I felt is starting last night, but could not quite put my finger on what it was, but when I woke up this morning it was absolutely there, grating my insides: Financial Insecurity.
I just hate it. I hate it as much as the awful feeling that comes when I wish I was a better person, which is less and less frequent, but can still be like a rotting, suffocating blanket shutting out any light and making everything seem mouldy and bad.
Financial insecurity is different. It is as though a parmesan cheese grater has been rubbed over my inside, around my heart and there is a chill wind blowing over the raw flesh. Because of childhood experiences I short circuit into death and loss at an alarming rate and stop breathing rather too frequently.
I am practicing being here, now, so this morning I worked on being the observer. Hard to do, not sliding into total victim in a pool on the floor, but little by little I saw the spiral and looked down it rather than buy the ticket and loathe the ride. I breathed and eventually even managed to voice my worst fears: Death, abandonment, rejection, loss and failure.
By 7am it was just a low-grade fear and after dropping the children I felt better. In writing, I have touched it again. I sit in my shop with tears trembling on the very expensive and not waterproof mascara that I use, letting the sensations brought up by the focussed writing wash through me and pass.
I can feel my sense of humour returning and wonder when it will stop. I have been financially insecure ALL my life. Never trusting life, the Universe, my talent, my husbandÄôs talent. Always waiting for the sword of Damaclese to cut me in two and all is finished. What curious creatures we are. Well, me probably more than most, but then again maybe not me so much.
A black tea with a friend yesterday led to interesting discussions on body image, self-esteem, self-respect and the feeling that we are right and Bush is wrong. But he is only wrong because he does not think like me or my friend. If we thought like him we would all be right. How fabulous is that? There always has to be a baddie somewhere.