The Quiet Passenger and the Courage to Jump

“It’s courage week.” I have been saying that to my husband for multiple weeks now. Although I had the explicit support from my daughters, who felt that bravery was the value they wanted me to explore, I think fear slowed me down. 

I enjoy writing. This blog makes me happy. The insights and connections I gain are invaluable. 

What was stopping me from exploring courage? “I don’t think I’m that brave.” I was realizing it as I was voicing it to him. 

I was reminded of an analogy I have used many times. It comes from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. The Bus Analogy. 

In short – you are the bus driver of your life. The passengers are the thoughts, feelings, and emotions you might have as you are driving. Some of them may be very aggressive or mean, telling you not to follow your dreams. 

When I shared this video with clients, there was one character in particular that stood out to me. She wasn’t mean like many of the others. She actually seemed rather nice. 

She promised to keep all of the other passengers quiet, and to keep the driver safe and comfortable. The only thing the driver had to do was keep driving exactly the way he always did. Don’t change anything, and you will be safe. 

This stands out to me, because it’s sneaky. At first glance, this might even seem helpful. She seems like a nice lady.

When we have thoughts or feelings that are self-depracting, we might feel the urge to fight or argue with them. Or, we might agree, and then just feel negative and bad about ourselves. 

Nice Lady is quietly keeping me stuck.

I recently have become licensed as a professional counselor. This was 5 years in the making, and somehow felt a little boring when it happened. Just an email, with a PDF. “Congrats.” When I told work, it was kind of the same. “Congrats.”

I’m not sure what I expected, honestly. I didn’t need a parade or anything, but it seemed a little anticlimactic. I have been at this location for about 14 months, and I have yet to truly feel like part of the team.

Although, I did win the tshirt contest. 

It’s a lion with the quote: “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.” – Mary Anne Radmacher. 

This process started in July. I was feeling like a bit of an outsider, working at the “secondary” location that is in the same town. It doesn’t seem possible, but it felt like the culture didn’t fully translate the two miles down the road. I was nervous that what I thought would be a good tshirt, others might not like. 

But, I made it. I was proud of the final product, and submitted it. 

As the anonymous voting started, I checked back (more than I would like to admit) and watched as my shirt got more and more votes. Then, I won! The owner gave me a starbucks cup, $25 giftcard, and they were going to make my shirt for the team. 

During these moments, the nice, reassuring lady usually has nothing to say. That’s how I know she’s not really that nice. 

Winning didn’t feel like that big of a deal. My prize was passed through other people to get to me, because I wasn’t able to go to the event that the owner brought it to to give to me. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to go to the event, but my body had different ideas.

Most of the events that had been planned in my 13 months working there, did not lead to me feeling included, and a lot of them I didn’t feel like I could participate in. Usually after work, involving physical energy, many activities that I was not particularly interested in even before MS. 

So, it’s not much of a surprise that becoming licensed (something that literally everyone else there had already done) was not exactly celebrated. When I told them, it was like I was given another long to-do list. My current position has not changed yet, and my new salary has not been discussed with me, but the owner of the private practice has offered to create a position for me to focus on engagement and event planning. 

I wasn’t feeling very connected to this idea. That’s when I could hear the whisper of Nice Lady return: “Just do it. It’s not that hard. You need a job.” When the other bus passengers in the back, the ones with bigger doubts and louder voices, tried to convince me that I wasn’t going to be good at it, she kept her promise. Quieting them down with the sacrifice of keeping the status quo. 

“You’ll be fine. You’re smart enough. Just do it.” So, I tried. I asked questions, I let the owner know I wasn’t sure I would be able to participate in most of these events she wanted me to plan. She was surprisingly unconcerned. 

“That’s fine. Just make a list, and give it to someone.” There was something about this that was upsetting to me. I was starting to question everything. What do you mean? Wouldn’t you want me to be there? Am I even part of this team? Did I even still want to work here?

Sitting down to consider how I was going to explore courage for the blog was starting to feel mildly less intimidating than thinking about my employment. I sat with my good friend, Gemini, to try to get a place to start. She shared this quote:

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” – James Baldwin

I read it over and over, and it almost grew as I did. MS, POTS, there are certain things in life, for us all, that cannot be changed. Yet, if we do nothing, if we ignore it, NOTHING can be changed. 

Probably because of my training, this instantly reminded me of DBT and Marsha Linehan. The things that happen to us are not our fault, and it is our responsibility to figure out how we will manage them. We don’t have to like it, but we need to see reality as it is rather than fighting it. 

