Picking a Battle

I've been thinking a lot lately about anticipatory grief and how applicable it is to our current situation.  The concept of the general discomfort of the unknown, the loss of that security of the future; it's a particular kind of grief that is hard to label as grief and results in its own brand of anxiety.  

I can't do too much about our global situation right now except stay put.  And it can be surprisingly exhausting, once we factor in the emotional labor of that situation.  So I've picked another place to focus that "wanting to fix" energy.  

I'm still trying to learn how to ride a bike.  I know, I started this journey a while ago now, but with how hectic my job is in the summer time coupled with buying a new house last year, I hadn't made much progress.  

Honestly, I'm still pushing off about as wobbly as this fellow

It seems silly, to not have the emotional energy to figure this out.  Somewhere along the way, it registered that the fear response I had to trying to sort out my balance wasn't the normal amount of fear and anxiety.  My body wasn't anxious--it was certain it was dying.  I was entirely back in my trauma space.  It was time to take a step back, to name the cliff and ask my body intently and openly what was happening, assessing first what I was experiencing and then, if possible, to sort out where it was coming from.  I've said before and I'll say it again:  the body has a way of experiencing emotions before they register to your mind, particularly the big ones that we might be used to tamping down.  

Once I put together what was happening, it was a process, then, to figure out what might be the best way to continue.  Logically, there are a lot of very real risks to riding a bike--I could have a rather horrific crash even if I do everything correctly, since I cannot account for road conditions and other persons I might be sharing the road with, coupled with random equipment failure.  The risk is real.  My reaction was still a bit too much even factoring those pieces in.  Perceived danger to my body puts me back emotionally and mentally in places where I was very much in danger of dying; it still takes time to allow myself to either discharge that energy or ease myself down.  

So, I've been working toward exposure therapy of my own pacing, setting realistic goals and what kinds of securities might help mitigate even a tiny portion of the overall fear.  In other words, I'm taking small, controlled doses of the fear of getting hurt while riding a bike by practicing riding a bike.  The goals have included going twice around the block, going to a particular marker on the constitution trail, trying a short patch on the bike lane along Jersey Rd., and venturing toward the trail when there were more people on it.  The security tools have been having Andy come with me, wearing a backpack (empty but still "protecting" my back), and eventually going around the block by myself, keeping a tighter radius to home on that first push out.  

I also give myself the freedom to turn back home whenever I need to and hopefully to have already turned back that direction before reaching that point.  I intentionally keep the time short, managing chewable doses--there is a level of discomfort that is okay and a level of discomfort that is unsafe.  This takes a lot of back-and-forth with my body, checking in and taking more frequent breaks in order to do so.  I have officially graduated, now, to occasionally being able to check in with myself while still on the bike, meaning that the fight-or-flight is down enough to at least allow some degree of rational thought compared to the previous silent roar in my ears.  

All told, I went for at least a small ride four out of five workdays last week.  And when I pushed too hard, my fears were realized:  I had a pretty epic wipeout the other day.  The Constitution Trail was pretty busy--it was a beautiful day to shelter in place--and I was coming up to a narrower part of the path, where there was a wall on both sides for a moment and a couple taking up the bulk of it coming toward me.  I need more space right now:  I'm not great holding a clean, straight line yet.  I panicked trying to slow down and hit the grass right before the wall pretty hard.  The couple immediately checked in on me, offered to help me up which I refused for two reasons:  1) umm, social distancing, folks, and 2) I needed to stay there on the ground for a moment and run a systems check.  

We're inclined in our culture to get back up immediately, walk it off as a way of regaining the lost pride unless you're immediately and seriously injured.  Folks who get in a car accident will sometimes "walk it off" and end up in the ER later that week.  Some of my worst fears had been realized and publicly--I needed a moment to be still and check in with my body to assess the damage as well as just to be with myself and what I was feeling.  Andy fixed the chain on my bike that had come off while I stood up at my own pace--I did manage to bike the rest of the short distance home before heading to the bathroom to allow myself to discharge the emotion by a few minutes of needed tears.  Then, I went to the couch to have some ice cream, tend to my forming bruises, and sulk for the rest of the night.  

They're already fading to yellow; I can't remember the last time

I really skinned my knee.

I did go out the next day.  On the one hand, I was definitely sore; on the other, the worst had already happened, which is oddly freeing.  This week, I'm focusing on remembering that I have TWO brakes and trying to better stop myself, to save the ungraceful dismounts at least--reasonable goals, one piece at a time.

I'm finding that this is a place where I can control what fear I feel about a situation by working toward building security and skill in this place, at twenty minutes a day.  And it has most certainly helped to be able to focus on something I can tangibly improve, to be able to mitigate some of the analogous feelings of dread and uncertainty.  On the whole, I've been feeling much better about life and all else.