My Regret About Rome

I passed on an all-expenses paid trip to Rome.

Photo by Juliana Malta on Unsplash

Sounds crazy, right?! Well, it’s true. I was in my junior year of college and a member of my school’s award-winning speech and debate team. Only three of us had qualified to compete in an elite international competition, which that year was being held in Rome. Airfare, lodging, meals (everything except the cheap souvenirs I would want to bring home with me) was taken care of. 

 Take a guess at why I didn’t go:

A: I was a conscientious student and didn’t want to miss a week of classes.

B: I had been there already and was unimpressed. 

C: I was convinced that I would die in an airplane accident.

The answer, my friend, is “C”.

Photo by Dan Meyers on Unsplash

Of course now, twenty-five years later, I kick myself for missing out on such an amazing experience, but at the time I just couldn’t see past my fears to see the gift that this was. The chance that something bad could happen (no matter how unlikely) was simply not worth the risk. I was paralyzed by my constant fear of what “could happen.”

 This was my way of thinking all my life, and remains my default mindset even now if I don’t continuously work at it. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t afraid. As a little girl I was constantly scared that something bad would happen to me or someone that I loved. For example, I was terrified of a fire starting in my house at night so I had a ritual of looking under my bed before going to sleep to make sure a flame wasn’t burning. I was nervous that my heart would suddenly stop while I slept so I’d fall asleep intentionally with my hand on my chest with the plan that if it stopped I would scream and my parents would come in and save me. During daily trips to our local Kmart Mom would let my younger brother and me go off to browse the toy section. I was so afraid that someone was going to kidnap him that I would stand beside him, like his very own personal bodyguard, while he drooled over the GI Joe’s. I would have much preferred to be in the next aisle looking at the Barbie Dreamhouse or selection of Cabbage Patch Kids, but I wouldn’t move -– it was my job to protect him. If I couldn’t talk him into going into my aisle with me, I’d stay in his.

Photo by Wayne Lee-Sing on Unsplash

Fear was a part of who I was. I was convinced that if there was even a .00001% chance that something bad could happen, with my luck it was going to happen to me. I didnot recognize the very important difference between possible and probable. 

 With therapy, medication, and my desire to live a more joyful life I have managed my issues very well over the years. Then COVID-19 came into the picture. This thing rocked my world, and not in a good way. It has taken my fears, anxiety, OCD, and germaphobe ways to a whole new level. Previously, my anxiety focused on things that were very unlikely to happen or were totally made up in my mind, but this threat was real. When health officials and scientists encouraged everyone to wash their hands more frequently, we germophobes – who already wash our hands significantly more often than the general population - did what we were told to do and had the bloody knuckles to prove it. 

 I immediately locked my family and me in our house and threw away the key. For three solid months my kids, husband, and I didn’t see anyone or go anywhere in public. We spent a lot of time taking family walks around our neighborhood, riding our bikes on trails, and trying to pass the time without wanting to strangle each other. I even bought a ping pong set that came with a net that attached to the kitchen table. Hundreds of heated ping pong matches took place – not only was it a good distraction but my kids are pretty darn good at it now. I’m sure for the rest of their lives they’ll associate ping pong with being in quarantine.

Photo by MARCUS CLARK on Unsplash

All was going according to plan until Mother’s Day. My parents (who I hadn’t seen since March) came over for a socially-distanced visit on our back deck. I was very uncomfortable but did my best to get through it because they wanted to see us (even if we couldn’t get close to each other.) We all sat ten feet apart (because if the recommendation was six feet then ten was better.) About thirty minutes into their visit my dad had to use the bathroom. I wouldn’t let him inside my house to pee. 

 They left. I cried. 

 Up until that moment I was treading water waiting for the “all clear” that the threat had passed and it was safe to resume normal activities. That day I realized that I couldn’t keep treading because I was emotionally and physically exhausted, and we didn’t know how long this would go on. Could I live like this for another six months? Another year? No way. I also couldn’t keep my kids isolated from others for much longer; I was noticing my 12 year old was getting more disconnected and isolating himself from us and no longer video chatting with his friends as much. That frightened me enough to acknowledge that I needed to find some middle ground to get us through this difficult situation in a healthier way.