In a way, this is kind of a benefit to us, although it doesn’t always sound that way at first. If we don’t face it, and look at it, we get stuck. Things can’t get better if we keep doing what we always do. 

Then it happened again. Sitting at a table in Denver. Meeting a woman, who I now feel comfortable calling a family friend, although I don’t even know her middle name. We wanted to meet her because she was engaged to our close friend, and she also offered to discuss her work as an LCSW with me.

I told her about my work, and how I didn’t feel that the “offer” I was provided wasn’t actually helping me with any of my energy needs. Kindly, and boldly, she asked me “are you ready to start your own private practice?”

I could feel the uncomfortable gurgle in my belly, and I knew it wasn’t from the delightful (also expensive) food we were eating. 

Nope. That feeling is anxiety. Her questioning of how much I truly believed my own response of “yes” seemed louder than the voice telling me to just keep doing what I always did. 

Nice Lady was almost a whisper now. “It’s safer to stay where you are. You don’t know what will happen if you’re on your own.” I could still hear her, but I was also questioning her motives. 

Throughout my life I have felt connected to song lyrics, particularly when I was at a pivot point in my life. It’s interesting to say that, because most of the time I couldn’t tell you who sang these songs, how old they were, or anything else about them. 

Yet, there have always been lyrics that jump out at me when I need them the most. 

After college there was a song, with the lyric “You’re not in love with him, break up with him.” I blared it on repeat on my way to break up with the man I was seeing at the time. 

Did a song “make me” end my relationship? Of course not. However, it may have given me the courage to head the direction I knew I wanted to go, but was afraid to do it.  

It seems to be happening again. Well, sort of.

It’s actually completely different this time. Maybe because I am older, and my life is different, or maybe I have grown in my ability to interpret messages from the radio? 

Kasey Musgraves (see… look at me knowing the artist!) has a song that starts with the lyrics, “born in a hurry, always late, I haven’t been early since ‘88.” Although I don’t know her, and I know there is no actual way this is possible. I’m pretty sure that song was written about me. 

Other than the obvious (born in 1988 via emergency c-section, and since then late to almost everything) there is a deeper connection I have here that leaves me feeling even more connected to this lyric. 

I have often felt that I am sort of a late bloomer. I am the oldest of 3, but I haven’t felt as much like the leader of the family. My brother, although he is one year younger than me, has felt more like he filled that role. My sister is 6 years younger, and yet we often do things at the same time. This has not been purposeful, at least on my part, just seemed to be when I was ready. 

Maybe I just haven’t been in a hurry. Being a step-mom brings a different level of complexity I was not sure I was prepared for when I agreed, but I am so glad I did. I knew the moment I met him. 

“Bald guy in an orange coat.”

Sure, I move slow now (or… maybe the world moves too fast?) but, really, I mean my mind needs more time. The man at the coffee shop the other day asked me, “what would you like?” It’s not like this was a surprising question, but I was running late, and forgot to think about it.

I just looked down at the menu, and realized I wasn’t even reading my options. Even that familiar, soft voice of resistance tried telling me to just get what I always get… but I don’t have an “always” here. Internally I thought, “I have no idea.”

“Let’s talk about it!” It was like he could see the insecurity on my face, but his smile showed complete acceptance. I also know what it is like to be on the other side of the counter, and not feel you have the time for someone to be slow. If he was feeling that way, he sure didn’t show it.

Talking through it with him, I was able to come to an answer pretty quickly. Turns out, there wasn’t actually a “wrong” answer after all.

Then, Gemini threw another quote at me that hit me even harder. 

“The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.” – Albert Einstein

Albert Einstein. It’s hard to argue his logic. I spent my childhood believing that he was a litmus test for intelligence. Yet, this quote, at this moment, seemed even deeper for me.  

This felt like a small, gentle, nudge from my grandpa. My dad’s dad. We used to call him “Grandpa in Kansas.” I think he might actually be the smartest, wisest person I have ever met. 

He grew up during The Great Depression, and had a lot of interesting stories. From flipping a coin to go to college or ride the rails to the next town to try to find a job at age 16, to becoming a professor of physics and mathematics, and having several master’s degrees. 

In 7th grade, a classmate of mine used part of MY grandpa’s history as one of HIS two truths and a lie. Sure, it’s very cool that MY grandpa took a class from THE Albert Einstein, but I was so embarrassed when every eye in the room turned to me during someone else’s introduction to the class. 

