My Fears and I

I think I was a career criminal in my former life. Because whenever I see a police car on the road my heart skips twenty beats and I start to sweat. It terrifies me. Even if I am driving 10 miles below the speed limit with my seat belt on and my hands at 10 and 2, I am terrified the cops are out to get me.

It could have something to do with the fact that I am generally afraid of most things. Especially being caught doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. It doesn't take a therapist to figure out this fear was probably the result of being the youngest of four siblings. Four siblings raised by Ted and Tina. They don't miss much.

When Ted and Tina's kids were out of line, it was clearly communicated. I think I made a mental note to never do any of the things that caused my parents to give long lectures behind closed doors in the breakfast room.

My fears weren't limited to disappointing my parents. I was also afraid of the unknown. I was terrified of every summer camp my mother signed me up for. And the night before camp, I was always a wreck. I pleaded with them to let me stay home.

When I was 12, I broke out in hives the week before camp started. My mom had me at the doctor on allergy drugs before I had time to count the hives on my stomach. Unfortunately, the hives dissappeared just in time. Even my hives were afraid of my mom.

I tried to hide my fears in front of my new roommates at camp. But I couldn't believe my parents were leaving me to share a room with complete strangers. When my parents left, I wanted to crawl into the closet and cry until the week was over. But I was afraid my mom would come back and drag me out of the closet in front of everyone.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I took a quarter off of school for treatment. A few weeks into my treatment, I told my mom I was never going back to Northern California. In fact, I was never going anywhere. After all, I was a cancer survivor now. I could live wherever I damn well pleased.

My parents strongly encouraged me to go back to Stanford. It was the right thing to do. That January my parents dropped me off at my sorority house. My roommate was my best friend. But I was still full of fears. Some old, some new. There I was, 20 years old, and ready to crawl into the closet again and cry until college was over.

After college, I came back to Pasadena. After a few weeks of being home, I asked my mom if I could move to San Francisco. I couldn't just pack up and leave. I thought about it, but I needed my mom to pay my rent until I found a job. I expected her to take me into the breakfast room, close the door and clearly communicate why moving to San Francisco was a huge mistake. Instead she looked at me with confident eyes and said, "I think that's the right decision."

Years later, my mom told me that at that moment, she knew I was going to be okay. And that the fears I had before cancer and the new fears that cancer brought weren't going to get in my way. They would always be there. But I wasn't going to waste my time crying in the closet any more. I wasn't going to confine myself to the safety of my parent's home. My fears and I were moving to the City.