Five Minutes for France

Bronwyn Wilson

Description

Out of anxious childhood beginnings, Bronwyn Wilson developed an anxiety disorder. She worried about things that would never happen. She traveled no further than the grocery store. She quit driving over bridges, riding in elevators, entering parking garages, going out at night, and refused to ever board an airplane. As she worried about possible dangers, her world grew smaller while physical ailments grew larger. Doctors couldnt find a biological cause for her hives, dizziness, and intestinal issues. Searching for answers led her to ask, how has this happened? What is anxiety? Where does it come from? Where does it lead? In her memoir Five Minutes For France, Wilson travels through the Mediterranean using the new coping skills she has learned.How does she handle dangling in a gondola high above the town of Funchal, Portugal? How will she cope when she discovers herself sliding down a mile-long road in a wicker basket? What happens when she wanders the streets of Barcelona searching for underwear?Wilsons story offers a message of hope and humor for those suffering from anxiety, or for those who know someone living with it, or for those simply wanting a good read. In addition, she offers eight recovery steps that helped her break free of anxietys grip and led her to physical and emotional healing.

Sujets

• Assertiveness

Informations

• Publié par: Inspiring Voices
• Date de parution: 14 avril 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781462408658
• Langue: English

Extrait

Five Minutes For France
A Scenic Travel Memoir of Fear, Escape, and Lost Underwear
Bronwyn Wilson


 
Copyright © 2014 Bronwyn Wilson.
Cover art by Jerry Wilson.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
Inspiring Voices books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:
 
Inspiring Voices
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.inspiringvoices.com
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
ISBN: 978-1-4624-0864-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4624-0865-8 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013923165
 
 
 
Inspiring Voices rev. date: 4/14/2014

Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
 
Chapter 1   Garden Grove, California 1961
Chapter 2   Woodinville, Washington February 2008
Chapter 3   Fish Guts
Chapter 4   First Step Out the Door
Chapter 5   Clobbered By a Princess Wand
Chapter 6   Disney’s Chevys
Chapter 7   Travel Brochure Promises
Chapter 8   Golden Moments and Flying Fish
Chapter 9   Master Card Wedding
Chapter 10   Get Your Pitter-Patter
Chapter 11   Port of Call: Madeira
Chapter 12   Elephants and Unmade Beds
Chapter 13   Laundromat Love
Chapter 14   Port of Call: Seville
Chapter 15   Port of Call: Gibraltar
Chapter 16   Port of Call: Sardinia
Chapter 17   Port of Call: Rome
Chapter 18   Storytelling in the Dark
Chapter 19   Port of Call: Tuscany
Chapter 20   Port of Call: Provence
Chapter 21   Gucci Envy Me
Chapter 22   Elevator Limbo
Chapter 23   Escape the Escape
Chapter 24   Humor on the To-Do List
Chapter 25   A Spot of Tea and a Burning Book
Chapter 26   Final Port: Barcelona
Chapter 27   Mrs. B
Chapter 28   No Goodbyes Needed
Chapter 29   Worthy Naranjas
Chapter 30   Going Home
 
Afterword

 
In memory of Be verley
192 3-1962
For the carefree zeal of her typewriter, striking a clicking symphony of chic-chic-chika-chic in the kitchen at 2 a.m.; For affording me the opportunity to choose the color of frosting on my birthday cake. For giving me the love of words and for the blue frosting years.
To Jerry
For your entertaining Egyptian dances, the funny notes in the refrigerator, your support and thoughtful praise; for bringing beauty into my life with your brilliant creativity and imagination. For your love.
To my son
For telling me I’m one of your three favorite writers… I forgot the other two. For the cobalt blue ceramic eyeball you fashioned in your 8th grade art class and gave to me for Christmas; For the Mother’s Day you served me breakfast in bed with a buttered English muffin, red tulip in a vase, and big bowl of vanilla ice cream set on a blue Smurf tray.
To all who have suffered, or are suffering, from anxiety and don’t care to read books written in doct orese.

