The anxiousness of wartime experience
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in someone else’s body for a day or even for an hour! Would my five senses experience something fresh and new or would it feel much the same as being in my own body? Is what is normal for the other person much the same as what I consider ‘normal’ for me? |
Growing up we develop a picture of what is considered ‘normal’ by the way the majority of those around us act, speak and express. If we feel much the same as those around us we consider that we are also ‘normal’. But what if we are carrying something which is not natural for us but which we consider normal as we have no unusual behaviours to indicate otherwise? We just assume that everyone else must feel the same way.
I only recently became aware that for most of my life I have lived with a constant low-grade anxiety that I considered to be normal, as I had never known any different.
This was likely the outcome of having been born in 1943 in a part of England that was constantly bombed during the Second Word War. My father was an Australian who had travelled to England to join the RAF as a fighter pilot and soon after arriving he met an English girl whom he married. In early 1944, my father was shot down over France and for many months there was no news of him. My mother did not know whether my father was dead or alive. On top of this, she was dealing with another pregnancy and mourning the recent death of her much loved brother who was killed in a war-related accident.
While my father was in prison camp, my mother and I were living in her parent’s house in Surrey, which was directly in the path when enemy planes flew over England to bomb London. They would often drop a few bombs along the way.
Hence, everyone in the household was on constant alert for the sirens that warned of an impending attack, and once the sirens sounded everyone dropped whatever they were doing and rushed to the cellar in fear for their lives! If you were late to the cellar chances are you could die!!
On one occasion in the hurry to get to the cellar, which served as our bomb shelter, I was inadvertently dropped on my head, surviving the ordeal with little external injury but no doubt registering some measure of shock and trauma in my body, which I carried into later life.
Soon after the war ended, my father, mother and their two small daughters boarded the Stirling Castle to sail to Australia. One of my memories of the sea journey was my attachment to the things I carried with me to help me get to sleep. The first was what I called my ‘by-zer blanket’ – a piece of soft pyjama flannel, which I grasped in my right hand while sucking my right thumb. This small rag was soft and warm and had a comforting smell. I also carried a small jar of white chicken feathers and I would hold a feather in my left hand and use it to stroke my face.
This bizarre ritual should have alerted someone to the fact that I was a somewhat anxious child even if it were not obvious on the surface!
Although I recall being happy growing up, I became aware relatively recently that I always had an underlying sense of anxiety that if I did not hurry or if I were late, something terrible would befall me.
Growing up I thought that what I felt was ‘normal’ and I never considered that I might have been affected by spending my first years on ‘bomb’ alert and surrounded by adults who were dealing with all the damage that comes with war, including emotional damage.
Forever feeling anxious about time
All my life I have been very conscious of the clock both in my corporate career, which was framed by time – starting time, closing time, meeting time, appointments, over-time, schedules, timetables – you get the picture! Once I retired from corporate life and consulted on a casual basis, time was still my over-riding master! Gradually I learned to let go of the busy-ness and the more that I did that the more I became aware of feeling slightly anxious whenever there was a possibility that I may be late.
To compound the problem, at 61 I married for the first time, to a man who had no concept of time and hence who was always running late. We tried various strategies that worked for both of us, the usual one being that we would agree to leave at a time that would get us to our destination thirty minutes or so before the start time.
That did not work, as my low-grade anxiousness would kick in if we did not leave at the agreed time even though the agreed time would have us arriving thirty minutes early – this was not rational!
It was not until a few years ago while I was visiting England and hurrying into a lecture hall one morning in drizzling rain that I tripped, fell onto concrete and broke my shoulder. Shortly after I had recovered from the shock I could feel the energy that I had been in that morning before we left. The people I was going with had been running late and while I was waiting at the car, someone who was to be a passenger in the car, complained to me, which I felt was rather unfair, as I was not causing the delay. Thus I arrived at the hall slightly more anxious than usual.
Understanding brings healing
As I had been attending workshops with Universal Medicine for the preceding ten years I had slowly learnt to be more in touch with my body and what it was telling me. Shortly after the accident I realised that the energy I had been in when I arrived at the hall was the same energy as I had felt when as a baby I had been rushed to the bomb shelter.
