A few of you here already know about an unexpected epiphany that occurred yesterday…in the wee hours of the morning while the moon still hung in the sky over my house. Something so subtle and yet completely transformative.
I awoke at 5am just like every other morning, and walked quietly into the bathroom without turning on any lights. This is the way every day begins, me silently getting out of bed to prepare for my morning walk while Pete remains asleep in the bed. No lights are turned on and I get dressed simply by the glow of the moon beaming in through the windows above our bath tub.
But as I walked past the bathroom mirror, the shadows played tricks on me for a brief second. And my mind reported with confidence that something was wrong with my face—perhaps it was swollen.
In a millisecond, my mind dutifully recalled those morning face-swellings of 2018 and 2019. And for the first time in six years, that WHOOSH—that lightning bolt of what I once called “Gun-to-the-head-terror”—raced through my body. One massive bolt of tight, electric energy from my root chakra up through my throat.
Gun-to-the-head terror. That was the name my mind had given that sensation all those years ago. And the label felt real and solid and immovable.
During those years, the only way I could explain to anyone the level of fear I felt about my physical symptoms was that single phrase. Gun-to-the-head terror. It seemed to capture the depth and breadth of my fear.
I had always believed that the GOAL was to stop having that sensation. Stop having gun-to-the-head terror.
Everything I did, in fact, was to keep that experience as far away as possible. I did absolutely EVERYTHING under the sun to stop having hives and swelling...SO THAT I wouldn't have to experience terror.
And then, late in 2019, I began asking that now-famous Missy-question: “What if, beyond my mind’s ability to understand, THIS experience is the one MOST in service of my waking up? The one MOST in service of me?”
And I noticed less resistance to the experience. I still didn’t want it, of course, but there was a part of me that had a felt-sense knowing that the experience HAD to be helpful in a way that my mind simply was not equipped to understand.
Eventually, that WHOOSH of terror faded far into the background, until it was no longer noticed.
Until yesterday when it reappeared with the volume and intensity of 2018.
Tight, electric, pulsating—like a boa constrictor and a lightning bolt all in one movement.
All the old labels and judgments were right on its heels…terror, awful, shouldn’t be here…
And then, for some reason that I will never know, I found myself standing still on the cold tiled bathroom floor, inviting that boa constrictor-lightning bolt to stay.
I felt an unexpected warmth and compassion for her—for the sensation my mind had labeled TERROR.
And it occurred to me—what if that label had been a misunderstanding the whole time?
What if that sensation—that WHOOSH of energy in my body had always been my friend?
What if she had been there as part of my waking up? Part of my seeing beyond the stories and labels and judgments about who I am?
In a flash, a series of images raced through my mind—all those times I believed whole-heartedly that I couldn’t do things, couldn’t go places, for fear that my symptoms would arise and I would be struck with terror.
What if it was all an innocent misunderstanding?
All those attempts to fix and control and manage the symptoms for one simple reason: I did not want to have that god-awful sensation of terror.
There were little hints back in those days; little breadcrumbs pointing me to the fact that it could not possibly be my symptoms CAUSING my terror.
After all, there were other physical things that did not elicit that same boa constrictor-lightning bolt fear. Stomach aches didn’t bring on that sensation. Neither did head-aches or hip pain. Neither did the intense and sudden pain of dropping a phone on my toe with such a force that my toenail turned black. No fear. No boa constrictor. No lightning bolt.
But still, the label written in stone stuck when it came to facial swelling and hives: Gun to the head terror. No questioning of that label. It was absolute truth. Those symptoms were terrifying. At least, that is what the mind cleverly reported.
And that entire report fell apart completely yesterday. I saw so clearly and cleanly that the entire story was a misunderstanding.
There were symptoms, yes. Swelling. Hives. There were scary reports from doctors who insisted I carry Epi-Pens everywhere I went.
But, outside of the STORY that my mind habitually told, there was nothing actually terrifying about my symptoms. They simply WERE.
There were symptoms. Period. Full Stop.
AND, alongside those symptoms, there was this very good friend that I just wasn’t ready to see as my friend. She showed up as big energy. Racing energy. Intense energy. Pulsating energy. Tight energy. Tense energy. Hot energy. Fierce energy.
But she was NOT terror. She was NOT gun to the head terror. Those were the added stories of my protective mind. She was, in fact, a friend.
I wish I had a better way to explain it to you. I wish there were clearer words to describe the incredible LOVE and COMPASSION I felt for that boa-constrictor/lightning bolt that ran through my body yesterday morning when my eyes played tricks on me.
After I put on my running clothes and tennis shoes, I held this newfound friend close as I began my morning walk in the dark. She kept fading away, but the essence of what I felt remained.
It was as if history had rewritten itself. All those times I believed I was in gun-to-the-head terror—I was in the presence of Life itself, of an energy that was only ever there as my friend. All those times I worked so hard to control and manage those sensations—so innocently.
It was all perfect. It was all trustworthy—even the years of resisting, fighting, researching, controlling, and managing. All perfect.
Last night I returned to one of my journals from 2019—from the time I began asking that question, “What if, beyond the ability of my mind to understand, this experience is the one MOST in service of my waking up?”
I read some of the pages in that 2019 journal, and these words stood out to me: TRUST. THIS IS NOT WHAT I THINK IT IS. MY MIND IS NOT SEEING THE WHOLE STORY. TRUST. I AM OK RIGHT NOW. THIS IS NOT WHAT I THINK IT IS.
I think everyone here probably has an internal experience that you’d rather not have.
Fear. Terror. Grief. Morning Dread. Panic. Anxiety. Sensations in the body that mimic a boa constrictor or a lightning bolt.
But what if…really, just WHAT IF, beyond the mind’s compelling labels, judgments, and learned beliefs, there is a tiny little opening to consider something completely new?
What if that very experience that your mind hates most isn’t what you think it is? What if maybe it’s here as a friend? As part of your waking up?
There are sensations
that arrive without language.
They don’t come bearing explanations—
only intensity.
They speak in electricity,
in heat,
in tightening and rising,
in trembling and bracing.
And the mind, faithful and fast,
rushes to name them.
Danger.
Terror.
Something is wrong.
Something must be named and solved.
But what if—
long before words,
long before the label “fear”—
sensations were simply Life
moving through us,
asking not to be solved
but to be met?
Maybe even
to be befriended…