THOUGHTS AND MUSINGS

I’m Afraid Of Naming My Fears Because That Makes It Real

Written for a KTHT prompt set by jules — Breaking the Chain of Fear

I cried at work last week.

It started out merely as tears in my eyes mentioning my husband’s condition and that although I’m working all my hours again since May, our difficult personal circumstances haven’t changed.

In fact, nothing is better.

We still know nothing.

The doctors have still not given us a prognosis. They have still not adjusted his meds. He still has no energy. We still don’t know how they will continue his treatment. All they have said three months ago was they don’t dare say anything because he ‘doesn’t follow the book’.

I didn’t say all that at work.

All I said was all is still the same.

Two colleagues sat there nodding, pretending to understand. Trying to understand. But how could they understand if I can’t even grasp it all? If I don’t dare to think those words, let alone voice them?

Because if I name them, they become real.

If I name them, they become too real.

Those thoughts went through my mind, and suddenly I sobbed. My chest heaved as I suppressed the sobs, but some of them escaped.

I had turned my head away, and the colleagues didn’t notice.

For a moment, I contemplated just letting go. To rest my head on my arms and just let it all out. To cry until I couldn’t cry anymore.

I didn’t.

I bit on the inside of my cheeks and pushed the sobs down, down, down.

Why?

Because I wasn’t in a safe environment to give words to them, but mostly because I couldn’t face my fears.

How can I say out loud I’m still afraid my husband will die? People don’t understand. I mean, after all these months he’s still alive, so surely he’s okay? I can hear them think that.

It’s not only that.

What will people think if I say the fact he might lose his job irritates me? For heaven’s sake, he’s sick. That’s why he’s not working, so why does it irritate me when he listens to his body? That he takes the rest he needs; allows his body to heal at its own pace? Because I never do the same for mine? Because I know have I been in his shoes, I would have been working full time again simply not to lose my job?

Who’s wrong here? Him or me?

I don’t want to admit I’m afraid of the future. Of how I will feel if he doesn’t work anymore. I’m not overly worried about money issues because he has saved a lot in the past years. No, I’m afraid of resenting him when I have to work and he doesn’t.

I’m afraid of our life being what it is now… me working, him reading his paper in the morning and watching television the rest of the day.

The coach rightfully asked me what will be different if his job might end in March 2023 (because of the law in the Netherlands) from what it is now and has been since March 2021.

The only answer I had was: the feeling.

There’s something definite about it.

He’s only 57, dammit. He can’t spend the rest of his life watching television.

Come.

On.

Over the past months, I’ve learned to do things for myself. To live my life. I’m past the point of asking for permission, as I have done in the past, to put my husband in the ‘father role’. I now stand next to him as a wife, as an equal, and inform him of my intentions. Go to the zoo by myself. Visit a cousin. Hire a cleaner. Have lunch with a friend.

I’ve learned how to take care of myself.

That’s good.

I’ve learned to live for today, and worry a bit less about the future. A bit.

That’s good too.

But then there’s still one thing I don’t say out loud: if this illness, or another stroke, takes my husband from me, I will make it on my own. I am strong enough.

It feels like a betrayal to think about that.

It feels like an even bigger betrayal to say it.

Or not a betrayal, but saying it out loud — or even just thinking it — will feel like I jinx it; like I’m inviting it to come true.

So, I keep the thoughts to myself. I don’t mention them to anyone, for fear of them becoming real.

But I need to let them out. That’s something I have forgotten. I need to let them out. Write about them see them black on white. Acknowledge them.

If I do that, it helps me to deal with them.

My fears are real.

Not letting them out, not naming them, makes me fear my fears.

And sometimes I just have to let the fears in and the tears flow, to allow more room for growth, understanding, and healing.

Tagging Yana Bostongirl and America Zed⚡and Barbara Cook to share from their healing journeys.

If you’re thinking of joining Medium, click on my referral link to support me and other writers.

Find more of Marie on her lists, and here…