Last Sunday, an SUV full of people pulled out in front of our vehicle around 40th and Roosevelt, blocking us.
The driver got out of the car and his movements were calculated and aggressive as he reached into his waistband. I quickly looked around to see if he was planning to shoot at another vehicle behind us but there was no one else there. I was confused and then terrified—he was going to shoot us.
Greg was driving and he hit the gas, swerved around the median into the wrong-way of Roosevelt and floored it to get out of there. The girls were with us and were watching a movie so they didn’t see the vehicle blocking us or the man who got out. They were startled when Greg hit the gas and swerved but they recovered quickly.
We arrived at our friends’ home a few minutes later and I watch the girls skip into the house to greet their friends. We spent the next hour at our friends' party, celebrating the release of her new music video. It was a beautiful night with beautiful souls, complicated by the shock, terror and confusion I experienced on the ride there. I didn’t know what to say about what we had just experienced.
After the party, we lingered to process with our friends what had happened on the way there. They listened, prayed with us and encouraged us. I received what they said but by the next day, I experienced a level of anxiety and fear that I had not felt in a long time. Over next few days, I had panic attacks, periods of weeping, headaches and fatigue. I played the whole scenario over and over in my head and reviewed all the other—much worse—things that could have changed the trajectory of our whole family.
I also felt relief that we had been spared from the worst case scenario—but it felt like God saved me from drowning but now anxiety was kicking me to death on the beach*. I wondered why that man would do this. He chose us anonymously—I know that. But there are few things that feel more personal than someone pulling out his gun to aim at you.
On Friday, my friend invited me and the girls to go to an apple orchard. I admit I didn’t have a lot of interest in going because I was feeling so low, but the girls were off school and I knew it would be good for them (and for me) to get out of the house.
One week later, I feel like I am able to see more clearly. This past year has been the hardest one since I've lived in Sherman Park and I have started to feel crippled by fear and anxiety. I don't want to live this way.
So instead of feeling paralyzed by my anxiety and fear, I will try to become a student of it. Typically, I stuff these kinds of things down and kept going with my life but I realize this is not an honest or healthy thing to do. I've done that because I suppose that I should be the type of person who isn't bothered by violence (which, of course, is a stupidly messed up way to think). I realize when I don't grapple with what I have seen, it chips away at my humanity and the humanity of other people.
I observed this a few weeks ago when there was a fatal shooting on 44th and Center: the shooting was right across the street from where the Washington High School football team was practicing. The boys were running the track right next to where the crime scene was. When I saw this, I was angry that their coach would have them run laps right next to where the police and coroner were stationed, the body still on scene. And in that moment, I witnessed how the central city operates: we keep going on with our lives at the edge of those crime scenes. There's no time to grapple with the gravity of it, the humanity of it, because we have laps to run.
And we wonder why our youth have trauma: it's because they're practicing football next to a homicide.
What do I mean about being a student of my anxiety? I think it means that I can give myself permission to feel what I am feeling about what I have witnessed. I'm going to ask questions about the health of living in a neighborhood like this one and if we should continue to live here. I will book an appointment with a counselor who can help me see myself and situations like these more clearly. I am going to get wisdom from trusted people in my life—people who don't give simplified, trite explanations but offer complex, redemptive stories from their own experience.
I'm sure there's some of you who think I should just move and that this will solve all my problems. In fact, I am that person. But I think there's a bigger picture to consider and it's likely I don't see it yet (it's hard to put energy into even wanting to). Seeing the bigger picture is as unglamorous as moving to Sherman Park. There ain't nothing shiny, just the putting one foot in front of the other, hoping that what I do matters, because from where I sit today, it’s hard to see that it does.
No one (especially me) wants their life to be hard, or full of conflict and chaos. Yet we all want fullness and meaning in our lives. And when life hits the fan, the people I want to walk with me are not people with simple, black and white explanations. I want people who have walked through the mess and came out the other side without being cynical—the people who have hope and a good story.
I'm not sure what walking through this will look like, but in the coming months, this is what you will see from me:
-I need wisdom from other parents, so I plan to do a series on parenthood, focusing on urban motherhood especially.
-I will share here my process of walking through anxiety and hopefully will have nuggets of hope to share with you. I read once that anxiety gives us tunnel vision and the job of a counselor is to put windows and doors on that tunnel.
-I have avoided dealing with my anxiety by making myself busy with other things. I will attempt to focus my energy on things that actually move me toward healing. I'd also like to hear what has worked for you.
Until then,
Laura
*adapted from one of my favorite quotes from Anne Lamott
