The Urge to Run

Running away is always my first instinct. The times when I’m at my most anxious or hurt, this voice in my head appears and tells me to run. There is no specific desired destination, just away. Away from people, away from noise, away from real life. I have started to recall hearing this voice as a child. Whenever I felt hurt, lost, angry or hopeless, I fled. I have vivid memories of being inconsolably upset and sneaking out through my bedroom window. I wouldn’t even fully realize that I’d done it until I was standing on our front lawn, or sometimes not until I made it to the end of the block. This happened several times. I never knew where I intended to end up, just that I had to go. On one particular occasion, when I was about seven or eight years old, I remember running from my aunt and uncle’s house in the middle of the night. I didn’t know the neighbourhood and ended up getting lost. Again, I hadn’t really realized I had done it until I was in the middle of a street I didn’t recognize and again I never had a destination in mind, just an overwhelming urge to go. (Luckily, a neighbour found me that night and brought me back to my aunt and uncle’s house).

As an adult, when the urge to flee arises, my logical brain is usually able to kick in before I can act on it. Or at least, suppress it enough for me to act on it in a more controlled and timely fashion. I haven’t yet been able to work out if, in its rawest form, this instinct is attention seeking in nature or if it is authentically a natural flight response. I don’t know if I want, or expect, someone to come after me and/or to understand the severity of the situation as I see it, or if I am genuinely seeking solitude in that moment. Regardless, running away has never solved any of my problems. It has been a band-aid in many instances, perhaps it has given me the time and space to organize my thoughts, but it has yet to be the solution. On some occasions, it has only made matters worse. It’s true what they say, you really can’t outrun your problems. Ultimately, they will find you. The only way to overcome them is to actually deal with them.

I suppose everyone experiences the need to escape. Some do so by physically fleeing, some turn to drugs or alcohol, some use exercise, some practice meditation, some rely on movies or books…escaping can take on several different forms. Instinctually, my need for escape takes the form of physically fleeing. Knowing the unfavourable outcomes of running away, I have learned to channel this into other outlets, (exercise being the front runner), but my gut reaction continues to be to flee. Perhaps this is a symptom of living in such a demanding society. Or maybe we have all become so accustomed to suppressing our hurt, to sucking it up and pushing through it, that eventually we reach a breaking point. When we get to this heightened state, it’s hard to think rationally and (in my experience at least) we often end up overcompensating, going too far, seeking an extreme. Something that would have helped us earlier is now no longer enough. I think if we allow ourselves to take a step back before we reach our breaking point, we can avoid breaking all together. I realize this is easier said than done. Learning to recognize the early signs and symptoms of an impending breakdown is challenging enough in of itself, let alone being able to act on it and change the trajectory. It is a work in progress for me, but exploring the root of my instinctive responses has helped.

As I have mentioned earlier, I believe my need for control stems from my perception of my world being hectic, scattered, unstable when I was growing up. It might just be that my instinct to flee is all tied up with this need for control. If I feel that I lack control in my situation, that the world around me has become unstable or overwhelming, perhaps I seek to regain control by removing myself from the situation entirely. People love to tell me that my efforts would be better spent letting go of the things I can’t control. While I agree that this would be ideal, it feels like an impossible task. When the urge to run arises, I have been trying to tell myself that I need to just let the uncontrollable happen. But my brain is telling me that as long as I’m organized, in control, prepared, I can prevent disaster. How can disaster be prevented if I just let things happen!? I am of the same mindset as my grandma. When people say, “it will all work out”, Grandma’s response is, “who do you think makes it work out?” We tend to be the ones working behind the scenes to make sure things run smoothly. If I just let go, I fear everything will fall apart. Maybe my way of letting go is running away. Maybe the only way I can allow myself to let go is by leaving it all behind. Out of sight, out of mind? Obviously, I don’t have all the answers. These are the things I continue to explore.

A lot of people swear by yoga and/or meditation. While I can certainly appreciate how these practices can be of powerful benefit for some, they just don’t do it for me. I tried yoga on and off for years, even working it into my routine for months at a time. I would feel pretty good initially after a class, but aside from those blissful ten minutes, I dreaded the whole experience. I never actually wanted to go. I would drag myself to classes because I felt like I had to go; because the world was telling me that I had to do yoga if I had any hope of improving my mental health. I never enjoyed the class itself. The only enjoyment I ever felt was the brief sense of accomplishment afterwards. Looking back, I’m not even sure if this was accomplishment I felt, or relief. Maybe I was just so grateful that the class was over. This feeling was fleeting, I would soon start to dread the next upcoming class. Ultimately, I stopped going and felt a huge sense of relief when I no longer had that next yoga class looming over me. Meditation brings the same dread, the same feeling of obligation. I will admit that my attempts at meditation have been feeble. The few times that I have really tried it, I ended up feeling worse because I was terrible at it. It made me feel incredibly unproductive, which only served to increase my anxiety. I haven’t dismissed meditation entirely. I know there are many different forms and if I’m being honest, I haven’t given it a fair shot. Maybe one day I will find a version that works for me. In the meantime, my most effective form of mindfulness is taking my mountain bike out for a ride. When I feel the pressure mounting and my world starting to close in on me, I know I can jump on my bike, tackle some challenging hills and find some reprieve. There is something about the combination of fresh air, accomplishment, solitude, endorphins and majestic mountain views that brings me an incredible sense of calm. I feel at peace on my bike. I feel powerful, like I can handle anything life may throw at me. For now, my bike is my escape.