Unlearning

I watched from the window as the branches of the grand oak tree bent against the Category 3 winds like it was holding its arms up in surrender. The massive tree stood sentry in our front yard for decades, much longer than my thirteen years, its integrity unquestioned. The swaying unnerved me. The sky had gone from dark and ominous to bright daylight in a matter of minutes, leaving the howling wind stripping leaves from branches as the only reminder we were in the eye of a storm. Maybe it was the urgency of the news anchors who had recommended evacuation before Andrew made landfall, or maybe it was more about my inner turmoil than the outer forces of nature, but this storm felt different.

“Is this Armageddon?” I asked Mama. She was at her usual place in front of the stove with pots going on three different burners. She kept her eyes trained on the plumes of steam wafting up from a skillet and filling the kitchen with the smell of onions. The skillet sizzled as she made quick circles with a rubber spatula. She showed no signs of concern about an impending apocalypse and I immediately felt silly. She would tell me I was overreacting, that this storm would pass just like all the others before it. 

“The bible says no one knows the day or the hour,” she said.

I swallowed hard and mentally tallied my recent wrongdoings – cursing in my diary, masturbating, eating birthday cake – and prayed I had done enough good deeds in the interim to earn salvation, until I remembered Jehovah doesn’t hear the prayers of the wicked.

Spoiler alert: The world didn’t end that day. I would endure many more years of carrying anxiety as a constant companion, though I only recently learned its name. I didn’t realize my chronic headaches, nail-biting, and nervous tics were its manifestations until I started therapy. Now I understand I’m prone to catastrophizing because I grew up in a doomsday cult awaiting a violent apocalypse I might not survive. Masking was a useful skill in navigating a life where being my authentic self was dangerous because it ran counter to groupthink. It’s a lot to come to terms with and painful to unpack, but learning to recognize the faulty coping mechanisms that served me well in a past life is the first step in unlearning them so I don’t carry them into the next.