This Is Temporary
“This is temporary.”
I’m at my kitchen sink washing dishes. I hate washing dishes. But anxiety tends to light a fire under me that clues me into how my brain is working. Whether I’m frustrated, flustered, worried, tired will determine the state of my space. If things are everywhere, my space and I are a mess.
“This is temporary.”
I start to clean. As the dirt is washed away and the crumbs are swept, I begin to feel the pieces pull back into place. Never quite the perfect fit again and it took me nearly a lifetime of 20something angst and childhood rebuttals to understand that that’s okay.
“This is temporary.”
My room is back to normal. Dishes are washed. Bedding is changed. I’ve showered and brushed my teeth. And I haven’t said a word. Haven’t begun to run down the list of what anxiety has uprooted. Because then it would be real.
Depending on your view, “temporary” can run as long or short as needed. I’ve discovered my timeline is dependent on how real I allow myself to be with me. That’s something that’s oftentimes overlooked. The silver lining isn’t always welcomed. Sometimes we need to sit in our ashes to know how they feel — almost a reminder so we will try not to be pushed this low again.
“This is temporary.”
Yes. It is temporary. But that doesn’t mean the tightness in my chest, the silent, scared tears, the running out of words to describe an ache that comes to the surface only when provoked, the knowing of the answers but the inability to put it all together, the confused looks, the worried partners, aren’t real. That it needs immediate fixing. That a quick word, prayer or back pat will be enough. Not allowing myself to feel what’s happening will only cause its next go-round to be more destructive. Running from a very real thing like an anxiety attack, a depressive episode, a dark reminder of physical, sexual, emotional or mental abuse will not make it go away. It’s uncomfortable, inconvenient, annoying and necessary to be there. We just can’t dwell. We don’t exist in that place anymore; we just got tangled up on the drive home.
This IS temporary. This attack is temporary. How long I decide to stay here up to me. And the quicker I dive into my mess, get my wits about me, find my root and reemerge with better understanding, the less of a grip it will have on me every time.
