Island Blog 52 – I Rise

Island Blog 52


After the weekend and turning to face another weak, sorry, week, I can come over all peculiar.

There seems to be a flurry of panic in my head, like bats disturbed in the quiet of their belfry. Bringing it forward to my frontal ‘Fight or Flight’ mechanism rarely helps.

There is a whopping list of to-do’s for starters, followed closely by another whopping list of how I can’t possibly  do any of them because I am not good enough.  By the time I have dithered through a few tasks half-heartedly, I am now quite certain of the fact.

And it’s only 9.30.

The path I walk now divides.  I can see it, feel it.

One me, with bats in my brain, and Two Roads.

What do I think I should do about all this chaos and confusion?

Go back to bed?

No.  I think I should harness it.  After all, isn’t there a powerhouse of energy racking up to storm force ten in this daft head of mine, and  am I not more than able to grab it by the goolies, flip it round and set it on a new trajectory?  After all, who is to stop me?

Only my inner doubts and bat-like fears.

In days of yore, when I was young, and everything scared me half to death, I would begin an inner conversation between the whinging little Wuss and the confident, outgoing, talented Wonderwoman.  (There’s probably a book title in there somewhere).

In the dark corner, curled into a ball, as best she can with her arms full of imagined judgements, the Wuss cowers and says things like ‘go away’ and ‘please ignore me’ and ‘don’t tell my mother.’

In the light bright corner, standing tall and dressed in wild colours, sporting a wide smile, great teeth and  twinkly winkly eyes, is the confident (etcetera) Wonderwoman.

It’s all over in the first round.

Get up!  barks Wonderwoman who is always up, herself.  Get up and get over your whining.   Scared people do nothing, achieve nothing, if they sit in dark corners and let fear win.  You aren’t even rising to the fight, you wimp.

In the darkness, I, currently the Wuss, begin to flex my fingers, curl them into a fist.  She moves nearer, goading me.  Her boots are gleaming, her legs look like they know where they’re going.

She adopts her ‘diddums’ tone.

So, your mother was a bit harsh, so what!  So, you feel a lickle bitty tired, poor lamb, and you don’t like dusting, or find cyberspace a bit difficult to navigate, boo flipping hoo!  And those self-doubts…..all your own fault.  I had mine removed. No time for them. And what makes you think you can ever achieve anything anyway?  It’s laughable to be honest.    You are way too stupid and chaotic, and your chin is weak, like you.    You’re pathetic.   A waste of space….

That’s when she takes off, backwards, on the other end of my fist.  It’s spectacular to watch in slow motion, as she sails through her own stale air and lands with a thump on the ground to lie quite still.

It is just fine being scared, I tell her as I stalk away; okay to be filled with doubts and panics and with a great big wish that the day will ignore me completely.  It’s ok to be overwhelmed by fears and tearful at nothing.  I feel wonderful now and am ready for whatever comes, although the bruising on my fingers will take a while to go…….

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