I was away in Maine last week.
I come alive there in a way that I don’t at home. Yes, there on the jagged coast where the wind always blows and the cormorants dive all day, I find an ease to my being.
Like the birds I watch so smittenly, birds who can both dive in the water and soar through the air, the world feels limitless. I find daydreams of bright futures and write bucket lists of adventures I have yet to take. I find hope in all the places and peace in the many spaces between them.
It’s no surprise, really. Maine holds no demons. It holds no memories of childhood bullies, manic breaks, psychotic episodes, or psych ward hospitalizations. It also doesn’t hold the weight of that darkness or the heartbreak of two decades spent running from life to hide in bed — or years passing as I felt entirely alone.
I often wonder what my life would be like if I had chosen to leave my hometown in search of my own place in the world instead of choosing to stay and grow through the fear of my past. I’ve spent years telling myself that living in my hometown was the brave choice — the fighter’s approach. And yet still, when I’m at home — try as I might to hide this fact — I still run back to the refuge of my bed. I still hide from the hardship that this place holds. A perpetual hermit crab, I only have enough courage to last as long as my tide pool remains untouched by the rising tide and the creatures of the vast ocean beyond it.
Last night, as we cruised north on I-89, a disconcerting malaise descended. Like the fog that socked us in on the coast just a week earlier, the weight smothered me. Both the girls and Dave noticed. And as we rolled up to our house, the rejuvenation of our week away — the lighthearted laughter about Tuggie being more cat than dog and Waffle being alive because she is the absolute sassiest fighter seemed to disappear entirely — boats lost to sea for good.
I could barely hold back tears as I walked into our house. The weight of it all took hold, and I, the predictable hermit crab that I am, retreated into my shell and put myself to bed. The arrival was reminiscent of every arrival back from every trip I’ve been on for the past thirty years. It held within it the reckoning of all that I’ve lived — the bullying as a kid for being unable to write and read — the antagonizing remarks of my teachers for being endlessly “too much” — the pain of being so clearly different — and the decade of psychiatric chaos marked in its passing only by 21 in-patient stays and diagnostic and medication changes in my hundred-page chart.
Yes, returning home looked exactly like it had for the past thirty years. It looked like the tsunami it was — the realization that what happened to me never goes away. The ocean and its many creatures never leave my tide pool alone. And even if I can hide within it for a week or two, or escape to a new one a couple hundred miles away, the ocean of pain never becomes less scary or hard unless I do the work to befriend it.
Dave woke me up two hours later with a gentle hand on my back and a loving invitation to join him for a walk with the girls. I wish I could say the nap changed everything. I wish I could say that in two hours I had reset and found the joy, vigor, and goofy glee I had embodied while away in Maine. But that simply wasn’t the case. Every fiber of my being didn’t want to be there. Every fiber of my being wanted to roll over, drink a bottle of NyQuil, and disappear entirely.
But ever still, as much as I wanted to retreat into my shell — into the one refuge I have in both mind and body — my bed, in isolation, I wanted a life beyond the bounds of my restrictive shell and tiny tide pool more.
Yes, truth be told, as tired as I am of fighting — I am more tired of hiding. I am more tired of retreating and disappearing back into the darkness of my shell.
And so, with three deep breaths and a Waffle paw to my chest, I rose, still exhausted, still terrified, and I did it anyway.
Yes, terrified, I did it anyway. I leaned into the discomfort as it swallowed me whole and held fast to the truth that one day, this work will set me free forever more.
Next week, I will begin this work in front of you in the form of FEARS Camp.
Face
Everything
And
Reclaim
Self
Camp
FEARS Camp is the relentless work of befriending fear and its discomfort in body, mind, and spirit.
FEARS Camp exists so that you can reclaim YOU and build a life you no longer want to hide from.
This is the work that built my beautiful community of friends.
This is the work that gave me my relationship with Dave.
This is also the work that got me off disability, cured my agoraphobia, and freed me from panic attacks.
And this is the work that one day will set me wholly free as I reclaim my true self, once and for all.
My plan is to do FEARS Camp in front of you and if you are willing, right alongside you.
The first FEARS Camp gathering will be on Sunday, September 1, 2024 at 5 PM EST and I hope you will join me.
Thereafter, for the month of September, we will meet weekly on Thursdays at 7 pm EST.
All sessions are open to anyone who would like to join.
All sessions are entirely free.
If you are interested, please mark your calendars and be sure to subscribe for zoom invites, worksheets, and more.
Note: September is a pilot and thereafter, I will evaluate the structure and adapt accordingly.
Again, I so hope you join me but no matter what,
whether you do so or not,
I hope you know how brave your fight to leave your own shell truly is and how much I hope to see you beyond it when we both arrive there.
Until then, I wish you a day.
With love and snugs from the girls.
Kindly,
Kate
I’ve never been to Maine, but every other part of this resonates more deeply than I can possibly put into words.
Ironically I was in Maine last week. It is my happy place. The scenery, the wild ocean, the huge rocks. There is nothing quite so humbling as looking off a cliff into the ocean, and nothing so beautiful. It is where my heart longs to be. Alas, my family is not there and I heed the call to come back. However, at some point, I will have a little cottage by the sea where I can escape to and find my wild self!
Enough about ME! Let’s talk about you! I am glad that you, even if it was just for a few days, found your happy place. And while you cocooned as soon as you got home, that trip changed you in some way. It let you feel light, and happy. It gave you a feeling that you can turn back to, and engage with, when you are not wanting to get out of your bed. I’m glad that Dave woke you and I’m glad that waffle put her paw on your chest and I’m most glad that even though every piece of you wanted to stay in bed, you got up and took the walk. Keep saying YES Kate. Just keep saying yes. Xxoo