Aligators, Anxiety, and Acceptance

Caution Alligator Habitat. That’s what the sign said. The one, my husband, told me not to read. My daughter called out from her, paddleboard, “why would you tell her that?” I froze. My mind flashed to hiking in the mountains two months earlier and seeing all the warnings of bears. I had joked with my husband, saying apparently, I was more scared of COVID than bears. Was the same true for alligators? No. This was my first-time paddle boarding—standing on flat foam. At least a kayak had sides. My one request had been finding somewhere far from alligators. Request denied.

My husband plopped the paddleboard in the water. He didn’t want to give me the chance to overthink the situation. It was too late. My what-if writer brain had already gone through several disturbing scenarios, and I wondered if I refused to go would I get them to stay. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference for the two with adventurous spirits. I’d be left on the dock. My choices were to sit alone, worrying, or go with them. I stood on the paddleboard, stiff-legged, gently rocking to see how difficult it was to balance. It was sturdy, so armed with a single paddle and tense limbs; I searched the mangroves like a fierce warrior (or worrier) searching for alligators. I thought about all the school active shooter video trainings I’d seen that described the importance of visualization. Visualize escaping! That’s what I did for the first half-hour. Scanned and visualized, and when my husband and daughter got too far ahead of me, I told them they shouldn’t leave me as bait. We should stay together so I wouldn’t be perceived as the weak one in the group. They laughed and tried to do their best to distract me as you would a toddler about to get a vaccination. “Hey, look at that bird over there!”

My words were kind, but my thoughts were something along the lines of, yeah, I see that same bird in my backyard while I’m sitting safely on the couch.

Finally, I began to relax. We paddled by a squadron of pelicans sitting on a sandbar. Ospreys flew overhead. Jumping fish leaped into the air. My thoughts turned from alligators to the incredible beauty that surrounded us.

It occurred to me that this experience mirrored my life. From as far back as I can remember, anxiety has been a part of me. Before COVID, I thought of my anxiety as a flaw, an aspect of myself that made me less than. I’d compare myself to people like my husband, who could go anywhere and do anything and be completely comfortable. This chipped away at my self-esteem.

Beginning in March, I spent hours at home, only leaving if absolutely necessary. COVID, like the alligators, could be anywhere. It wasn’t long before I discovered a peace I’d never known. It was then that I realized how much of my life had been lived in anxiety. This brought the realization that I was separate from my anxiety. The real me was peaceful, and it was only when I allowed fear to seep through did anxiety have a grip on me. In other words, I am not my anxiety. Knowing this empowered me to make a choice instead of believing I had no choice. When I encounter a situation and feel my anxiety rise, I can separate it knowing it’s fear and not a flaw or a limiting belief. I can choose to push through the fear—get on the paddleboard or sit on the dock. Both choices are okay.

We made it safely to the dock, where I found a woman standing, watching her husband launch his kayak. She stayed while we took our paddleboards out of the water. Then she pointed to the sign, “did you see any alligators?”

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash