Tiger & (ex)Wife

A sleeping tiger napping on its right side on some grass in the sun, the photo is closely cropped around its head and shoulders. Photo credit: Mine

3 minute read

CW: Anxiety/Panic

This piece of writing is the second in a two-part series.
Read the first part here before you continue.

Dear Téa Obreht,

I’m so sorry. You were right. I am a writer.

When I met you at your book signing you said to me, blogging is writing. I was not in the headspace to allow your words to land properly. I could not look past my own insecurities to take into account your authority, as the published author of a book I enjoyed, to know what you’re talking about. To know that one doesn’t have to be all that good at something, or even paid for something, to own a title like writer, or artist.

I deleted my blogs in 2012 but, I think I needed to, at the time. I couldn’t lie publicly anymore, presenting a happy face to the world when I wasn’t. Truthfully, I was experiencing severe anxiety and episodes of panic every few days, constantly in fear of when the next would randomly pounce. I was restless, and trapped.

I don’t want to get extremely graphic here, but if you’ve never had a panic attack, know it feels like being mauled by a tiger that only you can see. To me the fear was very, very real. To others, I must have just looked “crazy.”

I deleted those blogs because I needed to protect myself until I felt stronger. I needed to take the pressure off, and put all my energy into what I knew I could improve. I began therapy. I began taking more art classes to improve my ability to draw and paint, and found mindfulness in the flow of paint and scratching of pencils. I adopted a puppy to be my constant companion, and in training her for service dog status, that gave me an occupation.

Art student.

Dog parent.

These were noble, if modest, pursuits.

I was able to find moments of joy even when I wasn’t happy. I could live with all that for a while. The anxiety was still there and the panic still happened, but I was able to cope.

Though we did have some good times, by 2014 I was only doing a little better and our relationship still wasn’t working, so we decided to separate. I needed to find meaningful work again. In 2015 I moved back to Vancouver for an internship and miraculously found a sweet little studio apartment in the attic of an old Victorian house, sight unseen.

I brought with me a copy of The Artist’s Way and an empty journal… and I got exactly three days into the programme before I gave up in shame. I had grand ambitions, but I wasn’t finished hiding yet, and had more work to do in getting my feet under me.

However in the weeks and months I spent alone in that apartment and walking through the fallen red oak leaves on the UBC campus, I began to realize something—I hadn’t been mauled by that tiger in a very long time. I was still fairly anxious, yes, but… I could breathe, and I could relax.

I realize that the tiger is still with me, and always will be, but she is less like Shere Khan now and more like Hobbes, only much more cynical. Rather than attacking me out of the blue, she is more subtly subversive with her demands. Rather than fighting for my life, I gently rationalize with her that we will be okay. We have escaped our cage, and she is free now to wander about and nap in the sun when she wants.

I finally finished The Artist’s Way in winter of 2019 when I facilitated it as a 12-week book club. I loved the stream of consciousness writing… it allowed me to witness my thoughts on the page, and when I didn’t like them, I could think something differently and then write THAT. I needed the external accountability to keep going, but I did develop the habit. Since then I have easily filled almost a dozen journals and facilitated it a second time. I have even written poetry, for goodness’ sake. With every word I write, I get to know myself better.

I still have my copy of The Tiger’s Wife that you signed for me, and I am reading it now for a second time.

Thank you for this precious gift of belief in me, having only met me for ten whole seconds. Years later, I have not forgotten. I am honoured and proud to be a fellow writer, and I’m ready to take that more seriously now. I am in a much better place, and ready to start blogging again. And blogging, as you say, is writing. That’s good enough for me, too.

Best of luck to you as well,

Jen Burgess