eggshells.’ in fear of his reactions, and this affected my
thinking and my behaviour. Before I spoke, even to say “hi honey how was your
day?” I had to stop and weigh up how he would react to it. He’d also send me
texts and I’d be scared of missing them, because if I didn’t reply straight
away he’d go into a mood; over a year later I still find myself needlessly
checking my phone. I didn’t spend my days consciously scared for my own
wellbeing, thinking I was going to get hurt (even though I did get hurt.) I
just constantly worried about upsetting him because in my mind he was very
sensitive. This informed everything I thought, said and did- which in turn eventually
affected my relationships with others, my health and my ability to function
normally.
I also worried about the children. I knew he was overly harsh with them (I didn’t call it abuse) I knew they saw him treating me badly too, I knew they heard him swearing. I worried about how I’d teach them right from wrong with their father not modelling good behaviour and I worried about the emotional and psychological impact of his behaviour.
I also worried about the children. I knew he was overly harsh with them (I didn’t call it abuse) I knew they saw him treating me badly too, I knew they heard him swearing. I worried about how I’d teach them right from wrong with their father not modelling good behaviour and I worried about the emotional and psychological impact of his behaviour.
But I never identified any of this as ‘living in fear’ I
just considered that because my husband was mentally ill I had a stressful life
with lots to worry about. It was only when I left him and began to not have to
worry about these things that I realised what a massive impact fear had had on
my life.
I used to have a patch of brambles at the back of my garden,
I never really gave them much thought, in fact I barely noticed them after I’d
lived in the house a while. But my dad did. He made it his mission to cut them
down. It was only when he started to cut them back that I saw how huge they
were, how they were intertwined with so many other plants and bushes and were
beginning to trail their way down the sides of the garden. I am sure had he not
cut them back they’d have taken over the whole garden. But when he did cut them
back we found some beautiful yellow flowers growing underneath. With hard work
and a lot of scratches my dad was able to cut the brambles away and a few weeks
later those flowers had grown taller and brighter. Where once I had a patch of
unsightly and painful brambles I now had a bright array of the yellowest
flowers.
And that’s how I've found fear to be, it’s insidious. For me it’s not
some giant sharp toothed noisy beast waiting in the shadows under the bed, to all at once pounce on you. If
it were I’d see it, I’d spot it and I’d find ways to escape from it. No it’s
more like bindweed that slowly, in the shadows, creeps up from my ankles stealthily
wrapping itself around everything that is me, until it grips my soul and yet I still don’t necessarily notice it’s there; I just sit, strangled and choked
by it’s hold, unable to grow, unable to blossom, unable to be who I was designed to be until eventually any light I once had is completely smothered.
It is only when something changes, when I am no longer smothered by fear that I'm able to take a step back and see clearly it’s debilitating effects. It’s
only at that point I am once again able to grow and flower and fulfil my potential and purpose.
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Thanks for your comments and encouragement.