Read Online Don't Tell Me I Can't Do It! by Erica Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: Erica Miller
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but often couldn’t tell whether it was friend or foe approaching. It was not an experience for the faint of heart, and I confess that I was truly petrified.
I suppressed my fear with an overpowering sense of duty. My pride and patriotism would never countenance the idea of failing to live up to the role my country had summoned me to perform just because I was scared of the dark. “Here I am! Yes, sir!” A dutiful, reliable soldier guarding our homes and our families— that was how I saw myself.
I faced my fear, stared down my mortality, and defied the forces that threatened to cut my life short. I never went out at night thinking, “Maybe I’ll die tonight, and that would be okay with me.” But I did go out resigned to see my assignment through, becausefailure was not an option. “I don’t want to die tonight,” I’d tell myself, “but if death is out there waiting for me, so be it!” Each time my peers and I returned safely from a maneuver, I treasured our time together and felt profoundly grateful for the chance to live another day.
It was probably during that season that I began to develop the vital optimism that has become the refrain of my life: Live life today. The past is gone. The future might never be.
This is the perspective I try to bring to my therapy sessions with broken, world-weary clients. Over and over I’ve watched people catch this “seize the day” attitude—people who seem overwhelmed by sorrow, tragedy, and abuse but who suddenly realize how they’ve been passively perpetuating their suffering by letting it defeat them and hold them down. Once I’m able to persuade them that it’s time for a change, I can inspire them to join me in the here and now as I impart my knowledge, spirit, passion, and appreciation for life with all of its twists and turns. I view myself as an instructor, coach, mentor, and preacher.
Some people are surprised, then, to learn that I’m not a daredevil. I don’t invite danger into my life. You won’tfind me hang-gliding, skydiving, or whitewater rafting. Those sorts of things sound too dangerous to me, and I’m not one of those people who feels compelled to experience the “rush” of flirting with death. Life is too precious for me to go taking unnecessary risks. Nevertheless, as in the past, I don’t allow fear to rule me. One might say I’m counterphobic. I take deep breaths and do what has to be done in spite of my fear, compelled by a vision of life that involves far more than the fleeting unpleasantness of immediate circumstances.
That means rolling up my sleeves and going to work when today is difficult. It means mindfully enjoying each fleeting moment when today is going well. It means treasuring my past experiences without dwelling on hurtful memories. It means looking hopefully upon tomorrow even as I’m reminded that tomorrow may never come.
Jumping out of bed, at first I’m unsure whether I’m awake or trapped in a nightmare. It’s early in the morning, and my senses are overwhelmed—explosions, thicksmoke, fire rattling mercilessly everywhere, consuming my universe. I’m back in the war zone of my youth, reliving the ferocity of the bombings. I’m a trapped animal looking for an escape route.
Suddenly, my senses are jolted to the present. This isn’t the camps; this is our home, engulfed in flames. There’s no time to waste if we’re going to survive. I look over to find that Jerry is somehow sleeping through the mayhem.
“Jerry, wake up! Wake up! We have to get out of here!” It seems to take forever for him to climb out of bed. He’s bewildered and clumsy as he searches for his shirt and slippers. “There’s no time for that, Jerry! Hurry, hurry up! It’s time to go!”
Making my exit through the back door of our bedroom, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m out!
Except Jerry isn’t with me.
Rushing back into the inferno, I find that he’s still sleepy and unaware of the danger. I literally have to drag him out
I suppressed my fear with an overpowering sense of duty. My pride and patriotism would never countenance the idea of failing to live up to the role my country had summoned me to perform just because I was scared of the dark. “Here I am! Yes, sir!” A dutiful, reliable soldier guarding our homes and our families— that was how I saw myself.
I faced my fear, stared down my mortality, and defied the forces that threatened to cut my life short. I never went out at night thinking, “Maybe I’ll die tonight, and that would be okay with me.” But I did go out resigned to see my assignment through, becausefailure was not an option. “I don’t want to die tonight,” I’d tell myself, “but if death is out there waiting for me, so be it!” Each time my peers and I returned safely from a maneuver, I treasured our time together and felt profoundly grateful for the chance to live another day.
It was probably during that season that I began to develop the vital optimism that has become the refrain of my life: Live life today. The past is gone. The future might never be.
This is the perspective I try to bring to my therapy sessions with broken, world-weary clients. Over and over I’ve watched people catch this “seize the day” attitude—people who seem overwhelmed by sorrow, tragedy, and abuse but who suddenly realize how they’ve been passively perpetuating their suffering by letting it defeat them and hold them down. Once I’m able to persuade them that it’s time for a change, I can inspire them to join me in the here and now as I impart my knowledge, spirit, passion, and appreciation for life with all of its twists and turns. I view myself as an instructor, coach, mentor, and preacher.
Some people are surprised, then, to learn that I’m not a daredevil. I don’t invite danger into my life. You won’tfind me hang-gliding, skydiving, or whitewater rafting. Those sorts of things sound too dangerous to me, and I’m not one of those people who feels compelled to experience the “rush” of flirting with death. Life is too precious for me to go taking unnecessary risks. Nevertheless, as in the past, I don’t allow fear to rule me. One might say I’m counterphobic. I take deep breaths and do what has to be done in spite of my fear, compelled by a vision of life that involves far more than the fleeting unpleasantness of immediate circumstances.
That means rolling up my sleeves and going to work when today is difficult. It means mindfully enjoying each fleeting moment when today is going well. It means treasuring my past experiences without dwelling on hurtful memories. It means looking hopefully upon tomorrow even as I’m reminded that tomorrow may never come.
Jumping out of bed, at first I’m unsure whether I’m awake or trapped in a nightmare. It’s early in the morning, and my senses are overwhelmed—explosions, thicksmoke, fire rattling mercilessly everywhere, consuming my universe. I’m back in the war zone of my youth, reliving the ferocity of the bombings. I’m a trapped animal looking for an escape route.
Suddenly, my senses are jolted to the present. This isn’t the camps; this is our home, engulfed in flames. There’s no time to waste if we’re going to survive. I look over to find that Jerry is somehow sleeping through the mayhem.
“Jerry, wake up! Wake up! We have to get out of here!” It seems to take forever for him to climb out of bed. He’s bewildered and clumsy as he searches for his shirt and slippers. “There’s no time for that, Jerry! Hurry, hurry up! It’s time to go!”
Making my exit through the back door of our bedroom, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m out!
Except Jerry isn’t with me.
Rushing back into the inferno, I find that he’s still sleepy and unaware of the danger. I literally have to drag him out
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