Anxiety From Long Ago

I was researching how to design a cabinet for a week’s worth of produce that would keep it fresh. Yesterday I studied root cellars, free form concrete and sealers. Today I decided to look into the cabinet approach. I shopped (online) for bookshelves, then decided that, for what I had in mind, it might be more cost effective to build my own. I worked on the design and it was hard work. I got distracted when the phone buzzed. Someone I had never actually met in person, had posted something on Facebook. Out here my computer does not have internet, and even if it did, the solar system we have doesn’t do much more than keep our phones charged.

Being tired and ready for a distraction I decided to look at Facebook. Someone posted an intriguing picture of an old shed in the woods. I pressed like and commented, “Looks like a nice place to woodshed.” Then I returned to my design wondering why I had jumped into that. I told myself, don’t be silly, there are no consequences. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling anxious. Then I remembered that I had once been involved with an extremely jealous man, although we had split up over 40 years ago! My current husband is nothing like that. My phone buzzed again and my husband had left a comment to my comment on our friend’s post. My husband and I were about a quarter mile from each other. I chuckled realizing that we were both on Facebook together. I “Liked” his post then went to see what else he had been up to. I used to get notifications from him but took them off because he posts so much. Then I walked the quarter mile to where he was and we worked on music for awhile.

After that I pondered why the anxiety can still affect me sometimes from having once been involved with a violent man. I wondered why I just accepted his violence, stayed with him for four years and even had a child with him, whom I ended up raising by myself as she was a baby when, after my finger being broken by him hitting me with a pool que, I finally had enough. I was so much in love with this violent man I couldn’t imagine leaving  until I realized it wasn’t safe for my daughter for us to stay with him any longer. I cared about her but not myself!

I have pondered that before and realized that I was raised with violence. When I came of age I was so used to violence I didn’t know how to expect a life without it. It took awhile to cultivate the expectation that I would be treated with kindness. Now I notice myself being anxious sometimes, like today, and I work on understanding my past and cultivating positive expectations. I have a lot to be thankful for.

Categories Memoir, Spouse abuse

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