I was in a car crash on Tuesday morning. Nothing major. I rear-ended someone. I didn't careen into them; I simply wasn't able to stop in time. Contrary to what you may think - given my anxiety - I'm ultra-cool in those situations. I swapped details with the man I hit, drove the children the rest of the way to school and then reported it. It wasn't until my husband, who was interstate, called that I burst into tears.
Since Tuesday, road safety has been on my mind. I feel more anxious each time my daughter drives away. I also feel more anxious as I drive. A car was tailgating me the other day and I felt extremely uneasy. After all, I hadn't been tailgating - the cars in front of me had stopped suddenly. I began to worry that, if I had to stop suddenly, there would be no way the car behind could stop without hitting me.
At the moment, I'm at a fork in the road with anxiety. I'll either be able to move on from the crash and the anxiety it's provoking or I'll have a setback and get worse after so much hard work. The latter is not a very attractive option. I like where I'm at right now. So, this is what I've been doing to try to prevent it.
Acknowledging the possibility of a setback is a good starting point. I'm on red alert for extra anxiety. For example, yesterday I was out grocery shopping and felt extremely fatigued. I decided to just do what I had to do and get home. I've had a genuine health issue for the past couple of weeks that could have caused it but, as soon as I'd finished the necessary shopping, I began to feel a lot better. If I were truly tired, the shopping would have exacerbated it. That being the case, I made myself stay on at the shops until I'd completely finished and was fine. I had a lot of running around to do in the afternoon and evening and was not left tired. Conclusion: anxiety (which, for me, can manifest itself in extreme fatigue.)
I've been playing with statistics, too. I like to bombard my mind with them when I feel nervous. Each time I've had to drive to my son's school (or anywhere for that matter) I've told myself that, having lived in the same house for over 17 years, I've done each drive countless times and only been involved in one accident in that entire time. Consequently, it's far more likely that I'm going to get from Point A to Point B safely.
Using statistics is helpful in general. I've got a greater chance of getting ovarian cancer because a first degree relative had it. Statistically speaking, what it means is that my chance of NOT getting it has gone down from something like 97% to 94%.
Basically, if the chances of something bad happening are far less than not happening I like to point that out to myself. I haven't done the morning school run since the accident but I have driven to the school three times since and have been reasonably calm. It was only the first time I had to remind myself of the statistics. My daughter has done it twice since then and I've been anxious but, again, I have to keep reminding myself that it's far more likely all will be well.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
The Old School Tie
The city where I live is one of those places where there are probably only two degrees of separation between any two people that live there. That degree is reduced further when it's between people who've lived here all their lives.
One of the first questions a native of Adelaide will ask is, "What school did you go to?" The question is partly to peg you socially. The other larger part, however, is to determine any mutual acquaintances you might have. And the chances are you will have some.
It's a question I love being asked. I loved my school when I was there and am still proud to have gone there. Every year it plays host to an afternoon tea for its "old girls". At that event, the prefects and house captains from fifty years before talk about their school days. It's always on the first Saturday of August and I've been going now for six years.
For me, the afternoon is an inspiration. I love the school and life stories of these women and I love being back in the school hall. The current women went to the girls' campus of the school before the school was amalgamated in the 1970s. I was in the last group of girls to enrol at the "Girls School". I spent Years 8, 9 and 10 there before we were moved to the "Boys School", completing the three year amalgamation.
It was - and still is - a very academic school. In those days we were streamed and I was in the top stream. There was an expectation of success at and from the school. There was never a sense of girls not being able to do as well as boys. (In fact, those of us in the top stream weren't able to do Home Economics. Hence my aversion to cooking.) The women that speak are testament to that. They often mention that the school motto, "Not for school but for life", stuck with them. They never forgot the school and its lessons and believe their success was because of the education and nurturing they received at high school.
I love their stories because they fill me with a sense of possibility. I look at these women and what they've accomplished and am filled with hope. They're older than me and are replete with life, passion and vibrancy. Rather than feel bitter that I've let my anxiety hold me back in many ways, I hear them speak and feel reassured that there is still much I can do and accomplish. We went to the same school and probably come from similar backgrounds. It's not as though I'm listening to some motivational speaker who's been paid to come and do it. I'm listening to women who sat in the same classrooms, played sports in the same fields and stared at the same school honour boards during assemblies in the same hall as me.
Being in the old school hall and seeing old friends triggers something else, as well. I'm with people who knew me before I was anxious, before I was someone's wife and before I was someone's mother. They simply knew me. I have trouble remembering sometimes who I was and what I was like so it's great to be reminded. Part of me and who I was walks invisibly through the corridors of that school and it's reassuring to get a glimpse of that "angelic rebel" sometimes.
One of the first questions a native of Adelaide will ask is, "What school did you go to?" The question is partly to peg you socially. The other larger part, however, is to determine any mutual acquaintances you might have. And the chances are you will have some.
It's a question I love being asked. I loved my school when I was there and am still proud to have gone there. Every year it plays host to an afternoon tea for its "old girls". At that event, the prefects and house captains from fifty years before talk about their school days. It's always on the first Saturday of August and I've been going now for six years.
For me, the afternoon is an inspiration. I love the school and life stories of these women and I love being back in the school hall. The current women went to the girls' campus of the school before the school was amalgamated in the 1970s. I was in the last group of girls to enrol at the "Girls School". I spent Years 8, 9 and 10 there before we were moved to the "Boys School", completing the three year amalgamation.
It was - and still is - a very academic school. In those days we were streamed and I was in the top stream. There was an expectation of success at and from the school. There was never a sense of girls not being able to do as well as boys. (In fact, those of us in the top stream weren't able to do Home Economics. Hence my aversion to cooking.) The women that speak are testament to that. They often mention that the school motto, "Not for school but for life", stuck with them. They never forgot the school and its lessons and believe their success was because of the education and nurturing they received at high school.
I love their stories because they fill me with a sense of possibility. I look at these women and what they've accomplished and am filled with hope. They're older than me and are replete with life, passion and vibrancy. Rather than feel bitter that I've let my anxiety hold me back in many ways, I hear them speak and feel reassured that there is still much I can do and accomplish. We went to the same school and probably come from similar backgrounds. It's not as though I'm listening to some motivational speaker who's been paid to come and do it. I'm listening to women who sat in the same classrooms, played sports in the same fields and stared at the same school honour boards during assemblies in the same hall as me.
Being in the old school hall and seeing old friends triggers something else, as well. I'm with people who knew me before I was anxious, before I was someone's wife and before I was someone's mother. They simply knew me. I have trouble remembering sometimes who I was and what I was like so it's great to be reminded. Part of me and who I was walks invisibly through the corridors of that school and it's reassuring to get a glimpse of that "angelic rebel" sometimes.
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