The kids ran ahead, bundled in their layers, kicking pebbles and letting their voices echo unrestrained into the expanse. We shuffled along behind, calling them to stay in sight, stay close. We knew the cliffs were just around one of these bends.
When we arrived at the King and Queens Seat, we grabbed them close. We showed them the boulder that they absolutely could not climb beyond, and we smiled at each other nervously.
My husband went first, shimmying out on the outcropping to take in the view of the last of the crimson fall foliage below and peer at the sheer drop into the canyon on either side. I turned my back so I would not see, focused on our children blithely climbing the huge rocks here on solid ground; patted the nervously whining dog reassuringly.
Then, my turn. Slowly I walked onto the outcropping until I felt my knees begin to wobble. I am not afraid of heights typically, but I dropped down to my bum and could only scooch seated toward the edge. I stopped in the middle and could go no farther.
It reminded me of when I first became a mother. I would stand at the top of the stairs (only 7 stairs) holding my newborn, and an intrusive image would enter my mind uninvited; I would imagine myself tumbling down, tossing the baby in the air. He would be shattered like a tower of Legos. I knew if the pixilated image lingered it would become more graphic, my capable body more paralyzed with fear at the top of a few stairs. Instinctively, my mind grabbed for a different image, pulled from my imagination or more likely, my memory bank – my mother calling me.
“Emily, come on. You are not going to fall.”
I was a child again, ready to listen and agree, safe and cared for. I took a deep breath and a careful, shakey step.
I had this intrusive thought so many times I became accustomed to it. I would take a deep breath of preparation to push it away as I walked down the hall. I have no idea, still, why I had it, though I don’t think it’s particularly uncommon. Maybe it is the stress, the sleep deprivation, the sudden force of love, maternal protectiveness pushed into overdrive by postpartum anxiety. A feeling not unlike whatever it is that makes me turn away when my husband is near the precipice of a cliff, that makes the dog whimper when we get too close to the edge.
I was glad to get back on the trail that day. It was a fun experience, to be able to choose to get wobbly legged and dizzy with the height of a beautiful view. And then to be able to choose to walk away.
If you find yourself unable to walk away from your anxious thoughts, you’re certainly not alone. I hope you know there is hope and help available. A few resources are linked below.
Maternal Mental Health Hotline
More info about Rocks State Park.
Mercy in the Madness 
Leave a comment