Entry 8 : Anxiety and Rooms with No Windows
By Holly Madden
I spent much of today in a waiting room while my partner underwent surgery. Too many of us are familiar with this experience of waiting. It’s period of time that feels both eternal and timeless. The minutes could not pass slower but all that is going on outside the hospital seems to cease to exist in those moments. I This waiting room, like many, was one with no windows. I found myself caught in an anxiety spiral when the given time was surpassed and I still had no update. I found myself feeling shocked that it was so late in the afternoon. Disoriented and disembodied, I closed my eyes and gave myself a hug. I physically reminded myself to breathe and tried to feel the breath as it moved through my body. Slowly, my shoulders fell, I felt my diaphragm expand and my toes wiggle. My cheeks grew warm and I counted my heartbeats. How normal it is to live disconnected from ourselves, especially in moments of stress or trauma.
As I slowly opened my eyes feeling in my own body an experience again, I looked around the room. I longed for a window if only to see the sky move outside or feel the sunlight on my face. How lucky are we to live on a planet where sunlight can feel like a grounding presence.
In the absence of a window, I closed my eyes again and visualized the sun warming my face and spreading across my body. As my chest warmed, I began to cry. Here I was, sitting in a waiting room after being assured by a surgeon that this procedure is routine, that he has done hundreds of these and that the risks are low. I spent too long in that waiting room trying to swallow the tears with this mantra that somehow “routine” was supposed to take away the worry or did not justify the tears. As I wept, I reminded myself that we are creatures that survive because of our attachments we form to others. This worry and emotion is not a lack of trust but the result of love. More love surrounded me as my best friend texted me, “Don’t feel silly…your feelings are valid so don’t downplay them.” And my mom texted me with echos of solidarity from her own waiting room experiences, “waiting rooms are so lonely when you’re anxious.”
I ache for the version of me that was taught that emotions could be silly. I ache for every person who has been taught that emotions are silly. This journey of dismissing or swallowing our sadness, our disappointment, our anger, and our fear has led to decades of living done disconnected from ourselves.
I am grateful for those that held a spiritual space in that waiting room with me today even though I was physically alone. I am even more grateful for this reminder that in this work to reconnect to myself and the world around me, I have grown so much. I am grateful for the warmth that even visualized sun brought today. And I am grateful to be home typing these words as my children play and my partner rests and begins the long journey of recovery.
I don’t know if this story resonates with you, but here’s your gentle reminder to be proud of the work you are doing to reconnect with yourself.
Sending you love as we winter on,
Holly