The Not-So-Great Disappearing Act

When I was  eight I hid under my bed.  I thought I was afraid of school but it really wasn't school.  I was feeling the repercussions of thinking something "out there" was bound to hurt me - and a desperate mental attempt to prevent that from happening.  I even went so far as to sleep under my bed, leaving it made, with pillow and blankets perfectly arranged as though I'd never been there, as though I'd just. . . disappeared.

It seemed like disappearing - taking myself  out of the scene - would be a way to end feeling afraid.  But from under the bed, I felt worse.   Taking my body to school while my mind and attention attempted to vacate the experience put me in a state of anxiety.  Though I was convinced the trick to feeling better lay in figuring out how to disappear,  the resolution of these difficult feelings actually resided in my willingness  to fully appear.

 I have the habit of running from things mentally - a lot of mental chatter - judging, scrutinizing, analyzing.  When I settle, allow all that reactive thought to land, and call myself forward -  I get calmer.  When I stop paying so much attention to thoughts that resist what is happening and step back into my skin, in willingness and acceptance, the peace I'd sought through dropping out and pulling away - through disappearing - is right where I am.