… the nightmare in my closet

There’s a Nightmare in My Closet is the name of a children’s book that I have read since my own now adult children were very young. It’s about the phenomenon that we have seen in children or experienced ourselves as children when we awakened from a bad dream and were not old enough to know the difference between what is real and what is from the dream world. It all seemed the same and the nightmare was terrifying.

In this lovely little book by Mercer Mayer, the young boy has known that a monster is hiding in his closet. Night after night he tries to hide from the monster, but still finds himself afraid. Until one night he decides to put on his own most fierce look possible and gather his weapons to face the monster. He is surprised to discovers, as the monster creeps out of the closet, sits and starts to cry, that the monster, too, has been afraid. The monster was wearing a scary look to hide his own fear. Finally, when the monster will not stop crying, the boy takes him by the hand and leads him to the bed, where he can feel safe and be calm with the boy.

While we easily see that a child’s nightmare, or monster in the closet, can be calmed this way, and the book is wonderful for children to read and hear, we rarely think about our own fears being similar. Our fears, our monsters are real, we insist. Financial challenges, medical issues, loss of a loved one, job stresses; these are all real. If we are worried or anxious or feel forsaken and terrified, those are about real situations, something in our lives that we could explain, although maybe not solve.

Recently I had some disconcerting news that was a shock to me.  It meant I was going to go into a medical realm where I hadn’t been previously and the unknown was frightening.  During the day I went through the adult activities that needed to be handled: phone calls and appointments, simply clearing the breakfast dishes and watering plants. When the evening came, as I sat to relax, I was overwhelmed with anxiety.  Whew.  I really do hate that sense of anxiety, the tightening in my chest and neck, the churning in my belly.  I tried deep breathing and then telling my husband how anxious I felt.  I closed my eyes, put my hands on my solar plexus and tried taking more deep breaths. My breath wouldn’t go very deep. The anxiety wouldn’t budge.  Fortunately when I went to bed for the night, while the anxiety didn’t leave, apparently  I was able to leave it and have a fairly good night’s sleep.  But in the morning, there it  was, a heavy pit in my belly, a tight knot in my chest, still hanging on tight.

As part of my morning routine, I e-mail a close friend.  We talk about light things and deeper things in our e-mails.  This morning I told her about my anxiety and fear and how awful it was to carry it.  From that part of what I was writing, I could see for the first time that this anxiety of mine was only a feeling.  As soon as I was aware of that, I   remembered what I already knew:  a feeling is only a feeling, even if unpleasant and uncomfortable, even if overwhelming.  It is only a feeling, not some creeping monster that was about to overtake me. Remembering this I felt immediate relief. Then, still writing and feeling lighter, I could find some humor in my perception of the situation that I had made up reasons to be anxious about. And as the humor brought more relief, I was able to see some positive points that were also going on for me.  Writing about what was going well in the same situations, I brightened.  Being a witness for myself, I could even see that I was really walking myself out of the anxiety as I wrote, and each step brought more relief until I had left the anxiety behind. I had started with naming what I was feeling, which was the anxiety, and then I walked myself out of it gradually, step by step, thought by thought.  This change was gradual, not a quick fix, but when I finished writing, I was breathing naturally, my neck and chest no longer felt tight and my belly felt peaceful.  And realizing that, I left the computer feeling appreciation, quite an improvement from the anxiety I began with.

Later in that day, I was telling someone else how much better I felt, and just as I said it, I could feel the huge monster of anxiety and fear waiting crouched to pounce not far from me on my right.  Oh. This time, at its distance, I kept looking at it, and just as I started to feel powerless against it, having no control over when it would grab me or I would simply walk into it again, unaware and careless, I had an entirely different thought.  What was behind that anxiety and fear? I wondered. What was the monster hiding?  I kept looking, finally deciding to invite it closer.  When I did invite it, the sense of it being a monster simply vanished.  It was much more like a small child in a monster costume.  And I knew that the tremendous sense of fear and anxiety was the part of me that needed soothing.

While I had been doing the adult chores of life the day before, my fear was growing. I didn’t pay attention, didn’t even notice until I was quiet and silent.  Then it seemed to jump on me, the way a small child might do when it has been ignored and is terrified.  That part of me needed attention and soothing, comfort and reassurance.  This I could do. Now that I had seen, remembered, this I could do.

In the few days since then, I have kept that part of me close.  And while doing that, I have been able to gather energy and confidence about what is ahead for me and who I want to be as I go into this new unknown space.  I move forward so glad to have made friends with what was this particular anxiety and fear.  And like the little boy in the book, I imagine that there might be another monster in the closet.  In the story, as the little boy goes to sleep, he says that there isn’t room in his bed for another one.  For me, I imagine that I’ll find a place for it someway. Even though I don’t find some parts of myself appealing and sometimes prefer to ignore them; even though I tend to prefer  ignoring some of my feelings that I don’t like, I continue to get to learn this same lesson over and over again. Life is happier, easier when I make friends with all of me, even the parts that seem to be monsters.  Simple as that.  It is what it is.

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