 We were existing; not living. 

 I called my psychologist, who I hadn’t spoken with in over a decade because up until that point I had been doing very well. She said it’s not uncommon for people who are already prone to anxiety and fears like mine to become consumed with fear when faced with a threat like this. She said it all came down to my relationship with risk.

 I thought back to my missed trip to Rome. My relationship with risk has been the bane of my existence. As an adult I still hate to fly, but I’m able to do it because of the payoff…whether it was to Hawaii for my honeymoon or for a Disney Vacation with the family - I want to be a part of the fun. As much as I still don’t like it, I’m able to rationally weigh the risk and the reward. As hard as it is, I have to use that same logic now to get through this.

 My doctor and I brainstormed how I could start incorporating low-risk activities into our daily routines, of course being as safe as possible while doing them (continuing to wear masks, washing and sanitizing our hands, social distancing, etc.) The bottom line is I needed to be ok with assuming a little bit of risk to keep us mentally healthy. I measure risk on a spectrum from zero to ten. Zero being total and complete isolation; ten being in the middle of a mosh pit at a rock concert. As much as I wanted to keep my family and me at zero all day every day, that was no longer an option. She and I developed a strategy to hang out in the one to two range; with perhaps an occasional pop of three.

In the beginning I didn’t think it was going to be possible; logically I knew the risk of engaging in an activity was low and relatively safe, but when the rubber met the road and it was time to actually act on it I felt terrible anxiety. The first time I went to Target I sat in the car for twenty minutes before going in; practicing my deep breathing and hyping myself up to just do it. The irony is Target has always been my happy place; nothing used to bring me more joy than to browse the jewelry and shoe sections with a cup of Starbucks in my hand. Now I was terrified to even enter the building. Who could have thought that this would be my new reality? 

Photo by Charles Etoroma on Unsplash

Over time I found a pattern: each time I did something new it ended up not being as bad as I expected it to be. The next time was easier, and the time after that even more so. It never got to the point that I enjoyed or didn’t worry about going into public spaces (I still go to the store first thing in the morning when it’s likely the cleanest and there are fewer people there), but I’m able to do it, and that’s what matters.

 The simple things – going to get groceries, filling my gas tank, allowing my kids to go to school in-person twice a week, having my parents visit with us on the deck outside(while sitting a normal six feet apart) are allowing my family and me to have some sort of normalcy in what would otherwise have continued to be a completely isolated and miserable period of time. It’s a lot of hard work for me; it would have been easier to just stay in total isolation, but it wasn’t the right choice for my family. Just a few short months ago, I didn’t think I would be able to do what I’m doing. The fact that I’m doing it, despite not wanting to, reminded me that I’m stronger than I think I am, and I’ll bet you’re stronger than you think you are, too. 

What’s going on in your life that you want to change or improve? Whether it’s related to COVID or not, we all have the power to improve or change situations that are keeping us from experiencing the joy that we want and know we deserve. Make a plan, get support, and go for it. Even if it’s something you can’t completely change or “fix”(for example, I’ll lever be fearless; instead, I strive to simply “fear less”), even marginal improvements can make huge differences in our happiness. 

Remember to take it one step at a time. Even those tiny movements are still movements and will get you closer to where you want to be. My first venture back into the outside world was the Starbucks to drive through. My hand shook as I rolled down the window to place my order for a tall vanilla latte. After I nervously took the cup from the cashier and wiped it down with my Clorox wipe, I took a sip. It was the most delicious latte I had ever tasted. I worked so hard for that drink and I was proud of myself. Celebrate all of your successes – even the small ones. Each will give you momentum to take the next step, and the one after that. You can do this.

 Someday, when this COVID-19 crap is behind us and the world opens up again, I’m going to plan that trip to Rome. I’ll view it as a full circle moment; a reminder that just because I feel fear doesn’t mean I have to succumb to it. I will continuously fight my fears head on whenever they try to keep me from living the life I want. The life I deserve.