The tranquility of our brilliant afternoon hike through the forest was interrupted by an obstacle: a rocky stream, at least 20 feet across, that had to be forded.
My companions crossed, light of foot, arms outstretched for balance.
I froze at the shore’s edge. I could not put one boot in front of the other. My body could not read the space, and therefore my brain could not issue instructions.
Scenarios overloaded my senses, contributing to blocked motion.
I will fall into the water.
My foot will slide off a rock, twisting my ankle.
I will slip and crack open my head.
I am not safe to cross.
For countless moments, I existed at the intersection of doubt and fear. My utter lack of confidence in my body to perform as I would command it (my doubt) rapidly transformed into a state of fear—a fundamental feeling that one has lost control.
Losing control—of space, time, psychological coherence, bodily functions—is fear in action.
But you don’t get to that point without first passing through a stage of paralyzing doubt.
Doubt is the gateway to fear.
In doubt’s grip, nothing is certain, all safety catches are off, and you enter a state of freefall where anything might happen to you at any moment, in any form.
Doubt brings death too close.
But doubt need not win every showdown. I gathered my forces to shove doubt down—like trying to submerge an air-filled balloon in a pool.
I narrowed my world to my feet and the rock immediately ahead.
One step at a time. Forward motion. That’s how we manage doubt, our constant companion.
Amy,
I have found that the encroaching limitations of age are big drivers of doubt/fear. As in your post, I have learned that breaking things down into smaller components and conquering them one at a time makes a lot of difference towards the good. We have to beat doubt/fear one step at a time. Thanks for the post. I'm glad you are sharing your wisdom with us readers. SW
Living with autism is the same as living with doubt. Doubt fuels our insecurities.