Think8 Women

A woman came up and quietly asked me one night after I had spoken if I had ever been afraid.

Of course. Many times.

She asked if it was possible to get past fear.

An important question.

There was nothing more terrifying as a child than being asked by my mother to go get the mop.  The mop lived in the basement.  And the basement was a sweaty-palm terrifying underworld.

Every nerve in my body screamed alarm as I banged out the back door onto the creaky summer porch. A hard yank opened the basement door then down six steps into soupy darkness.

As soon as I reached the uneven concrete floor, I’d shuffle forward, wildly flapping until I grasped the long string tied to the chain that flicked on the naked yellow bulb in the furnace room.

Light didn’t abate fear. Shadows billowed then hid in the dizzy swing of the light. Inevitably the furnace snarled on. My heart pounding so hard behind my eyes I was afraid they might pop out.

The mop was on the other side of the furnace. But I had no choice.  On the count of three, I would run, grab the mop and yanking off the bulb, run up the stairs as fast as I could, each step taking me towards the light.

We have all felt fear at one time or another in our life.

“But are you ever afraid now— you seem to so have it all together.” the woman persisted.

I pulled out my litany of ancient fears: afraid I was not good enough to finish scripts I had been hired to write. Afraid I would make a fool of myself directing movies that would probably end up making everyone cringe.  Afraid the real me was inadequate for (fill in the blank) and this time I would be found out. Fraud fears.

I talked to her about looking closely the very things of which she was afraid… of going down to her preverbal basement, throwing all the light she can bring into every corner. It will reassure her that she is being spooked by shadows.

“But what if there is something real to be afraid of?”  she looked at me hard.

“Like cancer, losing your job, someone you love dying far too young, a relationship in shards…?”

She nodded. Tears rimmed her eyes.

Yes…. I have been knocked to my knees by all of those. More than once.

But you still have to go down to the basement to get the mop. No one can do it for you. Only this time you know there is something real to fear.

Something that could break your heart. Break your life. Rip you to shreds.

So take someone with you who is strong, someone who has been to the basement before. Grip your friend’s hand tightly in the dark.  Throw all the light you can into every corner, exposing hideous monsters roaring at you.

Take a deep breath and roar back.

They will not go away. But you need the mop. You have no choice. You are here in this time and this place.

Hold your head high. Summon your courage, for it is far deeper and stronger than you know. Roar fiercely and walk straight through them. Their putrid screams will make your head want to explode. It won’t. Grab the mop, shake it in their face and walk back towards the light.

And the monsters?

Some of them will fade away, roars thinning to silence.

Others remain growling down in the dark— ever present and dangerous.  But here’s the good news– you don’t have to live in the basement.

Will there be days you cannot get out of bed?  Of course.  Let your friends make tea and pull you for a walk in dappled sunlight.

Will you make more trips to the basement? You might. But hold tightly to your friend’s hand. Each time you will be stronger.

And above all– choose to live in the light.

 

Nancy