Speaking of fears…

I sat with my laptop composing a list of classes that I need yet to take… classes for my major and classes for my minors… one that is probably completed and one that is so close…

So I sat there, knowing I could avoid the public speaking course for another year.  Well, I could.  I mean it was completely “no shit” to take it during the summer instead over the course of an entire semester.  6 weeks give or take vs something like 18 weeks?… Why drag out misery.

But still, I could put if off once again.  Perhaps take Bioanthropology?  It sounds just as dreadful but I doubt I’ll have to get up and talk in front of anybody about anything.

But there was a nagging voice that I couldn’t ignore.  Asking myself why I wanted to practice more avoidance and why would I succumb to more fear after all I’ve been through when it comes to fucking fear… and avoidance.

I couldn’t help the images of my first attempt at Com 113 and my first speech (and only) coming to mind.  All I can remember is shaking so violently that I was sure I was going to fall down.  People had to notice.  Even my voice was quivering.  And all the saliva in my mouth vanished.  I couldn’t even swallow.  My tongue felt like it was sticking to the roof of my mouth.  And my heartbeat was also sticking in my dry throat.  And there was tunnel vision because I’m not sure if I was breathing too much or not at all.  And I felt sweat pouring off of me.  Is there any questions why I ran and didn’t come back?  It didn’t even occur to me at the time that dispite what was more or less a very public panic attack I had managed to give a speech during the whole thing that wasn’t an epic fail.  And I even completely recovered the moment I realized I had finished talking.

No, it didn’t matter.  I just couldn’t do it again.  It was too much.

It would have been so easy to recover from these beginning seeds of panic but instead I fed them and they grew into monsters.

And I managed to forget also that over the past few years I have done things that this panic should never have let me done.

Like reading my poetry aloud during class.  Oh sure, it helped that the class was like 6 other people… small groups don’t bug the shit out of me as much, but still… this wasn’t some technical information sharing shit…. these were my personal thoughts and emotions.  I even wrote and shared my daddy neglect issues for fuck’s sake.  Ultimate fucking emo there and yet… I did it… phased so little.  Perhpas because of the form I was able to share it in?  I dunno, but you know, I did it.  And that was the point.  And my voice and hands may have shook a little but a week later it was somebody else’s turn and she wrote about her daddy issues and looked me in the eyes and said to me and the rest of the class that it was because of me… I had inspired her with my words, she had loved it so much.  It was a lesson in the positive aspects of letting go and not giving a shit about judgement.

And then again…. French class… having to meet up with my 40 something conversation partner at the library.  I feared the awkward silence between us if just for a moment we got tired of repeating sentences in French.  instead we ended up in firts of laughter that causes some to give us dirty looks and move away while others snickered with us at our random French/English commentary.  And for the rest of the semester we always had inside jokes.

It’s so easy to remember the failuresj but I have also had so many wins.

I decided to grow a pair of awesome ovaries and deal with it.  I can do this.  I’ve come further than I’ve let myself have credit for.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: