I recall asking my then-supervisor, Richard, about slow times as a business owner, one who depends on client work for a paycheck. “There are seasons,” he told me. “Sometimes it’s busy, and sometimes there’s a lot of downtime.” Since he was a seasoned psychologist, I trusted him. And whenever those slow periods hit, the instinct to panic was replaced with a calm reminder: “There are seasons.”
I worked with a client earlier who was out of options. After cycling through all their ideas to fix the situation, they slumped over, and our gazes met in silence. Helplessness found them again, the tragic truth of their reality settling in. And in that moment, it felt like a pivotal choice: “Do you want to take the red pill or the blue pill?”
I constantly think there’s a bug in my ear. And it is terrifying. Last week, during a ladies’ time at Maria’s, what started as a simple buzz by my left ear turned into a nightmare. It buzzed again, catching my attention, and then once more—sending the fire alarm off in my head: “It’s in there. It’s in my ear!” Grateful for the handiest of handy solutions, within arm’s reach sat an alcohol-like potion for swimmer’s ear. It was part of her daughter’s camp care package. In seconds, I was lying with my opposite ear nestled against the couch, as if I were listening for its heartbeat. The angst was more about the potential for it to be true than the actual situation. Several drops of precautionary action calmed my “What if?” but in the end, it wasn’t a bug, and all returned to normal. Still, the paranoia lingers.
Did my remembering the bug experience somehow tie into my client’s experience with helplessness? I think so. There’s a certain kind of disdain, fear, and paralysis that comes over me when I find myself on solid footing—healthy body, healthy family, worries or concerns I can manage with the flick of a finger—it all feels too secure. But that security isn’t always permanent. And so, I’m feeling really secure right now. I’m developing friendships, finding trust in this small community, and I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. But then, that trap door… when will I fall through it?
A horrific image played in my mind when Dave and I split up into different cars. His behind the wheel, me not riding shotgun with him, triggering an image of an accident so brutal that he didn’t survive. I’ve told myself I’d be okay, but when I stared at that crystal ball, I saw all the future moments without him. The calm he brings me daily. His voice of reason. The tangible feeling I get from the slowing of my heart rate when he’s near. All of it, grounding me, is a reminder that life can feel so certain one moment and so fragile the next.
And I don’t know what to do with any of that. Or if I can. Tonight I value the ability to touch into helplessness, to feel its seismic activity, and refind my center. I can’t guarantee myself it will be ok, I’m not a kid after all. But I can say, I hear my fear, and that I’ve been through hard things. I can do hard things.
Love, jaclynn
Going On 40 