I was in Year 10 in 1978. I lived in what I thought was a stable, nuclear family. I couldn't be sure, however; it had splintered once. I attended a small all girls' school that was in the process of going co-ed and I went to ballet classes regularly. Although I adored ballet and had been good at it when I'd been younger, my body seemed to be finding it progressively more difficult to do moves that had previously been easy. At that point, I was built for ballet; small and painfully thin.
At the beginning of 1979, my parents separated, the last of the girls on the former girls' school campus moved across to the now co-ed former boys' campus for Year 11 and I decided it was time to quit ballet. It was to be a significant year for me. Even now, I feel as if I left something behind in 1979 and, if I could just go back, maybe I'd find it and feel whole again. I wrote a novel - never to see the light of day - which was set in 1979 and one of my very astute friends asked me why my heroine travels back to that particular year. I think, however, she already knew the answer since she was there with me back in '79.
So, there I was living in what now felt like an incomplete and wounded family, going to a strange school and dealing with the fact that, now that there were boys around, my close-knit group of friends became less supportive of and more competitive with each other, and not dancing away my cares any more.
At the time, none of it seemed like a big deal; I was just trying to survive it all. I finished school and went on to university without looking back. It was only when I began to experience anxiety and depression that 1979 took on significance. With the benefit of hindsight I knew it had been a life-changing year but I could never really put my finger on why that was so. I've had many other life changing years. In 1994 I began a new job, moved house and had a baby, for goodness' sakes, but it hasn't haunted me and left me with the feeling that I have to go back.
Sometimes when one's busy doing something else a vital piece of information lands in one's head, as if it has nothing to do with one's own brain and thought processes. That happened to me the other morning. I don't remember what I was doing or thinking but suddenly, out of the blue, the following thought randomly ran across my mind, "You lost three significant anchors in 1979." An anchor can be "a person or thing which provides stability or confidence in an otherwise uncertain situation." Bingo!
Not one but three anchors! Wow. No wonder it's significant. I lost the security of my family, my school, my group of friends and the thing that I was most passionate about at that time. Of course, it all turned out okay. I got used to having separated parents and to the new school and learnt how to navigate the scary world of girls competing over boys. I replaced ballet with rowing and, within months of stopping ballet, my body did what it had been longing to do: grow. Suddenly, I was tall and curvy.
Nevertheless, it did damage me and I still wear the scars. Now, however, thanks to that random thought popping into my head, I finally know that what I left behind were my anchors. I was set adrift without anyone or anything to provide stability and confidence. That's pretty tough for a fifteen year old. Over the years, new anchors have come and gone. None, however, have provided the feelings of stability that a child feels in a close family or friendship group.
Being able to identify the root of my longings for 1979 has led me to think about what anchors I already have and what ones I can create to increase my feelings of stability and confidence. Given my past, I'm loath to nominate people or situational anchors. They're too changeable and volatile. I suspect my husband is one, though. Rather, I've been thinking about the constants in my life; the things that have always been there that I've never considered to be anchors. With a small shift of perception, they now are. Knowing that, gives me a sense of confidence and stability.
You're reading from an anchor, by the way. Not this blog or post; writing. I've been journaling since I was eleven years old and have no plans to stop. Writing always makes things better and provides me with a sense of peace or purpose, depending on the piece. In the past few years, I've become a sporadic reader. With social networking and digital technology, my attention span has decreased, making it tedious to read a book long enough to fall in love with it. Reading, however, is another anchor for me. With that in mind, I'm reading a novel and making sure I read at least one chapter each day. Reading fiction provides me with an escape from my own mind and all the dark brooding therein.
The last one is the beach. A couple of years ago I was very upset and got into my car and just drove. It was no accident that I ended up in a car park staring out to sea. When I was younger I lived in a beachside suburb. I went to the beach at least once each weekend, rain or shine, winter or summer. I don't care much for ocean swimming but I could walk for hours on the beach. The closest I get these days is driving along the esplanade when I bring the children to school. I plan to change that and commit to spending some time walking on the beach. I know that doing so will also provide me with confidence and stability.
I don't think that suddenly understanding about lost anchors and current ones is going to cure me from anxiety and depression. I do, however, believe that they can boost me in such a way that I can better cope with both. I think that deep down inside I may still be that hurt fifteen year old who lost her anchors. Providing her with some new anchors will help both of us.
