On Not Being Okay

 

Last week Iposted on Facebook that I was not okay. I am grateful for all the friends andfamily members who checked in on me—called, sent a text, sent a privatemessage, sent chocolate…. Okay, no one sent chocolate, but getting thosecheck-in messages was just as good. Better, actually.

Here’s whatwas going on:

I feltoverwhelmed.

When I feeloverwhelmed, it’s because things feel like they are spiraling out of mycontrol.

When I beginto lose control over the order of my life—the daily routine, the peace andquiet of the household, the general welfare of my dog and cat—my anxiety beginsto skyrocket.

When myanxiety skyrockets, I become paralyzed. I find myself functioning roboticallyto take care of the necessary things—pet care, etc—then becoming immobilizedand simply sitting for hours at a time, heart pounding, breath shallow.

This anxietyis rooted in childhood trauma.

I was anextremely sensitive child. (I still am that child.) And I was shamed by myparents for being so. I’m not trying to vilify them here; they thought thattelling me to “stop crying" and "stop being so sensitive” and making fun of me for doing so would help toughen me up to deal withthe real world outside. What it actually did was further isolate me, make mefeel that my being “different” from others was wrong or bad, somethingI should be ashamed of choosing for myself. And all of that led me to become quiet and shut down… for which I was further shamed.

I learned tospeak only when I absolutely had to. I learned to hang in the background, not assertmyself. I learned to be invisible.

The more Icontrolled these things, the safer I felt. The calmer I felt. In those days,the calmest I ever felt was on Saturday mornings, leaving the house wheneveryone was sleeping, riding my bike around the quiet neighborhood in the hushof early morning. I was a little girl out alone, and I felt safest there.(You’re already nodding your head if you know me well—this is me now on a hike;I feel safest there.)

Until Istarted seeing a therapist last year, I was wholly unaware of what caused myanxiety. I mean, when I was feeling anxious, I could generally track it back towhat triggered it, but I had no idea why it kept resurfacing. I kept confusinganxiety with fear. It’s the same autonomic response, right? Rapid heart rate.Shallow breathing. But I am not a fearful person.

One day mytherapist said, “So, as long as you can control things in your life—yourenvironment, your routine, your interaction with people—you feel safe. Becausewhen you were a child and a teenager, you were being bombarded with stimulithat traumatized you, and you had no control over it. You couldn’t advocate foryourself, and you had no adult advocate. So you lived with trauma. Now, youkeep that trauma at bay by creating an environment in which you are incontrol.”

Boy howdy.

Yes, Iunderstand—as I discussed with my therapist—that we cannot control everythingthat happens in our lives. Some weeks are like last week—things breaking,service people in the house to fix things, financial worries, pet worries,pressure from others to “just make a decision,” the hopeless desire to neverlet anyone down….

Last week wasa perfect storm of unpleasant events happening. So I felt out of control of mylife. So the anxiety swooshed back in hard like a tsunami.

So what did Ido? I rode it out. I saw it coming on the horizon and I ran for higher ground.I didn’t quite outrun it, but some folks were close by with life preservers andropes and that-feeling-you-get-when-you-eat-chocolate, and I survived it.

For a while,I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But the truth is, I just had to be reminded:“Breathe, Kay.” I did. I’m back. I’m okay now. If you’re not, you can alwayscall me. I have time for you. I can find a life preserver. Maybe even some chocolate.