Live Life - The Fear Project Part 2

I Survived, Just Barely

First of all, I have to pat myself on the back.  I don't know about you, but as a perfectionist it is very challenging for me to acknowledge my successes without first pointing out all the mistakes I made along the way.  So, as hard as is it and as resistant as my arm is to help me out, this is me, patting myself on the back.

I have ticked a couple of fears off my list and they were a lot scarier than I ever expected.  On January 28th, after 6 years of facilitating groups at Sheena's Place and for other events, I held my very first solo/public workshop and 20 people showed up!  The workshop was great!  We laughed, we cried, we had confessions about clutter and I went home a happy camper.  I loved everyone who showed up and it felt good to stand up there, sharing the knowledge that I've been gathering over the years.

It was the days and weeks leading up to the workshop that were the challenge.  The words blood, sweat and tears keep on bubbling up to the surface and if I think back, all three played a part in my life this January.  Tears and sweat are familiar friends.  I am someone who cries and sweats easily and often, especially when I'm afraid of something.  I lie in bed, staring at the thin sliver of streetlamp that rests on my ceiling and whip myself into a frenzy that ends with me waking up my poor sweet partner so I can spill my latest fears and insecurities. 

It's the blood that surprised me.  On Monday January 25th, only days before the workshop, I found myself sitting in the waiting room at St. Joseph's Hospital, with a belly ache.  I'm very grateful that I'm not someone who has had to spend much time in hospitals.  In fact the last two times I visited an Emergency room were both for the fearful affliction of splinters, once when I was 8 and again when I was 20.  It's true, and the answer is yes, I grew up in a very old house.

So I sat for four hours in the place that no sick person should be.  I was cold and tired and of course, scared.  When I finally saw the doctor the answer was one I expected.  An ulcer.  I worried myself an ulcer.  I know that there were other factors at play, but I can't help but think that this was my body's reaction to stepping off the cliff into fearful territory.

By the time Thursday rolled around I was fine.  My belly and I had a little talk and it understands that a little fear is nothing to worry about.  It's hard to remember in the dark hours before facing my fears that fear is not the zombie following me up a stairway to nowhere.  Fear is the motivator, the elixer of life that propels me forward and through the hidden doorway behind which is the biggest funnest party I've ever seen.  And you know what, it's being thrown for me. 

And you know what else?  That party is waiting for you too, so walk up those stairs to nowhere, tip your hat to the zombie and walk on through.  The blood, sweat and tears are worth it.  I promise.