Overwhelmed Range Shooter

I’m suffering from OSAI, aka over-stimulation-anxiety-itis.

You ever heard of it? Me neither, but I’m sure it’s a thing. In fact it’s a special kind of thing that non-gun-tote’n-mamas experience when they go to a busy, tiny gun range. Particularly when they go to said gun range and they’ve never been to a gun range EVER before and just received a fancy new handgun for Christmas. It particularly enjoys plaguing sweet, fashion and Jesus loving, tender-hearted souls who think they are comfy around guns because they grew up shooting them and have spent hours out in the great outdoors shooting cans, bottles, and other items with family and friends over the years. Little treasures who actually feel comfortable with shotguns and rifles, not handguns and secretly fear handguns but are determined to not display said fear. Until confronted with the reality that she owns her own now. I know a girl like that. Really well. She might be me…

PSA: Shooting at the range is NOT the same as redneck’in it out in the woods 😳. The struggle is real y’all!

And OSAI (over-stimulation-anxiety-itis) sparks this intense little place in a woman’s brain that causes her to think lovely thoughts about all the ways something can go awesomely wrong in the immediate future and many moons later. Lysa Terkeurst likes to call this “chasing down a decision” in her The Best Yes book where readers are encouraged to think through possible outcomes of a decision. Great advice for a career move, major purchase, or impulse purchase of a possibly unnecessary item.

But for a sweet and tender heart standing in the gun range, firing her .380 that does not want to stop jamming, it’s a bit much. Speaking of that, I may name my little Glock 42 “Bob Marley” – because he be jammin’ ALL day long. BTW, Bob Marley is another little nugget that made my nerves feel oh so pleasant. I may have imagined myself trying to remove the jam and accidentally shooting the gun and scaring the crap out of 10 strangers, being arrested, and eating gluten-cornbread until I’m 50 and released on parole.

Oh, and let’s add in the pleasant sound of a .44 revolver going off next to me that pretty much sounded like grenades being tossed. Or was it the Judge? (Aka big-freaking-revolver), idk. But, my heart is still fluttering and I also imagined in my head that my heart exploded from the constant gunfire going off in all directions. Ok, ok it was only to my right and left but it sounded like from everywhere. All this and my poor hubby is trying to reteach me the ins and outs of shooting this gun in what I would call a war zone. This 16 year and counting Army SFC has nerves of steal and the range environment had little effect on him, other than having difficulty communicating to lil ol’ me experiencing my “OSAI” episode. Bless him.

I may or may not have bit my lip to keep tears back because nobody cries on the gun range. And I may have had a mini-freak-out session on the way home, but I’m tired and it’s that time of the month. Ok, it’s not. But isn’t that a valid excuse that we women use time to time? Fine, it was OSAI. Because I’m a perfectly tough and rational person. Honest! 😏 πŸ˜‰

Anyhow, back to the range experience. What the jack?! People PAY to go to this place and experience that? Um…no. You can give me back the trees, crisp air cloaking the mountains, laughter, CONVERSATION, and non-war zone atmosphere. Oh, and a gun that doesn’t jam.

Yours truly,
Aka: non-range-lover
Aka: nerves-of-foil
Aka: redneck-shooter-loves-outdoors
Aka: I-need-a-bubble-bath

Update: not all was lost. I had a lot of fun shooting my husband’s Glock 27 (.40) and his friend’s Ruger 9mm and a Springfield 9mm. So, not all was lost. Here’s part of my target from shooting their guns ☺️


Yes it is blurry, remember my delicate condition πŸ˜‰. And the polka dots make me happy so, like them too.


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