So
I thought I’d write a little bit about fear this week.
I
know, cheering.
It’s
been sparked by last week’s bike purchase and the things I
was thinking as I finally went out on said cycle. TWENTY FIVE years
after I’d last sat on one.
We
are lucky enough to live within easy reach of the countryside and
there’s a handy track behind our little estate,
just waiting for nervy cyclists wearing their brother’s old bike
helmet.*
So
filled with both trepidation and excitement – but mainly
trepidation – I clambered aboard and pushed off.
And
do you know what, it WAS wobbly and it WAS scary and I DID fall off
(distracted by a passing cat) but it was a complete and absolute utter joy.
I
was reminded of being a teenager and biking to school, skirt
hoiked up, whizzing happily in the traffic. I was suddenly
younger and free-er and far more smiley than I thought I would be.
It wasn’t without worry – my steering was questionable and the
brakes took me by surprise a few times. Also the seat really, really
needs more padding, but I was so proud of myself.
It
made me realise that I can, for the time being at least, do the thing
I wanted to do – not despite the fear, but alongside it.
And
I think this is quite a key part of living with MS.
There
will always be fear – fear of diagnosis, fear of the damage, fear of medication: the
side effects and the efficacy rates, fear of what others think, fear
of relapses, fear of progression, fear of the unknown and fear for the future.
And while I
don’t advocate not talking about your fears or refusing to
acknowledge that they are there, it cannot help to dwell too much upon them.
What can help is to find a way to
live with this ever
present companion and somehow accept it into your life.
Yes
fear has a voice, but it isn't the only voice.
There are other far more interesting, positive and wise speakers out
there that I would like to ride with.
*The
helmet might be kindly described as vintage, although my daughter
collapsed in fits of giggles when she saw it, so perhaps laughable is
a more accurate term. It belonged to my younger brother who last wore
it over his questionable mullet at the age of 14. When I mentioned to
my dad that I’d bought a bike but failed to buy a helmet, he went
immediately went to his magic hoarding shed and pulled the original
box out with helmet intact like some kind of head protecting wizard.
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