Is this phenomenon that strikes fear into my very bones, deeper even, into my marrow, really called worry? I question it because it feels like it has accompanied me for a very long time, throughout my life, if I think back. I can recall the first time I met the man who was introduced to me as my father. I was three years old and I was on holiday in Southsea with my siblings and four older children from the children’s home, two members of staff and the head of the children’s home.

This unkempt stranger frightened me. I would not talk to him nor be around him without clinging onto Brenda, my favourite member of staff. I remember being fascinated by the hold he appeared to have on my eldest brother, Riccardo, and to a lesser degree, my sister Pat and my brother Martin. Riccardo wanted to please this man whereas Pat and Martin were far more cautious. Riccardo was happy to have the man sit close to us on the beach, while I looked around for the safety of Brenda, Barbara or ‘Aunty’ (as we all called the head of the children’s home). I didn’t like the look of this man, he smelled bad, dressed awfully and hadn’t combed his hair. I felt panic and unsettled any time he approached me, and when he tried to talk directly to me, I began to cry. I was soothed by Aunty who sat me between her legs and her whole body protected me from even seeing that man.

I recall feeling extremely anxious and unsafe whenever he appeared throughout the week. My siblings seemed to slowly accept this interloper but he frightened me and I refused to go near him. I panicked whenever I saw him watching me play on the beach and would immediately run off towards the nearest member of staff I could find, or one of the older children on holiday with us.

Even back then, I felt what I can only identify as anxiety. All I knew was I didn’t want to be around this hulking, dirty figure even if my siblings did. It was years later that I found out why he had been allowed to join us on the holiday, he was supposed to tell us all that our mother was dead and that he was responsible but wanted to have a new relationship with us. Needless to say nothing went to plan, and he never did say a word. I didn’t understand that I had no parents as the children’s home was the only life I had known. Also, I was surrounded by children who were in the same position as me. 

He just materialised one day and it was expected that we would somehow reconnect with him. This first impression of him was permanently stamped in my mind and remained that way. I associated anxiety, fear and feeling unsafe whenever he was around me. I think that was the beginning of my relationship with anxiety.

Over the following two years, he would drift in and out of our lives, causing much disruption and heartache to my siblings. I found it hard to comprehend why they would get so upset when he failed to turn up for promised visits. Knowing he was due to visit made me very clingy and shy. When he did turn up on the rare occasion, my siblings would be my buffer between him and me. I still refused to talk to him or let him touch me. He scared me. The strange influence he had over my siblings confused me. They paid attention to what he said and fought for his love, but I know that he was frustrated because I wouldn’t go to him at all. I couldn’t, something in me held me back, the fear of being near him was greater than anything that I had experienced in my short life. The feeling would grow as the years passed. 

I think I have carried this anxiety and fear with me into adulthood. These emotions have been my close companions for decades. I know why I am so fearful of so many things, especially the unknown. It is because feelings were not discussed when I was a child. Children were supposed to be seen but not heard. I never expressed how I was feeling and so carried my emotions around with me like luggage. The bag has only gotten heavier over the years. I want to lighten the load and get rid of the things that are weighing me down. Now is the time, to not necessarily change the past, but to understand and leave it in its proper place.

Jude