Change is a necessity. Change is something we need, yet we fear it. We see it as a disruption. In fact, I was seeing change as something that could potentially disrupt the perceived stability of my life. I had a beautiful apartment, a loving dog, and a partner that definitely helped me with my transition to adulthood. But I was unhappy.
When I first thought of this change, I thought of it like a fever. Our bodies are constantly trying to maintain homeostasis--a balance. When our bodies are thrown off-balance--when they are disrupted--a fever may happen. Our blood begins to heat up, our muscles ache, and we become overwhelmingly fatigued in an effort to rid our bodies of the parasite that lives within us. And we look at sickness and disruption from this deficit perspective.
It is natural to interpret this as our bodies fearing change. They react to the parasite and try to incinerate it in an effort to maintain balance. But it's quite the opposite. It's not a fear of change; it is an adaptation to change, for after the fever, and after the virus has passed, we begin to feel relief. Our aching muscles relax, the body releases its fever in a wave of cool sweat, and our bloodstream is then filled with antibodies that prevent us from experiencing that virus again.
Truly, our bodies are never the same again. They have changed. They have changed in order to maintain balance and ensure that balance continues.
It seems that in order to achieve balance and stability, change is absolutely necessary. Paradoxically, we resist change because seems to be the source of this innate, but seemingly vestigial instinct--fear. We used to need fear in order to survive, and perhaps we still do in some capacity, but it seems to be more crippling now than ever.
I was terrified of the change--the change from being paired to being alone. I didn't want to leave my life because I was afraid to upset the perceived balance that I had achieved. I was afraid to be alone. But why was I afraid to be alone? I feared the change, and I feared a dependence on myself, and only myself. I had been depending on someone for quite some time. Certainly, my sense of self-efficacy was not high, and I had invested a great deal of my personal worth into him as well.
But mostly, I feared that it meant something about me. It meant that I was a quitter. It meant that I broke a promise. It meant that I wasn't good enough--and that I wouldn't be good enough to take care of myself. It meant that I had failed.
These last two months were my fever. My body has ached; my blood has boiled and cooled; I've become fatigued to the point of sickness--not because of the life I was leaving behind, but because of this perpetual fear of upsetting my balance and changing. But the fever broke, my sweat dried, and my body has built new antibodies in the process.
It turns out this change meant exactly what I feared. The change said something about me. Instead of communicating my weakness, though, it embodies my strength and resilience. Now, I feel protected. I feel stronger. I feel informed and wise. The change was good, and I'm no longer afraid to be alone.
Oddly enough, I'm still afraid of the change, though.
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