I'm having heart palpitations. Right this second, at 2:06 EST, at my desk, in front of my screen, whilst generating a 121 worksheet cascade on the server and bouncing back and forth from the Remote Desktop Connection and my own computer, I am having heart palpitations. I am a 43 year old female in good health; relatively speaking one could even say excellent health. I don't smoke, I don't drink to excess, I do my very best to eat only foods that can remember where they came from and are hormone, pesticide and chemical free, I get hard exercise four times a week and moderate exercise every single day. This should not be happening but it is.
The events that are driving the stress are just events. I know that. I even know, with the support of my family, my lawyer, my daughter's therapist and my life coach (I still have a real hard time spitting out words like lawyer, therapist and life coach in conjunction with me or mine) that what I am doing is right, good, correct and fully supported. I know all of these things. However...
I think this has something to do with my relationship with authority figures. I had this boyfriend once, the man drove me crazy, was a Fundamentalist Christian and therefore really shouldn't even have been speaking to Pagan me, much less having frequent and quite intimate relations, who's spiritual leader, while encouraging him to run from me for his very life and soul, suggested I might have authority issues wrapped up with boundary concerns. True enough, I didn't grow up with a lot of boundaries. And true enough I've had a very bi-polar relationship with authority figures. While allowing my brother and I to pretty much run wild, my parents ruled with the iron fists of absolute and unquestionable authority.
Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it? Well, chew on that one for awhile, you'll just have to accept that I mean what I say because I'm not here to dredge up that particular past.
So here's what I know is going on inside my old brain. My old brain, that ancient lizard thing sitting silent on its rock, tongue flicking out to taste the air, claws scrapping slowly across damp granite as movement is slow and deliberate right up until it's not and then that beast moves like lightening and I am left damp and quivering, wondering what the devil just happened...
My old brain is convinced that if someone I consider an authority figure (and apparently that might be anybody with a halfway righteous tone of writing or voice) tells me that something is so, why then it is. And that I, the small field mouse standing exposed shaking her little mousey fist into the sky as the chicken hawk swoops in for the crunchings, am completely and perpetually wrong and bad and most assuredly going to be punished within an inch of my life or for sure my life and my deepest fear is that I will go down sniveling like some beaten thing left out soggy and fitful in the rain.
So. It's feedback. That's all. They are only words and thoughts and feelings and I do not have to choose from those places. And I note that sometimes in the talking or writing or acknowledging that the palpitations begin to subside.