On Anzac Day, I went fishing for the first time in 18 months, and the first time in, I don’t know how long, on my own. When I was telling a friend about it and explained how I felt during the experience, they set me the challenge to get back out and do it again this weekend.
So, today I went fishing!
Ironically enough, today’s fishing adventure was a far greater learning experience about my anxiety than last Tuesday, when my biggest hurdle was just getting out the door with fishing rod in hand.
Today I had difficulty finding a fishing spot that did not already have other people there, so my first internal battle was to make myself get out of the car and go fishing anyway, regardless of other people being nearby.
I managed to do this, feeling very grateful there was enough space between us that when I put my earphones in and music on, I could pretend I was on my own. Two pieces of bait later, however, and a car load of six people arrived.
My heart started to race. My muscles tensed. I started to shake. My breathing was rapid. I wanted to literally run.
But I didn’t, I stayed.
I didn’t enjoy myself anywhere near as much as when I went fishing last week, but at least I persevered after I desperately wanted to escape.