I Saved My Son From A Bear; Then The Bear Saved Me
The wild true story of how a terrifying encounter with a bear transformed the way I view anxiety.
That’s when I saw it. There it was. A massive black bear squeezing its body through the divider, the two of us equal distance from my son, who it did not yet see.
There’s a lot of bears where I live. A suburban town at the base of a mountain where they roam free. You see them walking through the neighborhoods, searching for food constantly. As a recovering anxiety addict, it’s been quite the spiritual practice living here. In the 3 years since we moved in, my family has had numerous encounters with them, but none scarier than the one last week.
Anyone with kids will confirm, the minute you become a parent, all your darkest issues magnify instantly. Not just because your chronic lack of sleep and their never-ending needs rival most torture mechanisms that exist, but also because, in addition to your own s***, you now have the pressure - and guilt - and shame - of trying not to pass it down generationally.
As Jon Kabat Zinn writes in one of the best books you’ll ever read:
You could look at each baby as a little Buddha or Zen master…whose presence and actions were guaranteed to push every button and challenge every belief.
A few years ago, when my son was 6 or 7, we had our first bear encounter. We were walking to a park nearby and as we turned the final corner, there stood a bear directly in our path.
My son’s eyes filled with glee as mine darted around quickly, seeking escape routs from horrors my mind was already busy showcasing.
“Look, Dad, a bear! Let’s go closer,” he shouted excitedly - the naivety of someone whose wildlife perspective comes entirely from Disney. I gripped his little hand tightly to keep him from running free, the tension of it causing him to look up at me.“You’re scared,” he said, more perceptive than most adults I meet.
Of course, he was right. I was scared then, as I always have been. We can call it anxiety and panic if we want, but ultimately that is what it is: fear. A setting likely programmed in childhood - maybe earlier, depending on what you believe - and now we remain fused in danger-mode constantly.
We didn’t go to the park that day, the fear of a returning bear keeping me from relenting. Unfortunately, as it often does, allowing fear to take hold only made it more fierce. Over the following three years, bears were on my mind constantly, showing up in the flesh every now and then, causing my already overactive nervous system to begin firing again. I did my part to deal - carrying bear spray in my pocket, jingling my keys, always keeping my head on a swivel when we were out walking. The anxiety of it all continued to build, even as I was able to all but eliminate it from other areas of my life through the work we do here.
At times it made me feel crazy, but I reasoned I’d rather be crazy than dead. Then came the day last week when it all came to a head and I ended up in a stand off with a bear, my 10 year old son finding himself in between - this time with eyes, likely reflecting my own, absent any glee.
For whatever reason the bears have been out in full force this year. Be it the weather, the human developments increasingly encroaching on their territory, or the universe having a lesson it still wanted to teach, it got to a point where it felt like we couldn’t leave the house without an unexpected, and undesired, meeting. The elementary school was even forced to shelter the kids indoors recently, when 3 bears decided to hang out on their field. All this elevated my bear anxiety to a whole new degree, leading up to the day I saw one show up, trapping my son between it and me.
Strangely enough, the standoff with the bear began a night earlier - in my dreams. I was back in my childhood home when a bear burst in. It moved through the house, looking for me. In the final climactic scene, it stood up in my kitchen on two feet, bellowing with a forcefulness that ripped me out of sleep, heart pounding.
Incredibly, when my eyes shot open it was no longer the roar of the bear I could hear, but the voice of stillness I have written about previously. Once again, it only had one insight to teach, highlighting it with the simplicity of a single word:
No.
That’s all that it said - No - and I understood its message instantly: I refuse to start my day living in fear.
I put my feet on the ground and reminded myself of the insights from Dr. Harry Barry’s incredible book Anxiety & Panic: imagine your feet glued to the floor and allow the waves of emotion to wash over you without avoiding or resisting.
I observed the anxiety surging through my body, repeating the message of the higher Me: No. I will not allow the fear dominate my life or my dreams. It will no doubt still exist inside me, keep me carrying bear spray and being present and awake when out walking, but I will no longer give it emotional energy beyond those things.