It was true, though. Grandpa in Kansas did take a class from him. Seeing this quote pop up with the others feels like the way Grandpa would do it, too. He always seemed to know the answers, but didn’t really tell anyone. He quietly set up the situation so they could come to the conclusion on their own. 

Maybe this is a way of encouraging me to take the wheel of my own bus. But, he knows I’m slow, and stubborn. Telling me the answer, and pushing me wouldn’t work as well for me. 

Not only am I slow, and always late, but I’m also scared. What if it doesn’t work, or goes wrong. The passengers on my bus can get loud, but the quiet passenger next to me used to feel safe and comforting. “Just keep going. I’ll keep them quiet.” 

Am I miserable, sure. Is this what it is like to be an adult? Is this my path? 

Another song has been speaking to me this week. Many lyrics from Noah Kahan, honestly, are constantly ringing in my ears. “College kids are getting so young, ain’t they?” Yes. Yes they are. 

“I spend nights stitching up the loose threads of my soul. In the morning I’m bulletproof”

As far as I know, Noah does not have chronic illness. However, this line felt so true for my reality. 

Our youngest asked me the other day, “why are things so much harder by the end of the day for you?” Truthfully, I don’t know. She can see it, and understandably is confused. 

Me too, girl! In the morning, I take my medicine, after a good night’s rest, and I too feel bulletproof. I start writing checks that my afternoon body can’t cash, and I feel on top of the world. Something I have been tired of hearing, but also has a lot of validity here, “we’re not sure why…” 

It’s extremely frustrating to me to hear manufacturers of medications say, or even have written in their education pamphlets: “the way this medication works is not fully known.”

What? How? YOU made it… right… HOW do you not know why it works?!?!

But, it does work. They do work. I had an MRI with no new lesions, and one of them may have even gotten smaller. So, I guess the medication must be working… somehow? One of my new neurologists also started me on another medication that is for energy. 

No surprise, but they don’t know how or why it works, but it is a “central nervous system stimulant.” Different from an amphetamine stimulant… and so far, it seems to work better for me, and my ability to function. 

The crash is different too. Adderall’s crash is like a true crash. I feel pretty good, and then I can’t keep my eyes open. This is different, but I still feel capable. 

I don’t like being dependent on these medications to be a human, but the truth is, I am. What I have chosen to do is find the positives, and try to understand it so I can try to make it work for me. Instead of being angry that I can’t have energy all day, I have learned to schedule around my bulletproof moments, and recognize afternoons are going to be hard. 

This has been a struggle with balancing work, and parenthood. The “shoulds” creep in and tell me I should be able to manage this better. 

But what if I can’t?

I have a chronic illness, maybe two. Both affect my brain, and MS is progressive. What if this is now my baseline? Is this how I want to spend it? Giving all my energy to work, coming home exhausted?

The short answer is “no.” 

My boss doesn’t see the struggle. Most people don’t. Even if they do, unless they have lived it, I don’t think they understand the struggle. 

I know I didn’t understand it. To many, it looks like laziness. Laying on the couch with my feet up at 2pm. Behind that is shaking legs, a racing heart, brain fog, and headaches that last for months. I don’t know how to explain or justify why working from home more days is what I need. Yet, I know it is what I need. 

Kasey Musgraves has another song that resonated with me. “Butterflies.” It’s a love song, and absolutely describes the way I feel about my husband. We have been together 5 years, and he still gives me butterflies when I see him. Writing about him now is making me smile and warming my heart. 

Interestingly, even with that still being completely true, what resonated with me this week, was not romantic love. Surprisingly, it was work. 

Kacey Musgraves: “You’re lifting me up instead of pushing me down / You’re taking my hand instead of taking my crown”

Talking with my husband, and my friend, and even the “sales” lady about having a private practice gave me this feeling. The idea of setting my own time limits, making the rules, and doing the job I love without having to justify my needs gave me butterflies. 

It felt empowering and possible to live the life I wanted to. Right now I feel like I’m desperately trying, and failing, to live the life I thought was expected. 

The passengers on my bus are still telling me all the things that could go wrong, how hard it will be, and how it might not work. Truthfully, “right now” isn’t working. It sounds cliche, but my bus is literally the struggle bus. 

What is courage? I don’t think it’s the absence of fear. I think it’s noticing the fear, and doing the thing anyway. Do you think heroes are unafraid? Maybe. But, I don’t think so. We only have anxiety about things that matter. 

My life, my family, my work, and success. All that matters to me. So, I’m scared… like really scared. And, I’m jumping anyway. 

I know my husband is there to lift me up, take my hand. Sometimes literally.