They say we're only born with 2 fears - the fear of falling and the fear of loud noises. The rest become socially implicated in our minds. In other words, the more we know...the more we fear. I'm a Feminist Studies major, so social constructionalism is a passion of mine, and I do agree that fear is something that comes up as we live on. Think about the naivety you see young children play with. They're durable, unbreakable, and happy. They are not worried of heart break, high car payments, or weight gain. Life is just life.
In general, I am a jumpy person. I jump at loud noises, during movies, and flinch when people go to tickle me. I'm scared of most sea creatures, and I'm a 20-something female who's experience heart break on multiple levels - of course vulnerability is scary. But I'm also an adrenaline junky. I love jumping out of planes, roller coasters, and athletic contests. My palms sweat before every high stakes risk, and I love the feeling of success and accomplishment. I can remember details of my glory plays, and similarly, I can relive the gut-wrenching missed free throws that lost us the game (I was 9 years old). So what am I really scared of? Shit. I'm still figuring it out, too.
I've been talking the talk about my ACL recovery, but am I (literally) walking the walk? Am I truly doing everything I need to be doing? Am I staying healthy? Mentally and physically? I'll tell you what - the novelty has worn off, and it's not easy. My determination has withered just a bit. My gym visits have been less frequent over the past 2 weeks, and my answers have become slightly more agitated when responding to interested parties. I think my least favorite questions center around time. "How much longer do you have?" "How long do you have to wear that brace?" "How long until you're better?"
I wish I had cue cards to just drop behind me in a trail as people asked me these questions. That way I could avoid eye contact AND verbal contact. Bitter much? The answer is this - I don't freaking know. I give BS answers sometimes. I'm trying to go back to my workout class in 2 weeks. Will I? TBD. I want to run by December. Is it possible? Yes. Will it happen? You better stay tuned, eh?
I guess I'm fearful that I won't reach that euphoria that I remember being at. Was life really perfect pre-3rd knee surgery? In my mind, yes. Butterflies danced around my head, and clothes fit me better. Food tasted excellent, and everyone was in love with my charismatic drive. Now the stench of my lack of ACL has penetrated through this protective shield and allowed dysphoric challenges lament my being. I'm frustrated. I really am. I want to get up and go for a run. I want to sit and then stand without wincing. I want to have full control over my recovery. But I don't. The counselor in me wants to console myself and say "You can only control your attitude." Similarly, I want to punch counselor me in the jaw and move on in silence.
But here's the reality. Life wasn't euphoric. It was pretty typical life. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The fret I'm feeling - the anxious anticipation of resuming parts of life that I know I enjoy - it sucks. But all things considered, I'm steps closer every day. I'm terrified of shit hitting the fan. But I know if I go into thinking that's what's going to happen, I'm not really giving myself a fighting chance. Look at my knee! It looks awesome! And I'm not even 6 weeks post-op. I'm cleared to booey-swim, bike, and jump on the elliptical and stair master. My PT is working wonders, and I have enough black leggings to make my brace often appear invisible.
Falling and loud noises definitely get to me. Snakes scare the living daylight out of me. But incompetence? Lack of worth? WTF?! I can't let those be legitimate fears of mine - I control all of that! You better believe I'm posting this blog and jumping on the spin bike - if only to cringe through non-resisted, slow pedal strokes.
I flew out to Manhattan, KS this past week to watch my beloved Wildcats Football Team take on Auburn. Who was favored? Auburn, of course. By a substantial amount. Well K State outplayed them through and through, and in the end, we lost by 6 points. What happened in the game? Our kicker missed not 1, not 2, but 3 field goals. That's 9 points. Should we have won? Any sports fan would answer yes. So what did the kicker do in response to this? He took interviews. In it he said something like this, "I'm glad that if anyone is going to be responsible for blowing it like that in a game, it's me. I'm willing and able to own up to my mistakes, and I'm ready to come back next game."
Talk about a class act. It wasn't a "bad snap," a "bad hold," or the end of the world. The man copped up, but what he really said was that one set back isn't going to flip his world upside down. Did we lose by 6? Yes - but did the other team score? Yes. The what ifs could always be answered. What if I didn't have a torn ACL right now? What would be different? It's too unimportant to even answer - comon - you knew better.