Acknowledgments
Much gratitude goes to the special people who encouraged and inspired me−often over lunch and many cups of coffee−during the course of writing this book:
Jerry for cheering me on, and sacrificing so I can write; my son for lifting me up with engaging humor and amusing stories; my daughter-in-law for the fun days of Tinkerbell and tea; Jodee for caring with an accepting heart and encouraging me to ‘live on the edge’; Teresa for your longtime unconditional friendship, for the fabulous Fourths, the ferry-crossing daycations and all the delicious chocolate cupcakes we dined on just before the sun came up; Alison Farmer for brightening my days with your uniquely talented inspiration of artistic beauty and cheer, and for your exquisite sunflower watercolor painting on my doorstep; Debbie Stone for your spirit of adventure and for the laughs and imagination sparked at the Purple Cafe; Janet Tracy for standing by me through my journey of recovery with your wit and wisdom and for your entertaining writing and storytelling; Susie Egan for your ingenious knack of creating fun and surprise in beautiful and artful ways, and for encouraging me at a local author’s book signing when you told me, “One day that will be you”; Karen Behling for your elegant cards and notes of encouragement; Suzi Freeman for your inventive ideas and not doubting my claim of writing this book, or otherwise you wouldn’t have asked to read it; Harriet Doohan for our mission and partnership on the e-zine and for bringing me up in the down times; Sondra Kephart for your warm camaraderie and saying you’d buy my book; Susan DeBow for caring about someone you never met in p erson.
To all my Sistas in Redmond, Washington and in Maricopa, Arizona who prayed for me; to Judy Bodmer for your grace and courage, your advocacy of writers and your thoughtful counsel and editorial guidance; to Mick Silva for your caring wisdom and reminding me the struggle in the search is purpo seful.
To Marisa Mitchell at Inspiring Voices for hanging in there. To her colleagues Ashly Taylor, Erica Hookfin, and Amanda Parsons for making the publishing process a joy.

Introduction
Our cruise ship docked in Barcelona. I got off. My luggage did not. Unbeknownst to me, my bags did not make it to the terminal along with everyone else’s lu ggage.
The mishap caused a deep desire to immediately replenish my lost clothing. At least, some of it. I focused on underwear. I would survive without my shirts and pants and pajamas. But not my underwear. I set out on Barcelona’s famed road La Rambla. I noticed colorful mosaics, artists, mimes and musicians. I didn’t stop to enjoy any of it. I didn’t have time. Not until I had purchased what the Spanish call “ropa interior.” Translation: “underwear.” Only then would I revel in Barcelona’s s ights.
With my focus on purchasing new skivvies, I missed out on much of the joy of exploring Barcelona’s beauty and mystique. Looking back, I see a similarity to the way I lived my life for many years. Rather than making room for the joy in my present circumstances, I focused on potential dangers and how to avoid them.
Seeking ways to keep myself away from danger wore me down over time. I came down with a full-blown case of hives, headaches, dizziness and intestinal difficulties. Not all at once, but at various intervals to keep me continuously annoyed. I trekked from doctor to doctor. Naturally I wanted a cure. Each doctor gave me the same diagnosis after exams and tests and much scratching of their head. “You’re healthy. I can’t find anything wrong,” they told me. Did they think I made this up? I couldn’t believe it. How many doctors does it take? Fifteen? Twenty-one? Maybe forty? But who’s counting? Not one doctor could find anything wrong. To quote my husband Jerry, “No wonder they call it a prac tice.”
The parental admonition to “be strong” and “never be a sissy” haunted me from a young age. I believed the erroneous idea that admitting to fear, anger and sadness demonstrated weakness. In my show of false bravery, I deprived myself of personal growth as well as happiness and freedom. I didn’t tell anyone of my inner struggle, not even Jerry. I wandered the dark caverns of my self-imposed entrapment, alone.
I didn’t connect my inner world with my physical ailments. And I felt exasperated by the few people in my life who didn’t have a medical degree, yet felt qualified to diagnose my condition. I clearly remember a friend calling me to give me a secondhand diagnosis, “Linda says your problems are due to your nerves. But she says you won’t listen!” Nerves! Hah! The nerve of her to say nerves! I continued my search for a biological cause.
This memoir follows my life with anxiety, how it developed, my search for a cure, what I discovered, and how I recovered. It also follows a scenic journey through the Mediterr anean.
This is a true story. In some instances I’ve imagined details, or converged scenes, in an effort to convey the truth of the experience or to cover for memory gaps (no one remembers the real name of the hamburger joint we patronized at midnight). I altered some sequences for context and flashbacks. Many names, as well as some characteristics, have been changed for pr ivacy.
My account in no way means to discredit my dad’s genuine desire to be a good parent. Everyone has, at times, given and received relational injuries. This isn’t to excuse hurtful behavior, only to understand we all have emotional wounds and that forgiveness of others and of ourselves is the only way to heal.
Wherever you are in your life travels−if anxiety has you in its grip, I hope my journey might help you in yours. If you’ve never experienced anxiety’s debilitating stronghold, it’s my hope you’ll gain insight into anxiety disorders, a condition that affects mil lions.
My story begins late at night in 1 961…

Chapter 1
Garden Grove, California 1961
Papa doesn’t know our s ecret.
I’m in bed with my play clothes on and my saddle shoes tied tight. I’m ready to go when Mom gives the signal. I can’t fall asleep. And my little sister Shannon can’t fall asleep either. She’s in bed with her clothes o n too.
Right now Papa snores in his bed. What if he wakes up while Mom, Shannon, and I try to make our getaway? The thought makes my insides feel tight like str