Most days I walk through life with a confidence born from somewhere that I can’t name. My Aunt Elaine told me that I had this even as a two year old – that I insisted I could do things like cook and drive a car, and when she allowed me to try the things that were safe, I was right. I could do them. I remember this confidence as a thirteen year old when my parents left me to babysit my younger six siblings while they went away for the weekend. It gave me such satisfaction to walk into church Sunday morning with everyone fed, properly clothed, hair combed or braided perfectly, and to know that I was completely capable of this role that would stagger many a grown woman. I don’t remember a time when this wasn’t so.
This is part of my story.
I don’t know why I was born with this confidence. I don’t know why I was placed in a family of twelve children and thus required to learn skills many don’t learn until much later in life. It is a gift and has enabled me to do a lot in my adult life than I would otherwise be unable to do. But often gifts come with a dark side too. My dark side is that I learned early on that I was the one who had to take care of myself. I learned that I ought not ask for what I need. I learned to shut down my deepest desires and to focus on the needs of others. I believed that love meant saying “yes” to whatever anyone wanted or required from me, and I did this with abandonment because love is one of my core values. I believed that as long as someone needed something from me, I would be loveable. As soon as I had nothing to offer, as soon as I became needy in any way, as soon as I asked for a morsel in return, then I would be discarded. This filled me with shame and fear. So while I am an extremely confident woman in so many ways there is this other part of me – and she can be big – that is very, very vulnerable. It is a part that expects each person in my life to eventually abandon me.
This is my story.
I saw a movie on the weekend about a woman who was an alcoholic and her “coincidental” journey of recovery. One of the hardest things for her was getting to the point where she was able to admit that she had an addiction. Watching it gave me courage to name something I haven’t been wanting to say out loud. If you’ve been to an AA meeting or seen one depicted somewhere you know they begin with an introduction and then stating their truth. Something like this.
Hello. My name is Fawne Arsenault and I’m deeply afraid of abandonment.
There is a reason for this fear. I can’t speak about it openly because it’s not only my story, and love won’t allow me to say more. It’s enough to say that abandonment has been a huge part of my journey and on my bad days it’s hard for me to trust that it’s not just a matter of time until those who have stayed will walk away too. This part of me is always alive and she is completely . . . what’s the word for “not confident?” Terrified? Tentative? Unsure? Insecure? Down in the deepest part of my body, there is someone who expects to be abandoned. I live with this every day. It never completely goes away. I cannot fight it. When I feel someone pulling away my body reacts. I have not succeeded in changing this. No matter how much healing work I do. No matter how settled I am in my belonging. No matter how secure I am in the bosom of Love. I do not know if this fear will ever leave me completely. I suspect not. I suspect that this may be my “thorn in the flesh” and that this weakness is a gift in that upside down kingdom kind of way.
This is my story.
On my dark days there is no reassurance in the world that will ever be enough for me to feel completely safe. And so I do what I can. I sit with this tender part of me and I weep with her. She has been through so much. I practice radical hospitality. I’m not very good at it, but I’m growing. There is so much passed-down self-contempt so it only stands to reason that it will take time. I sometimes try to hide this part of me behind indifference or superiority. I don’t want to sit in my abandonment and feel the shame of it. It does feel shameful. It hurts so much that sometimes my chest feels like someone dumped a large bucket full of glass shards inside of me and every breath I take means I am being cut and sliced to ribbons.
This is my story.
I’m not afraid that I will miss out on redemption. It’s already stacked up in piles around me, begging to be celebrated. I’m not unsure of the way forward. Perhaps that is my confident side coming out. I believe that learning to be compassionate with myself will open up a spaciousness that can embrace far more than it could have before. And God knows that on this humble sod there is a never-ending stream of pain begging to be held. But today it feels important to acknowledge my hidden, tender side. She will probably always be with me. I think rather than using my energy to try and change that fact, I would be wiser to use my energy learning how to care for this precious part of me.
Hi. My name is Fawne and I’m deeply afraid of being abandoned.
Confessions and AA
What courage for naming it. I am honoured you did so in this space. The more you speak of it the more it will know you will never abandon that side of yourself!