At last after seventy years, I had clarity and understanding of where my anxiousness came from. I can now catch it the moment my body starts to feel unsettled and I make another choice – a choice to just allow, accept and trust. Nothing is worth more to me than the feeling of stillness, which I now feel in my body when I am totally connected with myself. I would rather be late than give that up!
Anne McR., Australia
I only recently became aware that for most of my life I have lived with a constant low-grade anxiety that I considered to be normal, as I had never known any different.
This was likely the outcome of having been born in 1943 in a part of England that was constantly bombed during the Second Word War. My father was an Australian who had travelled to England to join the RAF as a fighter pilot and soon after arriving he met an English girl whom he married. In early 1944, my father was shot down over France and for many months there was no news of him. My mother did not know whether my father was dead or alive. On top of this, she was dealing with another pregnancy and mourning the recent death of her much loved brother who was killed in a war-related accident.
While my father was in prison camp, my mother and I were living in her parent’s house in Surrey, which was directly in the path when enemy planes flew over England to bomb London. They would often drop a few bombs along the way.
Hence, everyone in the household was on constant alert for the sirens that warned of an impending attack, and once the sirens sounded everyone dropped whatever they were doing and rushed to the cellar in fear for their lives! If you were late to the cellar chances are you could die!!
On one occasion in the hurry to get to the cellar, which served as our bomb shelter, I was inadvertently dropped on my head, surviving the ordeal with little external injury but no doubt registering some measure of shock and trauma in my body, which I carried into later life.
Soon after the war ended, my father, mother and their two small daughters boarded the Stirling Castle to sail to Australia. One of my memories of the sea journey was my attachment to the things I carried with me to help me get to sleep. The first was what I called my ‘by-zer blanket’ – a piece of soft pyjama flannel, which I grasped in my right hand while sucking my right thumb. This small rag was soft and warm and had a comforting smell. I also carried a small jar of white chicken feathers and I would hold a feather in my left hand and use it to stroke my face.
This bizarre ritual should have alerted someone to the fact that I was a somewhat anxious child even if it were not obvious on the surface!
Although I recall being happy growing up, I became aware relatively recently that I always had an underlying sense of anxiety that if I did not hurry or if I were late, something terrible would befall me.
Growing up I thought that what I felt was ‘normal’ and I never considered that I might have been affected by spending my first years on ‘bomb’ alert and surrounded by adults who were dealing with all the damage that comes with war, including emotional damage.
Forever feeling anxious about time
All my life I have been very conscious of the clock both in my corporate career, which was framed by time – starting time, closing time, meeting time, appointments, over-time, schedules, timetables – you get the picture! Once I retired from corporate life and consulted on a casual basis, time was still my over-riding master! Gradually I learned to let go of the busy-ness and the more that I did that the more I became aware of feeling slightly anxious whenever there was a possibility that I may be late.
To compound the problem, at 61 I married for the first time, to a man who had no concept of time and hence who was always running late. We tried various strategies that worked for both of us, the usual one being that we would agree to leave at a time that would get us to our destination thirty minutes or so before the start time.
That did not work, as my low-grade anxiousness would kick in if we did not leave at the agreed time even though the agreed time would have us arriving thirty minutes early – this was not rational!
It was not until a few years ago while I was visiting England and hurrying into a lecture hall one morning in drizzling rain that I tripped, fell onto concrete and broke my shoulder. Shortly after I had recovered from the shock I could feel the energy that I had been in that morning before we left. The people I was going with had been running late and while I was waiting at the car, someone who was to be a passenger in the car, complained to me, which I felt was rather unfair, as I was not causing the delay. Thus I arrived at the hall slightly more anxious than usual.
Understanding brings healing
As I had been attending workshops with Universal Medicine for the preceding ten years I had slowly learnt to be more in touch with my body and what it was telling me. Shortly after the accident I realised that the energy I had been in when I arrived at the hall was the same energy as I had felt when as a baby I had been rushed to the bomb shelter.
At last after seventy years, I had clarity and understanding of where my anxiousness came from. I can now catch it the moment my body starts to feel unsettled and I make another choice – a choice to just allow, accept and trust. Nothing is worth more to me than the feeling of stillness, which I now feel in my body when I am totally connected with myself. I would rather be late than give that up!
Anne McR., Australia