Stretch Marks
What I Learned from a Guy Named Fuzzy While I Dangled From a Rope
Issue #55/Good and Beautiful Things
I stood in the middle of the woods with a handful of moms and a dozen preteen girls. We mirrored each other with matching helmets and harnesses that circled our waists and cinched around our thighs.
As someone who preferred to learn with my hands instead of my ears, I was hoping the instruction time would be brief.
Our bearded and barrel-stomached instructor, Fuzzy, stepped forward. Instead of asking a few volunteers for a demonstration he said, “Everyone link arms and form a tight circle.”
Fuzzy joined our chain and we hooked elbows and pressed against each other’s shoulders until every bit of personal space was squeezed out.
Nervous giggles of discomfort.
“Now take a step back and drop your hands.”
Ahh, a little better.
“This is what we’ll call our comfort zone. In our comfort zone we do the things that we’re most comfortable doing. Let’s go around and name something in our comfort zone. I’m Fuzzy and I’m comfortable playing the piano.”
As the girls and women shouted out answers, I silently answered.
I’m Aimee and I’m comfortable in a hot bath with a wet book.
“Now everyone take a step back,” commanded Fuzzy.
We did and I wondered again when he was going to show us how to climb those ropes.
Fuzzy continued, “What happened when we stepped back? What happened to the chain we’d created? That’s right, we stretched it. I like to call this the stretch zone. This is the place where we do things that might seem difficult, you might be a little scared or uncertain you can do it. Why is it good to be in our stretch zone and not just stay in our comfort zone?”
One of the younger girls raised her hand, “Because we might find things we really like to do and then our comfort zone will get bigger and bigger.”
“Exactly. Now everyone turn around and wave to the forest behind you.”
We turned and waved.
“Back there is the panic zone. We don’t want to go there today. If you panic you’re going to be tempted to jump right back into your comfort zone and stay there.”
As Fuzzy talked I wondered if I’d have the strength for the ropes. I worried that the system would be too complicated and I’d feel dumb and fail in front of my daughter. Next I thought about my fear of heights. I already had one foot in the panic zone.
But circle time was finally over, Fuzzy was at the ropes.
Another instructor hooked my harness to the tall ropes streaming down from the top of the tree. I nudged the large knot in front of me up as high as it could go and placed my feet inside the loops. Lifting the first knot, I stood up in the foot loops. Lifting the knot again, my feet were off the ground, my weight entirely in the harness.
Repeating the steps, I moved further into the air, slow and steady movements like the inch worms in our trees back home.
With each foot that I moved up the ropes, my smile grew. My friend Sally cheered and took photos. One of the girls from below called, “Go Micah’s mom!”
I continued to pull myself into my stretch zone. Finally, floating at twenty feet, I looked around, my smile at full capacity.
I did it!
Did I say that out loud?
“Take a photo!”
I definitely said that out loud.
Meanwhile my daughter was ten feet below me. She’d removed her feet from the loops and thrown her head and arms back, a move that Fuzzy called “the butterfly”. Her eyes were closed and she looked completely relaxed.
I quietly amended my answer from earlier. My name is Aimee and I’m comfortable hanging from ropes twenty feet off the ground.
///
It seemed like only moments later I began to think about what would happen if I fell from that height. What part of my body would break when that fall happened? I heard the rope fibers rubbing against each other with the tension.
I waved to the panic zone.
And then I announced I was ready to come down.
But the stretch zone had already served its purpose and it became a repeated metaphor we used for the rest of our time at Girl Scout camp. As another mom and I walked across the pitch black field to get to the bathrooms in the middle of the night, we both agreed we were in our stretch zone then. As I pulled a tick from one of our girls (a task normally reserved for my husband) I knew beyond a doubt that the whole weekend was one big stretch zone.
///
Back at home I read an email from my best friend about a tough week with her kids that had ended in tears. As I typed my reply I noticed the cuts and burns the ropes had left on my hands. I thought of my struggling friend and of myself at the highest point of the ropes. I realized from the moment my first child was placed in my arms that parenting had also been one endless stretch zone.
On the ropes course I’d made the choice to leave my comfort zone but in parenting the choice was made for me at the very beginning. Since then I’ve just tried to hold onto the rope. I’m stretched when my children are fighting and hurting each other for the fifth time that day and when a child needs me but what I have to give doesn’t seem to be enough. The fibers of my heart rub against one another when my child has made a mistake and I can’t see which path to choose, should it be mercy or a consequence? In those moments I can’t call Fuzzy over to steady the rope, it’s either stretch or panic.
Ten years in and I’m comfortable with dirty diapers, occasional stomach viruses, feeding the family and doing laundry. Also going to the bathroom with a toddler always present and teaching a child to read. But in the beginning any of those would have taken me to my panic zone.
Sometimes, mercifully, I get to whisper, “I did it” and I’d really like someone to take a photo so I’d have proof of my success.
But I also visit the panic zone often. I panic when my daughter is distressed and my mind only calls up foolish, trite answers. I panic when I realize they’ll have to experience pain to grow and I won’t be able to protect them every time. Mostly I panic when I look at the other moms and they seem like they never wonder if they’ll reach the top of the ropes.
Usually the choice between being stretched and giving into panic happens when I look around for too long. When I see a mistake that feels like it could break me or my child, how do I respond? Do I remind myself that my family is tethered to the One who is going to keep holding us whether I make a mistake or get it right? Can I fling my arms and legs out into a butterfly and trust the ropes will hold?
My comfort zone has expanded as a mama. And for it to grow further, I’m going to have to dangle in my harness and so are my kids because even if I had a choice, I’d choose the stretch zone instead of keeping my feet on solid ground.
Epilogue
A few days ago I found this account of my adventure on the Girl Scout ropes course from 2011. I’d forgotten all about it until I was flipping through a book I’d printed of my blog posts from back then. The daughter who dangled in the tree with me that day is now twenty-three and a full-time nurse.
I was fascinated to find a piece of writing from thirteen years ago that feels so relevant to recent thoughts I’ve been having about fear and courage.
That earlier mom version of myself probably thought that the stretch zone would eventually end but it hasn’t.
When my 21-year-old daughter flies to Africa next week? Stretch zone.
When she arrives back home and undergoes a heart procedure a week later? Stretch zone again.
When we teach our youngest and last child to drive this summer?
Panic Stretch zone here I come.
I still love my comfort zone and I consider dangling on the edge of panic one of my least favorite places to be. And yet lately I find myself choosing to be stretched in many areas of my life.
I hope to share more examples in the coming weeks but this past week I went on an adventure to Costa Rica with my best friend. As someone who lives with chronic pain and anxiety, getting on that plane by myself left stretch marks for sure. (It was also an amazing opportunity and, yes, it was a wonderful trip!)
My capacity for what fits in my comfort zone? It’s getting bigger all the time.
Words to Remember
Ryan Reynolds recently wrote a blurb about Michael J. Fox for Time’s 100 Most Influential People of 2024:
“He’s funny. He’s warm. He’s handsome and intensely smart. He also falls a lot. Not just because he has Parkinson’s. He falls a lot because he’s unafraid to fly…”
Last year he showed his daughter Back to the Future and it became her favorite movie. She still has no idea that her Dad knows Marty McFly.
“…I don’t need to teach my daughter the level of compassion Mike has mastered. Or teach her to tell stories the way Mike tells stories. I need to teach her that it’s OK to fall a lot. It’s the absolute best way to know you’re flying.”
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.
Oh my goodness!! Love this!! Thanks for sharing
This was beautiful. Thank you for sharing it. Not knowing you as a writer I wasn't expecting the epilogue and found it really moving.