When life speeds up, schedules overlap, travel piles on, or I simply feel overwhelmed, I've noticed something about myself that I used to carry a great deal of shame around. I go straight to fear. Not just the fear that something might be wrong with my body, but a much deeper fear. If I'm honest, it's the fear that this could somehow be the beginning of the end.
For years, I judged myself for it, especially because of the work I do. I felt like I should know better. But I've come to realize that regulation isn't a finish line. It's a relationship. Some days it feels steady, and other days it asks a little more of us. I also know I'm not alone. So many people I've spoken with have shared some version of this same fear.
Part of me wonders if mine began because I've brushed up against death before. After my major surgery as a teenager, I spent years trying to prove just how alive I was, chasing adventure and living on the edge. It grew even stronger after I became a mother. Suddenly, love was accompanied by a whole new kind of vulnerability.
These days, I notice it most when I fly. The harder I try to push the fear away, the tighter it seems to hold on.
Then one evening, my beautiful husband said something that completely changed the way I saw it.
"I think it's admirable that you love life so much you don't want to lose it."
His words stayed with me. But as I reflected on them, I realized it wasn't actually life I was afraid of losing.
It was connection.
Connection with my husband, my daughter, my family, my friends, my work, my health, and this incredible community. Connection with breath, movement, music, laughter, creativity, and the simple privilege of waking up to another ordinary day.
What I had always viewed as a flaw in my nervous system suddenly looked very different. Maybe my fear wasn't something to conquer. Maybe it was simply revealing how deeply I love this life and the people in it.
Fear and love are opposites, but I've come to believe they often walk side by side. The deeper we love, the more vulnerable we become to loss. Perhaps that isn't a weakness. Perhaps it's part of what makes love so extraordinary.
Now, instead of asking myself, "Why am I so afraid?" I'm learning to ask, "What is it that I love so deeply?"
The answer is always the same.
The people.
The relationships.
The moments of connection that make this beautiful, ordinary life so meaningful.
With love,
Christine
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