Iāve always been a nervous flyer - not like crippling fear, just gripping the armrest extra tight during turbulence, takeoff, and landing, and always imagining the worst. I went to boarding school in Massachusetts during High School while my parents lived in Texas, and then college in New York, so I flew a lot from a pretty young age. I started thinkingā¦the odds arenāt in my favor here.
Until! Maybe 6 years ago, before I was pregnant, my husband and I were on a small flight from Chicago to Florida for the holidays. Weād just taken off from OāHare, and something just felt off. About 30 minutes after takeoff the pilot came on and said weād need to do an emergency landing back at OāHare, that the landing gear was malfunctioning. Justin noticed that we were flying super low over Lake Michigan, circling, circling, but he didnāt say anything to me at the time.
Since I was already nervous, I started to really panic - at that time, my husband traveled a TON for work, and in sketchy places, sketchy planes, but I noticed that even he looked a little worried. Then the pilot came back on and told the Flight Attendants to prepare us for impact.
As they stood in the aisle, teaching us what to do when they yelled āBrace! Brace!ā (which would happen right before we crashed) (fold your arms in a cross over the seat in front of you, put your forehead against the point where your arms crossed) all I could say to Justin, horrified, was is this happening, is this really happening. I honestly thought we might die? And it was fucking insanity on the flight - people around me were crying, I was crying, people were praying, the guy next to me was maniacally laughing, Justin held my shoulders and tried to keep me calm.
And then we landed! And everything was fine! Ta-da! Later J told me they were flying low over the lake to dump fuel so just in case we did crash at least we wouldnāt explode.
The point is - after that I wasnāt afraid of flying anymore. Once I saw what really happens when shit hits the fan, a little bump and bubble here and there was really no big deal. But! I can still bring up the feeling of that really specific kind of this is it fear.
And itās the same feeling I had when I was going in for my extremely rushed and hectic C-Section with Ellis. Likeā¦my life is over, what is happening, how did I get so out of control?
And itās the same feeling I had in the beginning of the pandemic: my life is over, what is happening, how did I get so out of control?
The pandemic!
And at this point I think maybe I should be getting over it? Those first weeks/months, where you saw everything you knew unravel and the reality of how little you can actually plan for, or actually count on hit home - bullseye. But honestly I canāt fucking stop thinking about it and the grief I still feel, the anger and fear thatās in the base of my throat STILL! Itās so easy to bring up, and I started to feel like itās a coating over everything inside me, a thin film of plaque you can scrape away with a lazy thumbnail.
Itās been quietly festering.
But! This is so stupid, Iāve been trying to put it into words, but I think Iām finally clearing the dust? Years and years ago, I got super into practicing the 90 minute long hot yoga, we called it Bikram then. I always felt so good during and after - kind of clearer. But I was also really young, so really insecure, and doing it mostly for the abs.
I just started going back, and itās the kind of thing that now that Iām doing it Iāve let it become my entire personality. That miserable 90 minute torture chamber thatās so satisfying and feels so fucking good, that greasy film is clearing away - like watching myself from above, my soul leaving my body. And man it feels really great. Light! Itās in that 90 minutes that I really understand that Iām alive! And, This is my body! I feel like a miracle, and whether or not my arms or ass jiggle, or whether or not I got called for a job, or whether or not my house is clean doesnāt matter because life is all that matters. And I think of my kids, their soft cheeks, paintbrush eyelashes, the dimples on their knuckles, and laying on my mat at the end of that 90 minutes Iām totally full, overflowing, with the joy of just being alive, having the chance to love those kids forever. Being the mommy all around them.
But then the fear comes back and itās the guns, Jesus christ the guns! And your eyes bulge, thereās nothing to do but pace around in circles in agony! It just doesnāt fucking stop! I remember when I was having trouble breastfeeding Ellis, heād be screaming in hunger, me trying to stuff my boob in his mouth like the answer is right there! Just do it! And not to compare gun control to breastfeeding, but the frustration is the same. The path forward is so obvious, so clear, why wonāt they just do it? And itās life and death!
Aside from calling your senators, aside from donating, marching, picking your kids school based on how secure it seems, it feels like Iām endlessly circling the drain, I donāt know what to do or how to do it.
Iām yoga light, but everything else feels awful.
I donāt have things in me this week, just feelings.
Donate to Everytown, donate to Mike Hillās GoFundMe.
Call, call, call, write, write, write.
I love you, I love my kids.
Your friend,
Laurel