The Knot (And To Unravelling It)

Hi.

Before I delve into this post, I have to acknowledge the difficulty I have had in writing this. Not because I do not have the words to, rather, because I’m not certain that any of this makes any kind of sense at all. Right this moment, it feels like I’m holding a bunch of fragmented thoughts that combine to create this massive mess that I’m not sure what to do with. Do I acknowledge this mess? Do I attempt to clean it up in the best way I know how to? Do I pretend that the mess doesn’t exist? Do I hire someone to figure out what kind of a mess it is and then to strategically approach the clean up? Is the mess real? Is it just a figment of my imagination that is manifesting itself in the form of a tangible mess?

I’m not certain. And while, it is disappointing to admit this, I have to be okay with admitting that I do not know. Maybe that’s where the help comes from. From understanding that I do not have the answers and that at current, I’m not even sure what the questions are.

I’m rambling – but as I have come to understand, this is a part of the mess.

I have always had a knot in my stomach. Sometimes, the knot displayed itself in the form of laughing at the wrong moment, or the right moment just the wrong way. Often, the knot appeared as a complete unwillingness to partake in certain activities that would otherwise excite me. The knot pulled me out of meetings with people I have dearly loved over the years. And more recently, the knot has come with a train of physical traits: shaking the moment I awake, not sleeping, constant exhaustion, waves of nausea and quite shockingly, even pain.

I can’t say I remember the day that I realized that said “knot” was in my stomach – I do however remember the time frame. It was probably between 2003 and 2004. That bridge between primary and high school. Every single morning, I would wake up and take a preferred shower in my parents’ en-suite bathroom (that they thought they had sole ownership and use of, but the good sis was not about to use the ghetto bath tub in our bathroom). I would ready myself for school and hop into the car with my Dad (also referred to IRL as the BFFAEAEAE – the “and ever” will never cease). He would play music as we drove. Some days it would be Norah Jones, other days would bring the soulistic sounds of Miss Jill Scott. And on the lit days, Oliver Mtukudzi would croon his more upbeat jams in the bass boosted sound system. It was always something calm, something soothing and smooth – a testament to the man my father is.

We would sing along, take dance breaks as we stopped at traffic lights and even crack the odd joke here and there.

But as soon as we stopped at the Mountain Inn traffic lights, the “knot” would make its presence known. I was close to school. And there were so many people there. And people made my skin crawl because people noticed things about other people and kids are cruel sometimes. So I would then sit quietly in the car, waiting for the wave that had struck my stomach with a case of looseness, my limbs with amnesia of their functions and my heart with the hooves of running horses. I was terrified of going to school. Not because I was a bad student, or I didn’t have friends – I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something always struck me when the reality of having to be at school hit me.

My sister makes fun of the next key moment in which I remember the “knot” controlling a few things. I fractured my toe, somewhere between Form 1 and Form 2. This included a whole visit to Mbabane Clinic to get x-rays and to correct the state of my toes (the peace sign is not a good look for a foot ladies and gents). I was given strong pain killers and had a cast on my toes until it took back to normal. I still went to school the following day. I still took part in the in-house sports day we had. With a fractured toe, because I couldn’t sum up the courage to tell my P.E. teacher that I had to sit out because my whole foot was on fire and not working like other feet tend to in normal circumstances. He was an authority figure. I didn’t (and still do not) do well around authority figures. I became (and still become) a bumbling idiot (many will tell you this is not true, but this is what the “knot” makes me feel like).

There are a quite a few situations that come to mind now that I have had the time to sit and assess all of the times that the “knot” has played a role in how certain things turned out:

• The time I cried (like a whole child) when my mother sent me to receive an award for my father (who was absent at that time) at an Inter-Bank sporting event.
• Hiding in the wardrobe when my siblings suggested we take a walk because I was afraid to tell them I was more interested in playing secretary or architect in the house (the big sis has never been a fan of the sun).
• The time I climbed off a kombi (a form of public transport) because I was not familiar with the route it was taking and could not bear the thought of asking the people on it, to climb a hill in the African heat to see my sister.
• The time I complained about meeting with my friends on a weekend because somehow, the “knot” has convinced me that all of my friendships are a sham and everyone genuinely just tolerates me because they’re good people – not because they like me.
• The time I went to the Doctor when I began my corporate life, convinced that my left lung had collapsed because I was in severe pain and could not breathe – only to be told that I was breathing very well and it was all in my head.

