White-Girl Walkabout: My Commitment to Face My Own Fears- and What Helped Along The Way

Aboriginal Australians have a traditional coming of age ritual in which a young man (roughly age 12-13) is sent into the bush (wilderness) to wander and survive on their own for a period of time.  The youth spends a period of roughly 6 months, wandering around 1,000miles, surviving solely on their own. Successfully returning alive is rewarded with respect and admiration of older members of the tribe, not to mention a profound sense of independence and self-reliance in the individual.  The experience may be repeated on occasion at other times in one’s life as a way to reset, test one’s skills, and rebuild sense of self.

Modern-day America has very few such rituals, especially for females.  Although I was granted a loosely similar (much safer, much more structured) experience by my parents at age 16 when they sent me away for 2 weeks at age 15 to Outward Bound wilderness camp, it was high time for another self-test.  I had already realized I needed to dig deeper and challenge myself to grow.  (One cannot be effective in helping others if they personally avoid the hard work they themselves are faced with.  That is the definition of a hypocrite, not a therapist.)  But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Why Walkabout Now?  AKA The Things I Need to Heal

Reason One: Personal Loss

I had recently experienced a painful breakage in a close, supportive relationship.  Although my needs to step back we based in healthy boundaries, it nonetheless left what felt like an enormous, empty hole inside of me where there had once been love and a rare breed of trust.  For months, I had been navigating the “rubble” of what remained of the relationship, attempting to find a healthy way forward.  I wrestled with whether I could still be connected to this person at all (we will just call this person “Fred”), or whether I could try to still be a friend, from a healthier distance apart.  But the chasm of grief within me echoed with a need for safe trusting connection, and in the absence of that need being fulfilled elsewhere, it was extremely painful to still be in connection with Fred.

***Therapy Skills in Action: Self-Care, Seeking Connection, Seeking Professional Help***

I sought out other healthy connections to fulfill this need as such:

1)      I focused primarily on making my connection to my SELF healthier with self-care (beach, art, animated musicals, noticing my body, tuning in to my inner child), and a shit-ton of therapy.  My deductible was met due to a car accident earlier in the year, so I lined up TWO therapists.  One to help me navigate the day-to-day challenges (and who I had discussed Fred with in the past), and one to dive deep with: EMDR to help scrape out more of the sludge that dated back to childhood insecure attachments.  A balance of feel-good and feel-fucking-awful self-work.

2)      (Re)connecting with some of my closest friends and family, and giving those connections some much-needed “fertilizer” to re-establish those safe relational roots.

3)      Attempting to meet some new friends online via apps…. ((ominous music plays))

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Reason Two: Belief That Humans Are Scary!

Ok… I know it’s not just me noticing this…  but holy jeebus!  American culture (at least as it relates to interpersonal relationships) is nowadays just people flinging their trauma at each other like apes flinging shit, with every failed attempt at connection just making folks sicker and sicker! 

The dating pool is such a toxic cesspool that a recent study revealed that only 38% of single females are even attempting romantic connections.  Of those 38%, I have to wonder, how many of those women are doing it for unhealthy reasons (more because they need a relationship than because they are healthy on their own and simply want a romantic relationship).  This doesn’t leave great odds for men to connect with mentally healthy women, nor are they connecting to other mentally healthy males, leading to epidemic levels of loneliness in males.  And these opposing systems ricochet off of each other, leading humanity into an ever-deepening downward spiral….

But hey, silver linings?  Maybe it will at least help with the problem of human overpopulation?  Taylor Swift has plenty of material for more songs like “Anti-Hero”? (Sorry, folks, I’m grasping at straws here.)

OK.  Deep breaths.  Shaking the doom spiral off.  Can we just say that attempts to find connection online were not met with the BEST success?  I’ve made some pretty cool surface-level friendships: texting buddies, coffee dates, an occasional board game.  They don’t balance out with the modern-day “standard” of just ghosting people we don’t feel like continuing a conversation with.  And they DEFINITELY don’t make up for the outright-abusive creeps. 

A week ago, I found myself quickly placing (rational, reasonable, calmly-communicated) boundaries with an individual who had begun waving red flags within the first half hour of conversation.  He gushed about how intelligent I seemed, and how he could not have conversation like this with other women, but he pointed out that we had opposite politics.  When I stated we would need to avoid engaging in political conversation if we wanted to stay in contact, he said he agreed…. Only to plow through that boundary repeatedly, sending me political commentaries he had published online, and being insulting when I refused to read them.  All of it, an effort to dominate me. 

***Therapy Skill in Action: Recognizing Red Flags, Setting Healthy Boundaries***

I did the healthy things.  I politely disengaged with “We can agree to disagree.”  I restated my boundary a couple times more: “You insist on seeking political debate with me.  I do not have the energy or interest for this.”  I even offered good reasons: “I have told you that I find this topic personally frightening to discuss right now, given news headlines.  If you continue, I will be blocking you.”

Let’s be clear.  If you know someone is afraid of spiders, and for no good reason, you FORCE them to be near spiders, that is abuse.  It is cruel.  It is sadistic.  It is how torture works- you take away someone’s free will and force them to do something that only benefits YOU.  Simply because you can.

Using only calm words, I told him I would now be blocking him.  I could not be reactive with this unstable man. He had my cell number and could do a reverse look-up of me, learn my real name, where I lived, etc. 

It was frightening.  It FELT like a form of “intellectual rape”.  Instead of a man using his body to dominate me, he forced his intellect on me, refusing to allow me to get away with disagreeing with him, punishing me for doing so.  I could not argue back and risk making the situation more dangerous.  I had to hope that blocking my number would be enough to keep this man far away from my physical person.

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But that night broke me.  “I give up!  No new attempts at connection!  No new people in my life!  It’s not worth the risk!”

Reason Three: A Friend in Need, and a Kiddo in Camp

That next day, my nervous system was still RAW.  FRIED.  I was in full-retreat mode.  Online profiles deleted.  Clients canceled for the day.  Friends/ family/ co-workers informed: Briana is hiding for a bit to tend to mental health.  Watch me practice what I preach, guys.

And I told Fred that I could not do our friendship for the foreseeable future, if ever.  It just hurt too much, and I my pain-quota was maxed out. 

Fred could see I finally meant it.  And after months of refusing to show any vulnerability or transparency, his defenses finally broke.  Suddenly, he was admitting pain, struggles, and a deep sense of shame that I had always suspected, but could never confirm.  My friend had hit rock bottom and was in crisis.  He didn’t WANT help.  Couldn’t bring himself to ask for it.  All he could say, on repeat, was “I don’t deserve any help.”

If I did fly out to lend a helping hand to my friend, there was still no guarantee that Fred would even accept that help.  It could be a totally wasted trip.  But the timing coincided with the one week each year that my son goes to sleep-away camp and doesn’t need Mom as much.  I began to weigh pros and cons of the idea.