So, in honor of everyone who fails, gets fed up frustrated, and who fears the implications that come with bumps in the road, I challenge myself to overcome it. Falling and loud noises seem like such a trivial and generalized fear, don't they? Like...from how high up? How loud? If we really break fear down, how much of it is out of our hands?
Food for thought.
In general, I am a jumpy person. I jump at loud noises, during movies, and flinch when people go to tickle me. I'm scared of most sea creatures, and I'm a 20-something female who's experience heart break on multiple levels - of course vulnerability is scary. But I'm also an adrenaline junky. I love jumping out of planes, roller coasters, and athletic contests. My palms sweat before every high stakes risk, and I love the feeling of success and accomplishment. I can remember details of my glory plays, and similarly, I can relive the gut-wrenching missed free throws that lost us the game (I was 9 years old). So what am I really scared of? Shit. I'm still figuring it out, too.
I've been talking the talk about my ACL recovery, but am I (literally) walking the walk? Am I truly doing everything I need to be doing? Am I staying healthy? Mentally and physically? I'll tell you what - the novelty has worn off, and it's not easy. My determination has withered just a bit. My gym visits have been less frequent over the past 2 weeks, and my answers have become slightly more agitated when responding to interested parties. I think my least favorite questions center around time. "How much longer do you have?" "How long do you have to wear that brace?" "How long until you're better?"
I wish I had cue cards to just drop behind me in a trail as people asked me these questions. That way I could avoid eye contact AND verbal contact. Bitter much? The answer is this - I don't freaking know. I give BS answers sometimes. I'm trying to go back to my workout class in 2 weeks. Will I? TBD. I want to run by December. Is it possible? Yes. Will it happen? You better stay tuned, eh?
I guess I'm fearful that I won't reach that euphoria that I remember being at. Was life really perfect pre-3rd knee surgery? In my mind, yes. Butterflies danced around my head, and clothes fit me better. Food tasted excellent, and everyone was in love with my charismatic drive. Now the stench of my lack of ACL has penetrated through this protective shield and allowed dysphoric challenges lament my being. I'm frustrated. I really am. I want to get up and go for a run. I want to sit and then stand without wincing. I want to have full control over my recovery. But I don't. The counselor in me wants to console myself and say "You can only control your attitude." Similarly, I want to punch counselor me in the jaw and move on in silence.
But here's the reality. Life wasn't euphoric. It was pretty typical life. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The fret I'm feeling - the anxious anticipation of resuming parts of life that I know I enjoy - it sucks. But all things considered, I'm steps closer every day. I'm terrified of shit hitting the fan. But I know if I go into thinking that's what's going to happen, I'm not really giving myself a fighting chance. Look at my knee! It looks awesome! And I'm not even 6 weeks post-op. I'm cleared to booey-swim, bike, and jump on the elliptical and stair master. My PT is working wonders, and I have enough black leggings to make my brace often appear invisible.
Falling and loud noises definitely get to me. Snakes scare the living daylight out of me. But incompetence? Lack of worth? WTF?! I can't let those be legitimate fears of mine - I control all of that! You better believe I'm posting this blog and jumping on the spin bike - if only to cringe through non-resisted, slow pedal strokes.
I flew out to Manhattan, KS this past week to watch my beloved Wildcats Football Team take on Auburn. Who was favored? Auburn, of course. By a substantial amount. Well K State outplayed them through and through, and in the end, we lost by 6 points. What happened in the game? Our kicker missed not 1, not 2, but 3 field goals. That's 9 points. Should we have won? Any sports fan would answer yes. So what did the kicker do in response to this? He took interviews. In it he said something like this, "I'm glad that if anyone is going to be responsible for blowing it like that in a game, it's me. I'm willing and able to own up to my mistakes, and I'm ready to come back next game."
Talk about a class act. It wasn't a "bad snap," a "bad hold," or the end of the world. The man copped up, but what he really said was that one set back isn't going to flip his world upside down. Did we lose by 6? Yes - but did the other team score? Yes. The what ifs could always be answered. What if I didn't have a torn ACL right now? What would be different? It's too unimportant to even answer - comon - you knew better.
So, in honor of everyone who fails, gets fed up frustrated, and who fears the implications that come with bumps in the road, I challenge myself to overcome it. Falling and loud noises seem like such a trivial and generalized fear, don't they? Like...from how high up? How loud? If we really break fear down, how much of it is out of our hands?
Food for thought.