I’m writing this for my sister. I’m writing it for me. A little abstract, and maybe a touch eccentric. But here I am, alone in the dark, and I don’t much like the dark. We recently lost our dog to cancer, and it’s my first overnight in a long time, without a dog to bark and keep the monsters at bay. I know a lot about monsters lurking in the dark, and something about that barking jerk dog, made me rest easy on nights alone. Monsters can’t sneak up on a dog who uses his powers of barking. Trust me, it’s a thing.

I also know a lot about fear. I grew up afraid and it carried into my adult life. Nowadays my fear oozes out in Hyper-vigilance, hyper -awareness, safety brain. C-PTSD. You can’t survive the things I survived, and avoid fear. It becomes a familiar spirit, and one that requires a fight.

“in those days I jumped 6 feet from the light switch to my bed in order to avoid the hands of anything underneath it. I still have dents in my shins because I didn’t always hit the mattress. Bedrooms and battle-scars both keep well in the dark. Hard dark in the sunken eyed section of a nightmare.” Buddy Wakefield

I live a life of out of control, CONTROL. I think and overthink. My body is my own. I’m independent and strong. Determined that nothing and no one, will ever hurt me again. I’m bolder and more honest about what I like and don’t like, than I’ve ever been. I don’t like hugs. There, I said it.

However, despite my best efforts, fear sometimes holds me back.

My sister is my bravest friend. I am constantly in awe of her! Sometimes she drags me out of hiding away. My confidence bolstered by her bravery. I don’t think she’s afraid of much. I remember being even more afraid as a child because she had opinions and she wasn’t going to just go quietly into the night and accept any old thing. I was the pacifist, and the peacemaker and she was ready for war.

But I love that about her. She goes boldly into any and every situation, and sometimes I glimpse her bravery and grasp some for myself. Like the time I watched her hoisted above my head to surf a crowd. As I stood by holding her purse, I was offered some hands, ready to send me on my way, and in a moment of bravery I said yes. I clutched her purse tightly to my chest, afraid but along for the ride. And I surfed a crowd! I laughed at myself, clutching her purse like a string of pearls. Knowing if she could see me she’d laugh too because I’ve always been more buttoned up. But it’s my favorite memory with her. I did something I would have never done on my own, and It was so rock and roll!

My sister has always been my ally. My confidante. The one who understands. Only we know the types of things that prowled the dark of what should have been our inner sanctum, and the things that sometimes seem desperate to take us down that dark hole of remembering. When no one else could see our wounds, we helped each other clean and dress them.

And when I’m afraid to go to sleep because the dark is a little scary, and the memories too close, sometimes I pass the time with my sister in mind. Red-headed and fiery. Strong, and crazy brave. And I remember, there’s life after survival and fear doesn’t have to be my home.

My sister talks to strangers. She speaks her mind. She stands up for her friends and family. She’s strong and capable. She’s independent and giving. She never lets fear hold her back. She travels to new places with or without a companion. She scuba dives and works on movie sets. She makes rock stars beautiful with painted hair and confidence. She tries new things and lives boldly and courageously! Part of me wants to be her when I grow up.

And she makes me want to be brave.

So, with flexing my brave muscle in mind, in September I’ll be doing something every week that I’m afraid of. Maybe I’ll start by hiking Mount Tammany, despite it being copperhead season (that fear is real) . And maybe I’ll laugh a little at myself, as I clutch those pearls and ride the waves.

Courage, dear heart.