The War Within
When the enemy tries to steal the joy.
I celebrated my 60th birthday in Europe.
Ten days. Paris. The Leaning Tower of Pisa. Florence. Tuscany. Rome. Sorrento. Capri. People I love dearly right by my side. New food. New wine. New memories being made in real time.
It was a beautifully planned trip and I loved every minute.
Until fear barged in.
We were in Rome and I was on the back of a Vespa with my man weaving me through the city. Windy. Speeding. Sharp turns through traffic following our tour guide who had my daughters on a vespa with a side car. We trailed behind them through the streets of Rome taking in all the sights. I was having the time of my life. And terribly afraid at the same time.
I knew he was a trust-worthy driver. He owned motorcycles in the past. He loves me dearly and will keep me safe. And still thoughts of something going wrong flooded my mind. What if he cannot stop in time? What if a car doesn’t see us?
Quietly, persistently, anxiety was doing its work.
Anxiety would surface whenever my daughter mentioned the time of our next train. We rode the train from Pisa to Florence, then Florence to Rome. Seeing the countryside, the mountains, while traveling on an express train was exhilarating. But the night before the early morning pickup to the train station, nervousness would flood my core, doubting that they would show up on time. If anything was mentioned about a flight connection or a transfer, my mind would immediately begin calculating everything that could go wrong.
I have developed the skill of simultaneously being the experiencer of my life and being the observer. So I watched as the observer of my own mind. It was fascinating to witness how thoughts appear uninvited and unwanted. Leveraging distance from the thought world as the observer, creates space for truth to be revealed. It has taken a lot of practice over the past few years to master this skill. I used the tools. I regulated my nervous system. I breathed through it. I let it go.
But I was still unnerved by the whole thing because there was so much coming at me all at once. Usually, there is one thought to process and realign with truth. On the trip, it was a deluge of thoughts penetrating the spaces meant for joy. A battle for prominence.
My joy was real. And the fear was also real. Both fully present. Both fighting to lead.
I sat on the back of our boat in Capri feeling cold water splash against my skin. I looked up at the rock formations rising out of the sea and marveled at what God had made and what humans had built into the middle of it. I photographed the green grottos. I drank limoncello. I felt the sun on my face.
In Tuscany, I learned about wine-making, took pictures in the gardens, and tasted red wines that I enjoyed.
And the enemy was right there with me trying to take all of it or distract me from appreciating this beautiful gift.
That is the only way I know to describe it. It felt like an opposing force digging into its bag of tricks and giving everything it had. Patterns from my past kept surfacing. The fear of something going wrong. The need for perfection because failure was too painful to endure. Old wounds and old fears rising up all at once as if they had been waiting for this moment.
There was a point where I wondered if I would come through it. Would it be too much for my psyche to handle?
I need to give you a little context for why this hit as hard as it did.
I grew up with family members who struggled with mental illness. As a child I carried a quiet fear that life would one day become too hard for me to handle. We called it losing your mind back then. And that fear became a root. It was part of why I learned to avoid sadness at all cost. Why I would bypass grief and go straight to anger or problem-solving. Sadness felt like a door I could not afford to open or I would get trapped inside. So I kept it closed and found other ways through.
What I did not know then is that the things we avoid do not disappear. They go underground. And they wait.
What I learned on this trip is that I may lean, possibly bend, but I have never tumbled over. I still stand tall.
I believe everything came up all at once because I was equipped, ready for the challenge, and to provide evidence of the truth of who I am. A strong tower, rooted in my faith in God and in all the power He has endowed me with.
The tools I have built over seven years of healing work have made my mind stronger than I had realized. I watched the fear surface and I did not collapse under it. I did not lose myself in it. I rode it out on the back of a boat in Capri and on a Vespa in Rome and over plates of pasta in Florence and I came through.
No weapon formed against me shall prosper. I know that now not just as a scripture but as a lived experience.
I have moved from surviving my life to living it. From managing my pain to understanding it. From fearing the hard times to knowing I will come through them because I always have.
Today I am stronger than I have ever been. Wiser. Happier. More confident in the goodness of God and in my own capacity to receive it.
The enemy came for me on my 60th birthday trip through Europe.
And I rode a Vespa through Rome anyway.