It amazes me that anytime growth appears, the universe seems to test it near instantaneously. As I sat there, nervous system still regulating, I had no way of knowing that test was mere hours away.
We were out for a family walk that evening when my wife said we should check the mailbox sitting halfway down our long driveway. Our son immediately asked for the keys so he could run ahead and check, but with the emotionality of my dream still ringing in my subconscious and not yet being able see around the corner where he would be, I refused. He persisted, asking why I wouldn’t give him the keys. Not wanting to put fearful thoughts in him and no creative reason coming, I winked mischievously as if playing a game and sped up ahead to a place where I could relent, which I finally did standing in front of our doorway.
I gave him the keys, but rather than continuing to walk up to our porch as I normally would, something told me to stay right where I was. He ran to the mailbox and began trying to get the right key to fit as I kept my eyes focused on the divider at the end of our street - the place bears often come through when looking for garbage to eat.
That’s when I saw it.
There it was. A massive black bear squeezing its body through the divider, the two of us equal distance from my son, who it did not yet see.
My body sprang into motion, a surreal combination of instinct and memory.
Before the bear even noticed, I had taken a number of large, purposeful steps forward, closing the distance to my son in preparation for having to sprint. My hand reached into my pocket, flipping the safety mechanism off the bear spray I was carrying and pulling it out to my side, each movement executed so fluidly that even in the weight of the moment I remember hearing some part of me way high above thinking “woah.”
That’s when it saw me.
It stopped in its track and lifted its head as my intuition told me to freeze, an impulse I would later recognize as not wanting the bear thinking I was moving toward it aggressively. I yelled out my son’s name once, then again, shouting at him to walk toward me. The bear took a couple of steps forward and I could feel my legs tense onto the balls of my feet, leaning forward in preparation ever so slightly. My son peeked out at from around the corner and instantly sensed the danger I was feeling, seeing me standing there, eyes glued to something behind him. He took a few unsure steps in my direction.
“What is it?” he cried.
If I could do it again, I would have responded with something more reassuring, but in the moment all my energy was directed at the decision point underneath my feet.
“Just walk!”
He took a few steps closer, the bear following.
“Should I run?” he asked so intelligently, but all I could feel was the anger of him not yet being next to me.
“Walk damnit!”
Having collected all the data he needed, he moved forward more decisively, the bear seeming to match him one big foot for every two little feet.
Finally, when my mind deemed him close enough, I closed the rest of the distance and took a few steps beyond, putting myself between the two of them so my son could make his way inside. My eyes remained locked with the bear’s, as they had been since it first appeared.
A few seconds later, with my son safe and its cosmic test complete, the bear seemed to nod in approval, before turning back around and leaving unceremoniously.
I inhaled what felt like my first breath in years as a line I think of often rang in my ears: ‘When do soldiers prepare for war?’ it asked. ‘In times of peace.’
I heard its message loud and clear.
All the anxiety I had weathered over the years, all the times I had endured imaginary fears, had, today, kept my family safe from potential catastrophe. The anxious thoughts, the fever dreams, and a the rest of the catastrophizing, had all inadvertently prepared me to handle danger with certainty. Although I was no doubt scared throughout the ordeal, when it counted most the bear did not bring any new fears, only the presence and clarity needed to act decisively.
Most importantly, the bear brought one other thing, the recognition of what all the fear was telling me. That I love him - my son, not the bear - more than anything. That I’d be willing to fight a thousand wild animals to make sure he was safe.
That was the day a bear taught me that anxiety brings with it the gift of preparation, and saved me from a life of wasted distraction, by reminding me of my ultimate priorities: son first…then all other things.
And for that, I am forever indebted - both to the bear, and to the fear it reflected.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hi, I’m Will. You can find me building the Academy Of Self Help. If you’re someone who likes to read self-help books and loves to talk about why we are the way we are, we should probably be friends.
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