I’ve lived alone twice in my life. Once, for a month, at the age of 22, and during the latter half of my twenties. Both times, it petrified me.
The first time I moved out of home was to a little flat I would end up sharing with my boyfriend. At the time, he went overseas to investigate the possibility of moving to New Zealand.
All wound up in the excitement of gaining a sense of independence, I’d forgotten I’d be living alone for a while. After the excitement wore off, I became very aware at about 2am one night that I was alone in an apartment that could easily be reached from the street.
I sat up in my bed, wide-eyed and wondering what on earth that strange noise was, and what would my action plan be, if someone broke in? I didn’t have one, other than to run screaming into the communal courtyard of our building. Not exactly a fail-safe plan.
The second time I lived alone, it was a bigger flat, and I wasn’t really alone. I was a single mom to a toddler, with a million more reasons to lie awake at night, feeling petrified. Except, this time, I wasn’t.
Long before I began living alone again, I’d run through my plans of action in case of emergencies, sprung up mad ideas of what to do, and put together a solid idea in my head of how to keep myself and my kid safe. Also, thankfully, I had a large support network who would – and did – come running when I needed them.
Like the time I didn’t know I had a life-threatening kidney infection, and had a febrile convulsion. My best friend raced across town to scurry me into hospital, informing my work and making sure my kid was collected from school, along the way.
Life forces us to be brave at times, whether it’s in how we respond to that strange noise in the middle of the night, or learning how to tackle an unpleasant conversation with a colleague. But courage calls for us to practice it every day.
That’s why self-help books tell you to challenge yourself, or aspire to new goals. Courage is a skill you have to nurture. It’s not something you can just learn in an emergency.
That’s why, when my daughter and I came home from school one day, to find our security gate broken and front door wide open, I didn’t stop. I walked in. Foolish, in retrospect, considering that the burglars could have still been in our house. But I had weighed that up in my head, and only walked into the entrance before yelling for my neighbours. Courage needs to be a considered movement, not a reactive jolt.
Once I’d figured out that I hadn’t stupidly left the door open in my haste to leave that morning, and we had in fact been burgled, evidenced by the ransacked lounge and the bare cupboards in the kitchen, the adrenalin took over.
Within minutes, the police were called, kindly neighbours were feeding us sugar-infused water, and lovely friends were helping clean up the mess. Cradling my kid, who was highly peeved that her “Finding Nemo” DVD had been stolen, I began making plans to replace the stolen goods and re-secure our home.
That’s the thing about courage. It helps you plan and recover.
Leave a Reply