The Walking Stick Journal

Stepping Stones of Transformation

An Unfolding Manuscript

 

by

C.D. Baker

 

Chapter Seven: Afraid to Belong

 

 

There is fear and then there is primal fear. Humanity suffered an Original Terror in the story of Eden where Adam and Eve hid, imagining they had been separated from God. Representing all humankind, Jesus’s own woeful cry of perceived abandonment on the Cross shook the whole creation.

Today, somewhere an infant will shriek a primal scream when missing her mother. 

The anxiety of being separated, abandoned, rejected, or alone is humanity’s primal wound. 

The truth is, God never separated himself from Adam and Eve–he sought them out to cover them and protect them. He never abandoned Jesus on the Cross either. He suffered with him and then resurrected him. 

God has not rejected us either. We are made to belong to him and with him as his beloved children–and to belong with and to each other. 

But sometimes we are too afraid.

 

***

October – December, 2019

 

The day is gray. The trees outside of Bill’s office window have lost most of their leaves. I take my usual seat and set my coffee on the end table to my right.

Wearing one of his collared sweaters, Bill crosses his leg as I tell him that the last two weeks have been depressing. “I’m struggling for my next book idea and feel unproductive…like I have no value and am dispensable.”

Bill raises his brows. 

“Productivity and responsibility were big themes growing up.” I add that I was taught as a boy that God cuts off unproductive branches and tosses them into the fire. 

Bill gawks.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And now you imagine God turning his back on you for no longer qualifying?”

This suddenly feels pathetic.

He leans in. “Like you don’t really belong unless you keep earning acceptance?”

I look out the window, thinking.  

“I’m guessing your imagination provides you its own kind of companionship…like you and your characters belong with each other,” Bill says. “So when you stop, isolation creeps in.” 

He’s on to something. I return my face. “But I do feel close to some actual people…” 

“Good. But is connecting generally difficult?”

“I guess. I’m no joiner. I’ve always been pretty arms-length with people. God, too–I suppose underneath I fear being exiled by him.”

Bill waits as I shift in my chair. 

“Actually, I think I sometimes play roles instead of connecting.”

“That may feel safer, but the roles we play only connect a part of us.”

“I really do care about others, it’s just that…well…I dunno.” 

He nods. “Yes, you offer love but you resist receiving it. You only experience half of the equation for happiness.” He rests his elbows on the arms of his chair. 

I wait.

“Emotional health is ultimately about fear and love. You offer lots of love, but don’t receive love because you fear that you’ll prove to be a disappointment–sure that you’ll be eventually disqualified, even by God. That keeps you on constant guard duty and is very depleting.” 

“Well, it’s not that hard for an introvert.”

“It’s taking more of a toll than you think.” Bill holds his eyes on mine. “Yet where you’ve felt safe you have connected to others.”

I feel a pleasant warmth as some faces come to mind. “Sure. So you think I’m ‘belong-worthy’ after all?” I offer a chuckle.

Bill smiles.

Time to deflect. “I’ll tell you what’s taking a toll–something’s off with my right ear. It rings 24/7 and is making me crazy. I woke up the other night and thought I might lose my mind.”

Bill handles the dodge, masterfully. “The ringing is no threat but it must feel like one.” He leans toward me. “It’s especially awful when you think you’re alone with it.” 

“I just want the noise to stop.”

“I don’t blame you. The reality is that all of us are vulnerable to all sorts of things. Can you accept that?”

I feel a flutter of anxiety. “I’ve spent a lifetime trying to prove to myself that I’m not vulnerable.”

“Vulnerability helps us experience love.”

That catches me by surprise.

“When we walk through our troubles, we’ll find others ready to walk with us–if we let them. Their comfort carries us to the other side.” He then adds, “But you resist letting them help you.” He offers a sympathetic face. “There are reasons that little boy inside of you had to believe what you still believe.”

I deflect again and tell him about my having to put down my wife’s horse a couple of days ago. “Was really sad. I even cried, and I felt guilty like I had failed that horse somehow. I’m not sure I appreciated her as much as the others, and she probably felt that…” I blush and look away. 

Bill pauses, then says, “Can you hear it?”

I shut down.

“You carry others’ happiness…even a horse’s…but won’t let others carry yours.”

I stare ahead until some inner voice suddenly whispers, “How lonely does this make you feel?”