fear

Calm Down, Kelly

~ Kelly Wolf ~ Leave a comment

This is my friend Rhonda:

As you can see, Beach Rhonda is as happy as can be. Just-Saw-a-Snake Rhonda, however, looks more like this:

😱 🤯 😵

Rhonda really hates snakes. I first learned this during a hike several years ago, when we came upon a copperhead lazily stretched out across the trail and she screamed loud enough to rupture an eardrum. (The copperhead was entirely unfazed.)

I don’t mind snakes. In fact, I think they’re pretty cool. JR and I even had a pet snake back when we lived in Santa Cruz. Her name was Novinha. She wasn’t the most interesting pet, but she was quite friendly.

My dad and Novinha back in the day. This photo would make Rhonda want to barf.

Granted, Rhonda and I were raised in very different snake environments. As a child in Massachusetts, I encountered occasional gartersnakes, which were nothing but cute, little anomalies in the yard. Meanwhile, Rhonda was contending with several varieties of venomous snakes in Houston, Texas. She once described an experience when she was about 13 and had to walk through chest-deep floodwaters with rattlesnakes and water moccasins swimming all around her. Terrifying. Truly. Pure nightmare fuel.

“Rhonda, we are here to haunt your dreams…”

During one of the last hikes Rhonda and I took together before I moved back to California, I noticed a black rat snake on the side of the trail ahead of us. Although rat snakes are nonvenomous and this one was well off the trail, I knew that neither of those things would matter if Rhonda happened to get a glimpse of it. (Reality is irrelevant when deep-down phobias are at play. I mean, if a clown had been standing on the side of the trail doing nothing but holding out a plate of delicious-looking chocolate chip cookies, I still would’ve punched it in the face and run away screaming.)

Deciding to opt for nonchalance, I strode by the innocuous snake, chatting away, then glanced over my shoulder to see Rhonda’s head swivel just as she passed the snake. Noticing it, she jumped, shrieked, and ran BACKWARDS up the trail. Yup, back the way we’d come.

Harrumph.

I walked up to her and took her hand. “Rhonda,” I said, “it’s just a rat snake. They’re harmless.”

Rhonda: “Kelly! A snake! I! Hate! Snakes!”

Kelly: “I know. It’s okay. We’ll go together. You already passed it once. You’ll be fine.”

Rhonda: “No! Kelly! It’s huge!”

Kelly: “I’ll go with you. I’ll walk on the snake side, and you…”

Rhonda: “CALM DOWN, KELLY!”

Now, it isn’t nice to laugh at your friend, especially when she’s in full-blown panic mode, but in this situation, it took a lot of restraint to bite back the giggles. All I could hear was Walter’s voice in my mind.

I love this decal. If you do, too: you can find it here.

Since that day, “Calm down, Kelly” has become a go-to directive among my friends and family, and it is never not funny.

Lately, I’ve been repeating the phrase to myself, as well, each time an unwarranted, explosive flood of anxiety washes through my body. The Random Anxiety Flood is one of many lovely symptoms experienced by perimenopausal women, or so I’ve heard in the “Menopause Blows” testimonials now heavily featured in my YouTube algorithm. (Also featured in said algorithm: animal rescues; book reviews; shark attacks; people falling down. A pretty solid breakdown of my character, I’d say.)

The waves of anxiety are extremely off-putting. I’ll be sitting on the couch, driving, walking, or doing any number of common daily tasks with nary a threat in sight, and suddenly, a surge of terror will make my skin go cold, my vision swirl, and my heart hammer as I gasp for air. And then it’s gone. Just like that. As if a band of axe wielding sociopaths sprung up in a ring around me and were just as quickly sucked up in a tornado.

It’s easy to feel the symptoms of an emotion and grasp for a cause, and there are always plenty of things to be anxious about. Impending death. The state of the world. Clowns. And yet, when I experience the sneak-attack anxiety surges, I don’t let myself consider any of those things. I just take a breath, envision a cute, little snake, and think, Calm down, Kelly.

🐍

The Winter Doom Reframe

~ Kelly Wolf ~ 3 Comments

This year, I’m bound and determined to appreciate winter, as I’ve made a commitment not to dread or fear anything over which I have no control (a mandate I need to repeat to myself about a thousand times a day), and impending winter falls squarely into that category.

I shared my new intention with one of the leaders of a retreat I attended last weekend, and he told me the following story:

“The other day, I was directed to commune with a tree. In our conversation, the tree told me that it’s thankful to shed its leaves each year. It feels so much lighter and freer without them.”

This was a helpful reframe, since the sight of skeletal, leafless trees usually makes me sad. Now, when I look up at a sea of bare branches, I’ll think, Well, don’t you look joyfully unburdened?

Another leader at the retreat took us on a walk through the woods and brought our attention to the fallen leaves. She mentioned that people usually think of the brown, brittle leaves as ugly, but in fact, they’re a shade people try to replicate in their dyes and clothing because it’s so beautiful. In addition, they play a critical role in the forest’s life cycle, breaking down to nourish the soil.

Again, this shift in thinking was a welcome one. Normally, when I see autumn leaves, I think, They’re pretty, but they’re a harbinger of evil winter. Now, when I see the leaves in their final stage, I’ll think, They’re pretty, and they’re going to feed the forest.

I recognize that a lot of our personal happiness depends on positive reframes, so I’m excited to incorporate these gems of wisdom into my emotional lexicon as winter approaches. Over the next couple of weeks, when I pass this part of my walking route:

…I won’t think, OH NO, THE COLORS ARE ALMOST GONE! WE’RE DOOMED!!

Instead, I’ll remind myself that when those final strips of red and yellow have faded at last, the trees can heave a sigh of relief. Free from the weight they’ve carried, they can shift energy to their roots, then hunker down for a long-awaited, well-deserved rest.