Fear

I don’t know why we put things off.

But if I had to guess, I’d say it has a lot to with fear.

Fear of failure.

Fear of pain.

Fear of rejection.

Sometimes the fear is just of making a decision.

Because what if you’re wrong.

What if you’re making a mistake you can’t undo?

Whatever it is we’re afraid of, one thing holds true…

that by the time the pain of not doing the thing,

gets worse than the fear of doing it,

it can feel like we’re carrying around a large tumor.

I feel like my entire life has been put on hold. It is like being held in a box where there is no escape. I am stuck waiting for time to pass while others outside of me make decisions about my financial future. And I dislike this very much. It is paralyzing my growth. Nowhere to move. But the world keeps moving. I can’t advance because I face being penalized. For five more years. And I feel like I have been imprisoned for 2 ½ years already. It feels incredibly unfair. Horrible truly.

Call it what you want. A monkey on my back.

I never thought in a million years I would be faced with this level of financial ruin. I have always been generous – sometimes to a fault – but not over the top excessive. I had been saving for my retirement, had a lovely house that wasn’t inflating years ago but was affordable (more affordable than what I have now), everything was paid for – no loans, no cost for health care and on top of that, I was making a generous living so I was able to travel and afford a decent lifestyle.

I attribute the weight I have gained since I moved here to deep rooted sadness.  It shows externally my depression and sadness at losing my perceived identity.  Isn’t that why people gain weight? Because on some level, they care little about themselves. 

I moved to a new place, a new country that I had trouble adjusting to. Having defined myself by what I could accomplish, I was unable to resume my career and could never really make a decent living despite my skills (which are amazing!).

So hence the depression that has held for years that I attribute solely to my inner voice and the tapes that go around in my head telling me things I thought I had long since let go of. And I have noticed those tapes resurfacing in the past few months, regurgitating the negative talk I heard endlessly as a child. I am now a grown up so it seems to me that that should stop. Shouldn’t it? The insecurities. The false accusations of my parents I believed by osmosis. I thought I had changed the chorus. Because the voice inside of me, the one who knows my authenticity, screams STOP IT!  You are worthy! Of everything that comes you way. In every way.

But that little Wendy needs constant validation. When do you finally believe your worth? Does anyone know? Can anyone help me with this?

To tell you the truth, my wrist is sore from snapping elastics against it.  Every time I miss the family I have that doesn’t love me or the relationships I believed were true and loving that weren’t or miss the false validation I received from them, I slap the elastic and repeat that that person or persons is (was) abusive. And I am drawn to fixing and repairing the abused. And they all find my inner vulnerabilities and exploit them and wonder why I am hurt.

It should have occurred to me to put all of that energy into myself. Shouldn’t it? I mean really. It’s about time… I mean, I am almost 50. And I want a better second half. Fulfilling. Loving. Appreciating the gifts God gave me and being with someone who loves me. Truly.

Because it’s the year of Wendy. And that’s what matters most.