The last one was what brought a little understanding of what this “knot” happened to be. I was sat in the office with the Doctor and my mother, who was visibly concerned about the fact that I could not breathe.

“Are you an anxious person?” The Doctor asked and a light bulb went off in my head.

“I get really nervous about things a lot.” I responded.

“Are you stressed about anything in particular when you get nervous?” His line of questioning continued.

“Not really. I just get nervous about the thought of things.” I confessed.

He spent a few moments assessing me and then told me that nothing was wrong with me. I was just anxious and would be fine.

That all made sense. That was the word. I was anxious. About nothing in particular. I was losing sleep about things that my conscious mind was not bringing to the forefront.

Suddenly, I was brought into a place where I understood what was going on in my mind. I came to a place where I came to grasp the fact that there was a lack of rational thought when it came to the things that made me nervous. I came to realize that my mind would go in circles over-thinking and obsessing about things that weren’t even real to the point that I would make myself sick with worry. I came to the place of understanding and acknowledging that my brain didn’t work as simply as other people’s brains would. Unfortunately, that did not quite stop the train on the track. I was in a place where I was aware – but I was doing nothing to make myself better. I was doing nothing to make my brain function better.

This all brings me to the events of the past few weeks. I have been feeling off; I’ve been physically sick but I could not put a finger on what could possibly be wrong. It all bubbled over on Monday morning. I received an email inviting me to a training at work on the Tuesday. An in-house training that would not really change much in my normal, day-to-day routine. All that was going to change was the content of my day. The location, the time frame, the faces would all be the exact same. My mind was in overdrive, thinking of all the reasons why I should request to be moved from the Tuesday list and placed on the Wednesday list because I needed more time. For what? I do not know.

I couldn’t sleep. I tossed. I turned. Convincing myself that I needed to move the training for myself to a time when I would be better prepared to be in that training. I obsessed over this thought so much.

In the middle of the night, I had to stop myself and ask why I was putting myself through such a toxic thought pattern about something that I literally just had to sit and listen through. Why was I stressing myself out so much about something that required little to no effort from me? Why did I feel the need to prove myself in that particular moment that had absolutely nothing to do with me? I had, and have no idea. I just know that once again, I was a pile of nerves and anxiety. I was thinking irrationally about something so particularly baseless and trivial that I robbed myself of the joy of the learning that would occur in the training.

And isn’t that what the “knot” does? Does it not just take away all the good in experiences? Does it not just drain all the colour out of the world and leave you will dull and grey existence?

That is the mess. I have not been formally diagnosed with any form of anxiety; but that is the mess. And this post has not been just the simple rant with the hopes for an attempt at self-therapy (if that is even a thing) – it has been to share the reality of my existence. It has been the hope that someone will relate and that someone will seek the assistance that is necessary (in the case that you too have similar feelings) instead of allowing this knot to take control over your life and steal the joy from you.

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” – Matthew 6:34.

When you feel the “knot” approach – remind yourself that God is fully in control. Remind yourself to fully be in the moment. Remind yourself that it makes no sense to stress about things that have not come as yet – they will worry about themselves. And whatever happens, happens.

“Have not I commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” – Joshua 1:9.

 

Anyway, this is my commitment (to myself) to do the work; to remind myself in the moments where I feel frazzled and overwhelmed by the thoughts in my mind, that God is still in charge. And He is still faithful to His own. He is still standing on the promises in His Word. And as such, I cannot allow my train of thought to put me in positions where I forget who I am, as He has called me to be.

 

I am not going to be naïve and think that this will be an easy process. I understand that there will be days when it is difficult – but I have to commit myself to doing the work.