From Fear to Freedom – Finding Strength in Vulnerability

It’s been kinda a rough week. I’ve been extra hard on myself lately. I keep questioning if I made the right decision by releasing my first book to the public. This I imagine is how it feels to be “coming out of the closet”. There are a few things that I just stew constantly about. 1. What will people think of me? 2. Why am I doing this to myself? And my family?

I’m scared. I’m scared of everyone knowing that I am the “crazy” person. I’m scared that my kids friend’s parents are going to be upset that they didn’t know they had sent their child to a “crazy” person’s house. I’m terrified that I will feel so terrible about myself with some of the negativity that will come, that it will break me to the ground. Which leads me to the question, why am I doing this to myself?

You know how I said previously that I always take on too much when I start to feel better, like taking foster kittens or volunteering for a board, etc. Is this my I took on too much because I felt better? And it is this that is going to landslide me back into the pit of the darkness because I am such an idiot?

I probably have to stop thinking all or nothing. Yes there will be some negativity, yes there will be some amazing positive things, yes I am proud of myself for trying to help others. Just as I exist with these diseases and can be successful, the same has to be said for almost anything, two things can co-exist at the same time. One does not take the other away. Yes there will be some hard days, yes there will be some amazing days, the thing is that I have to ride them both.

If you made the crazy decision at the fair that you wanted to ride the zipper, even though it will probably make you dizzy and sick, but you wanted to prove that you could do it, is it worth it? In the moments when you are tumbling in the caged cart in the air, when your stomach is repeatedly pushed on the black padded strap holding you down in your seat and you are screaming all kinds of profanities. You think you might actually throw up and the vomit will hit you back in the face and tumble around repeatedly pouring more and more vomit in your hair, clothes, and face, until the ride stops. In the end your worst case scenario doesn’t happen but you stumble off the ride, walk in a diagonal line behind the ticket booth, put your head between your legs, take some deep breaths, while your head spins and then you get up and walk back over to your family and friends and say “I did it, but I will never, ever, ever, do it again” and they say good for you for trying. You are proud of yourself for trying to prove that you could do it but you are also sick to your stomach, feel like you want to go home, and wonder why exactly you did it in the first place?

That is what I imagine it feels like to break this big secret loose. I’m going to be proud and sick at the same time. Going into the ride I am going to be nervous and scared. I will imagine the worst case scenario. The worst case scenario will not happen. I will survive the ride. In a few hours I’ll be able to eat a corn dog and some extremely expensive squeezed lemon juice, and ride the small rides with my little guy. And next year I will return to the fair…because both bad experiences and positive experiences happen almost simultaneously but the positive one outweighed the negative. The nostalgia of the fair, the dirt on your sandals and in your eyes, the carnies yelling at you to give their game a try, the smell of the elephant ears frying in hot oil, it is an experience of highs and lows. It’s super crazy expensive, you could have went to a star-studded concert but here you are spending the same amount of money at the local fair. It is tradition, the kids want to do it every year and for some reason because you always do, you feel like if you miss it one year, you will regret it as you drive by and hear the screams from the swings whirling around high above.

And that’s it, there it is, the reason I will keep going to the fair and take one last try on the zipper is because every year I am one year older and one year farther from riding the zipper. I do it now or I never do it again. At least that is what I tell myself. So maybe that’s it as well, not just the feeling of regret but the feeling that I have the balls to do this right now. Scratch that I have never thought of that saying as derogatory but it is. I don’t need balls to be strong, that is completely a misogynistic term. What I mean is, that I have the will do to this right now and I might chicken out if I wait too long.

The older I get the more experienced I become and realistically I probably would have a good 100 reasons why I should not release that book. Just like every year will take me farther and farther away from riding the zipper. I think that’s why it had to be now, it couldn’t wait. Every year there would be a different reason not to do it because life will keep on going and good and crappy things will keep on coming at us and they will all be reasons not to dishevel our lives. I have to do this before the feeling of doing it leaves.

I’m going to ride the zipper and I know in advance it will make me sick, but I want one more try before I get too old to never do it again for the rest of my life. I want to feel like I’m not that old, that I am young enough to do whatever in the hell I want too. In this case it is a rebellion of my age and not accepting it gracefully. In my book case it’s the rebellion of social norms and wanting my illness to have meant something to someone, before I die. I don’t want to take it gracefully to my grave. I want to fight it and the social norms. I want to be proud of myself, no matter how sick I get. I will rise again when I’m done vomiting, and I will feel better again, it doesn’t end when the zipper ride ends. It keeps going long after that, it makes my children want to go to the fair and their children and other people’s children and soon no one is afraid to ride the zipper because we have all been there and done that and we all can sit and laugh and cry together about the experience. Someone has to go first to show others that they can do it and can continue to have a good time at the fair. It’s me, I am “someone”.

Chat again soon,

Michelle