I'm Afraid

I’m     Afraid

 “Afraid? Who me? No way.”

Who in their right mind would confess to being afraid, being vulnerable? Maybe to a close very trusted friend. Never shine a light on your weakness. Someone is sure to take advantage. Unrealistic reaction? Not if you have suffered at the hands of self-centered individuals several times.

So if circumstances raise your fear adrenalin, what do you do? Some people fake it. Some choose anger or humor to camouflage your anxiety. Others choose to remove themselves from perceived threatening situations––runaway. For people who choose to believe that a strong offence is the best defense, then those people choose to control their environment and people around them.

Reason might suggest that bursts of anger may end up isolating you. Running doesn’t solve the problem. In time the threat will resurface. Attempt to control people and you could find friction erupting. Even an alternative, prepare to face the threat and resolve the problem, while it is solid advice it is easier said than done.

Fear is an emotion. It isn’t logical. That’s the first step in understanding the actions of Jill, in my novel, Baggage burdens. For Jill, facing her threat is a nonstarter. When she confronted her intoxicated father, the result was a beating, a beating several times. Exercising control over her father or her giving way to angry outbursts was ineffective. What else was she to do but runaway? That strategy too had painful consequences. While analyzing the options that she could use might have resulted in her choosing the least harmful, Jill was too busy trying to survive. What she needed to reverse her downward spiral was right beside her, but it was hidden in a fog of fear and anger. Only when her emotions cooled to a simmer would she find the answer to living a life of peace.

Confront Your Problem

The back door slams announcing the arrival of Jill’s father. 

‘No, no.’ Jill tries to stop the rerun of this childhood memory.

“He said he wouldn’t drink anymore!” Jill’s outburst erupts, as she fails to contain her haunting memory. Righteous anger forces the seventeen year old to her feet to face her father. “He’d better go downstairs and call his AA buddy.” Jill summons her courage; then advances, intent to demonstrate her conviction and redirect her father downstairs.

Alice scrambles after her angry daughter. “Jill, don’t.”

“Don’t what? That was the deal. He said if he ever comes home drunk again we could tell him he had to call his AA buddy. We could remind him of it. He agreed to that. Remember?” The volume of her voice rises.

Jill advances again toward the top of the stairs planning to meet her father before he reaches the top step. The smoke from the cigarette, which he tossed on the top of the stairs nips at her nostrils. ‘Step on it,’ flashes through her mind. Before she can act, her mother’s objection interrupts.

 “Yes, but . . .” 

Jill wheels around and faces her mother. “But what?”

Alice can’t find the words quickly enough to explain how Jill’s provocative voice could ignite an emotional explosion and possibly a violent confrontation. The frustrated growling from the porch announces an intoxicated struggle to get out of outside clothes.

“Let me talk to him. Pleeease go to your room.” Alice’s pleading voice weakens Jill’s resolve.

Grumbling continues to bounce off the porch walls.

Go to your room. Quickly.” Alice sees her desperate pleading reduce Jill’s resolve. “Remember last time,” she adds.

Alice’s reference ignites the fear Jill hoped to permanently suppress. Three months earlier, overflowing with confidence from her year of weight training and the school’s women’s defensive course, Jill confronted her drunken father in the kitchen. She dared to challenge his behavior. Result: a neck jarring slap in the face. With pent up fury Jill delivered a similar action.

Her father exploded.

Jill deflected his first swing. More swiftly followed. His first direct hit landed Jill on the floor. Her single opportunity to escape resulted in him grabbing her hair and yanking her back. Sitting on her, he slapped her left and right again and again until Alice struck his head with a cast iron frying pan. Police were called again. Warnings were issued. Promises were made. Three weeks passed before Jill’s bruises disappeared, and she could face her classmates.

haiku capsule:

violence breeds fear

emotional responses rule

life in disarray

                   

      Next blog: QUITTING