When I was younger, I had a morbid fascination with scary stories. One of my favorite books in middle school, was an illustrated edition of Edgar Allan Poe stories and poems. And like a lot of you, I couldn’t wait to see a scary movie. I enjoyed the heart pounding suspense and those moments when you jump right out of your chair. Or into your friend’s lap. My favorites were Alien and all the sequels. Remember that moment in the first movie, Alien? “Here, Kitty, Kitty…” Click the link for an adrenaline-packed refresher course. It’s the best!
But here’s a little known fact about me. Once my children were born, I wanted nothing to do with those movies. Or, those emotions. Having children raises your awareness about dangers, great and small. A lot. Once, when they were preschool aged, we rented the second Terminator movie. I didn’t get past the intro and the images of a playground in a post-apocalyptic setting. We shut that movie off and I didn’t revisit it for 20 years.
That was then, and this is now. Along the way, we lived through deeply suspenseful times. My father’s alcoholism. My mother dying of an unknown lung virus (not Covid, by the way.) My son’s hockey injury, a severe concussion and the years of the unknown that followed. The pandemic effected me much more than I realized when years later, I’m still nerve wracked. We lived through a psychological thriller, not knowing what might happen next. During those years, my paranoia and anxiety grew exponentially. I became vigilant. Expectant.
Do you know the phrase, “Waiting for the next shoe to drop?” Recently I told my therapist that I was waiting for the next horror story. “That’s the next level up!” she said. “Oh my god!”
I know, right? I laughed and inwardly cried. My mom and I began using the phrase years ago when she was in and out of the hospital with illnesses and injuries. THAT is the level of anxiety I have on an almost daily basis. Around every turn, the next “horror story” would chase me through days and weeks. Into my own personal hell. And that’s why I write thrillers.
Cliff hangers. Heart-pounding suspense. Exhilaration. Nail-biting anticipation. I’m comfortable in that space. I know it so well that I’m able to put those emotions on the page. I can make you feel those adrenaline rushes. I can give you heart palpitations if you want. I’m married to sleepless nights and jaw clenching tension.
Living with that level of anxiety is super unhealthy and I don’t recommend it. I don’t recommend that you work yourself into a frenzy just to write your story. Far from it. I practice calmness and relaxation daily now. Find your meditative place. Find your inner happy place. Mine happens to be with skeletons 😄.
These days I’m not waiting for the next “horror story.” (Feel free to use it. You’re welcome.) But a shoe dropping wouldn’t flip my world. I’m cultivating calm.
I know you’ve had personal trauma as well. We all have. But this is my story to tell. Maybe it serves you. Maybe not. If you’re waiting for the next, you know, take a breath.
Tracey, I found the same thing when I became a mom—I can't subject myself to scary things anymore. There is too much real scary in this world. Jeff and I recently had a conversation about graphic violence as well—he doesn't write it because he's BTDT in real life. Finding the calm every day is a must. I spend early mornings with my Down Dog Yoga and Meditation app starting the day with calm.
I appreciate you sharing your story with us. There's a great book my daughter gave me for research into Mattie Cobb's trust issues and anxiety. It's called The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk, MD. I love that book...it really speaks to me about some of my traumas. Thanks, Tracey!