Call it Courage

Issue #53/Good and Beautiful Things

Sketch from 2021

When I first decided to start the Good and Beautiful Things newsletter I took some time to journal about its theme and purpose. Three words quickly came to mind and they all happened to start with “c”—creativity, curiosity, and courage.

When I think of courage I immediately think of its great nemesis—fear. My own courage surfaced only after I’d endured a period of intense fear and anxiety. A fear that arrived like a parasite with the onset of my chronic health issues. Honestly, it was a bit of a “chicken or the egg” scenario. Did my growing anxiety induce the health issues or did the health issues ignite a dormant flame of fear until it erupted into a wildfire? The answer is yes to both. 

My chronic pain story is a bit of a tangled knot that is difficult to explain with brevity. For the sake of where I’m headed in this post I’ll just say that several systems in my body were going rogue and there were no clear answers or remedies for the problems. I found myself in the hands of a medical system that I didn’t trust because I’d watched the same system fail my dad, ending with his death, about five years before my own health issues began. Before my Dad, I stood in the gap between my infant daughter and the team of practitioners who worked to save her life after she was born with a heart defect. And now it was me, every few days in another doctor’s office, vulnerable, scared, and in pain. 

When I look back at that time I can see the fear spreading like an IV injected dye throughout my veins and arteries. Again and again I heard “you look great, all of your tests are normal” even though I knew what I was experiencing in my body was anything but normal. I was afraid that I might die before anyone found the answers and it felt like the entire weight of saving my life was in my own hands.

As the crisis continued on for months, it forced me to look in the mirror and face some deeper truths about myself. A tool that helped me understand myself better was the Enneagram. After reading through the different number descriptions, I figured out that I was a Six. For those who might not know, the driving desire of a Six is the need to feel safe, which often shows up to others as fear and anxiety. Through this new lens, I found myself peering back over forty years of my life and every decision and reaction seemed rooted in fear.

Music artist Sleeping at Last wrote a song for each of the Enneagram numbers. Here’s an excerpt from his song, Six:

My mind was heavy
Running ragged with worst case scenarios
Emergency exits and the distance below
I woke up so worried that the angels let go

Oh, God, I'm so tired
Of being afraid

I began to understand the saying “the only thing to fear is fear itself”. I couldn’t stand living every minute with such intense fear taking up residence in both my body and my mind. In order to interrupt my worried thoughts, I had to put on podcasts anytime I was in the car. After a doctor’s appointment, I’d arrive home to the kids and turn on a tv show to out-noise the anxiety and breathe a little easier. I didn’t like becoming aware of the fear and I didn’t like the label I’d taken on as an Enneagram Six either, even if all of it was true.

As uncomfortable as that time was, it was also the turning point, the key that unlocked my prison door. Fear had kept my life small and now that it was no longer an invisible enemy, now that I could see its destructive force, I could name it and fight it.

One day I was listening to a podcast with Sleeping at Last about how he wrote the Six song and his guest flipped everything I’d been holding on its head. He believed that Sixes were misrepresented. They weren’t cowards, he explained, instead their virtue was courage. Sixes “threat forecast” in order to protect and take care of themselves and others. Protector? “When a Six is centered, when a six is grounded, when a Six is rooted, there is no one more fearless than a six.” Fear—less?

That was the day God gave me a new name.

Courageous.

Another excerpt from the song, Six:

Maybe I'm stronger
Than I realize…

Is it courage or faith
To show up every day?
To trust that there will be light
Always waiting behind
Even the darkest of nights

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It takes courage to show up every day with a mind that basically sees the possibility of death daily. It takes courage to enter into the murky waters of life anyway. The more that fear attempts to take up space in my world, the more that I’m aware of my own courage.

It hasn’t been a straight path. There are plenty of days when my world gets smaller again.

“I have a lot of faith and a lot of fear a lot of the time.”

-Anne Lamott, from Small Victories

Fear still courses through my veins but it doesn’t define who I am and it’s not my compass anymore.

In Part 2, I’ll share a more recent way of thinking about life that leads me away from anxiety and toward wonder and hope.

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Continue the Journey

As I searched through my Notes app for the word “fear” in preparation for today’s newsletter, I came across this piece of writing from 2020, when my health journey collided with the pandemic. It was based on a journaling prompt about the five senses.

Note: The mention of baking soda is a reference to a remedy I tried for my pain syndrome: drinking baking soda mixed with water. In case you’re wondering, it tastes as good as it sounds.

2020 

I smell peppermint oil
mixed with grace and guinea pigs,
band-aids for the pain.

I taste chocolate
and baking soda mixed with fear
and limitations.

I hear “Momma” and
“How are you feeling” and the 
music next door again.

I touch love and loss,
feel the tension all over,
breathe out and look up.

I see zinnias and sunsets
faces of those who love me,
beauty in the cracks. 

I see the unknown,
the courage it will take to 
walk another day.

Since April is National Poetry Month it seems the perfect time to share this Mary Oliver poem once again. Do you resonate with this poem?

I Worried
by Mary Oliver

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

Art from 2022

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Blessings from the Guest Nest,

-Aimee

P.S.—Thanks so much for reading, sharing, and contributing to the conversation. You can support my art and writing by donating to my art supply fund and by sharing this newsletter with friends who might enjoy it.

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