Elise Haynes chronicles family life in her blog Haynes Family Yard Sale. The opinions stated in this article are solely her own and not those of St. George News.
HUMOR – My husband has been out of town for a few weeks and that means it has become my responsibility to turn off the lights at night. It is a horrible job. I hate being the one to switch off the lights because in order to keep the serial killer who lives under my bed from grabbing me by the ankles and pulling me under, I have to sprint across my dark house and dive into my bed from at least five feet away.
I wish I were joking.
This psychosis began when I was around 8 years old and I saw a movie where a child was standing next to his bed and a pair of huge, hairy arms shot out from under the bed and pulled him under. It obviously made an impression on me. I literally cannot stand next to my bed at night.
The thing is, I am an adult. I have children who look up to me and depend on me. I know that there is nothing under my bed but Christmas wrapping paper, a few boxes of family pictures and my daughter’s pink Crickett .22 that I put under there so that if someone breaks into my house they will laugh so hard at my gun that I can make a break for it.
Interestingly, in 2006 Farmers Insurance did a study of 379 cities and determined that among towns with fewer than 150,000 residents, St. George ranked first on their list of Most Secure Places to Live. The study took into consideration factors like crime statistics, extreme weather, risk of natural disasters, environmental hazards, terrorism threats and job loss numbers. Other than the fact that this study clearly took place pre-recession, I’d say the results are dead on. St. George is a secure place to live.
And yet I dive into my bed every night.
What am I so afraid of in dinky little Utah’s Dixie? I’ll tell you what. I am terrified of people who flee from the law in southern California and take off for Canada via I-15. And then they stop at the McDonald’s on south Bluff Street for a McGriddle, even though it is just empty calories – fugitives do not take nutrition into consideration. And then they see me and my kids and decide to follow me home and hide under my bed until I flip off the lights. And then they grab my ankles. This scenario seems absolutely feasible to me.
I know that creepy fugitives hide under beds.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt said something along the lines of, “[Besides clowns, genetically modified produce, and being pulled under our beds] the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” That may not be the exact quote, but I agree with former President Roosevelt.
Fear can incapacitate us. Fear of failure can stop us from doing meaningful things with our lives. Fear of rejection keeps us from making friends with our neighbors. Fear leads us to misjudge strangers by assuming they are going to follow us home and hide under our bed. Fear can make us do ridiculous things like jump into our bed in the dark, miscalculating the distance between our take off and landing and hitting our head on the headboard. Not that this has happened to me.
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