A poem about Uncertainty

The impact that not knowing tends to have on me

I like having a plan.

Scratch that.

I like feeling prepared.

I like knowing what comes next.

I like knowing what to prioritize and where to direct my attention.

Maybe it’s me compensating for my ADHD

Maybe it’s because “unknowns” have a strong link to “when things are happening outside of my control there’s the risk of endangerment and losing agency”…thanks to my unpredictable and chaotic upbringing.

Somewhere in me lives the belief that if I can create structure for myself and chart a course or trajectory, I’ll be able to follow a sequence of steps and complete the projects and goals I set for myself without issues or distractions, simultaneously reducing the chance of failure and rejection.

Somewhere in me also lives the belief that if I can find a pattern, predict probability, and form a plan, then I can ensure my survival and that no harm comes to me.

I often believe that if I have a plan, everything will turn out the way I hope and expect it to, and if I do everything right, I will be okay.
But rarely is this ever the case.

When there’s something beyond the realm of what feels known, it hangs over my head like a giant invisible bubble pressing against me - or like being in a dream where my neck is stretched out beneath a guillotine, anticipating the drop of something that will surely be the death of me.

I fixate, frantically grasping onto every tool in my box, scanning mental archives for every strategy learned and abandoned, factoring every possible option and escape route that might get me safely through to the other side.

If it isn’t clear by now, I use plans to help me regulate (or rather cope with) the panic that comes with not knowing, and as a method of attempting to ensure my own safety and survival through what’s to come.

…and lately, I’ve been struggling.

There’s been so many unknowns, and all my energy has been directed (or rather hijacked) equally into devising my “next steps” and restorative activities to soothe my overworked nervous system.

I have reference points of things going right, and of good things being on the other side of “I don’t know” . I remember vividly what it feels like to be willing to take the leap and find out, and of how much easier it’s been for me to stay flexible and adapt to circumstances as they change when I let go of the reigns (and of having expectations)… but all of it somehow feels just out of reach.

I know it’s still possible for me to let go of control, but integrating that awareness into my body, where the feelings of exposed electrical circuits and a washing machine coexist in my stomach, feels impossible.

For now, I lean into rest, lots of it, and breathe far more intentionally, continuing to reassure myself that I’m safe, and that uncertainty doesn’t mean “bad things will happen”.

Here’s a revised version of a poem I wrote when I first became aware of how uncertainty impacts me.

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“Uncertainty” a poem by Rowan Grey typed on the marvelous Eleanor (1964 Addler Tippa Deluxe typewriter)

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Fall and eclipse season always has the energy of stirring something up, of something buried coming to light, and of things ready to be shed, of letting go of what we knew and who we once were, and letting things die.

It’s never an easy process, accepting what feels outside of our control and allowing change to sweep out the cobwebs of our lives, yet try as we might, we enhance our own struggle when we resist, when we grab hold of what no longer exists.

Whatever changes come your way, I hope you can create some calm, some grounding, or a sense of security for yourself - whether through rituals and self care, in connecting to something greater or a community to support you through it, or trust in your own ability to survive hard things - and I hope that you can be gentle with yourself.

While change is inevitable, surrender is optional (but arguably necessary).

Keep feeling and healing.

As always, thanks for being here with me.

xo, 🌿Rowan