How to Recognize Hidden Fears Amid a Pandemic
time for honesty
Irritability and the incessant need to clean. Two warning signs that I might come unhinged if I don’t get honest with myself. A few days ago, I noticed that a healthy dose of honesty was in order.
I thought I was invincible when this all started and I realized that a virus of this severity could reach us here in the U.S. I was impervious to any fears that a pathogen could affect my loved ones or me. I wasn’t afraid.
early days
Sure, we had to cancel spring break plans, think about putting a few precautions in place, consider the idea that our kids may need to embark on some form of virtual learning for a few weeks. This might be fun, I thought, picturing a decadent extra hour of sleep in the mornings and leisurely afternoons free of after-school activities. My boys are 12 and 16—that sweet spot where they still listen to mom (my 12-year-old, anyway), and they’re mostly self-sufficient. As long as I came up with a few screen time guidelines and healthy food initiatives, they would be free to do their thing, and so would I.
Surprisingly, the first three weeks unfolded according to plan. But I was beginning to get the impression that this whole pandemic thing is partly here to shake up any perception that we can create and implement a solid “plan” in our lives.
media influence
I rarely listen to the news anymore. Once I learned that my debilitating “mystery illnesses” were rooted mainly in a maladapted limbic system, I stopped subjecting myself to the adrenaline rushes so commonly experienced in the wake of sensationalist fear-mongering journalism. My body lived in a moderate state of fight-or-flight for years (likely decades), and my nervous system’s hypervigilance eventually became my body’s demise.
Shocking media clips and flashy fear-inducing headlines are great at accomplishing their goal of getting our attention. Getting our attention equals advertising dollars. We all know that. In this latest state of crisis, however, much of the attention-grabbing seems warranted. Playing into our fears works.
Unfortunately, playing into our fears does more than bring news outlets ad income and, in this case, raise due awareness about a worldwide crisis. This steady stream of nerve-wracking news coming at us from all directions can take a significant toll on someone with autoimmune disease—or any illness, for that matter. Stress equals dis-ease. Stress certainly doesn’t lead to ease.
an introvert’s dream
As the pandemic has unfolded day by day, I’ve remained relatively calm. I have spent this abundance of time working on my book, connecting with friends and loved ones remotely, participating in live video yoga, learning new recipes, immersing myself in indulgent fiction, and spending quality time with my family (a ruthless game of Catan, anyone?). I’ve come to enjoy a life heavier on solitude and lighter on crowds in recent years. This shelter-in-place is an introvert’s dream.
warning signs
But the other morning, I became increasingly irritable and wasn’t sure why. Background noises were even more distracting than usual when trying to work, and I found myself nit-picking my kids for missteps that I would typically overlook. As I attempted to take an afternoon nap, visions of perfectly stacked laundry and thoroughly vacuumed carpets filled my mind. The eagerness I felt for tackling these chores blocked my ability to nod off and successfully distracted my psyche from noticing the uncomfortable emotions that were simmering beneath the mental chatter.
The epiphany came later that day when I reflected on my inability to forgive my husband for his apparent disregard for the country’s “rules.” As I reprimanded him for visiting a friend (outside, six feet apart), purchasing take-out, and making yet another grocery store run all in the span of 24 hours, I noticed that I was feeling more and more out of control. I felt like I was holding a rubber band—one of those thick ones that bundle together all the accouterments of the Sunday newspaper—around the backs of my two hands. As my hands stretched further and further apart, the rubber band got dangerously close to snapping.
calm vs vigilance
In one hand is the laid-back, calm, newly surrendered me, who knows that the future is out of her control. Do my part. Teach my kids the importance of doing theirs. Be cautious without being fearful. Leave the rest up to fate or the Universe or God.
In the other hand is the mildly manic me who has heard one too many news reports and (mostly) well-intentioned public service announcements about implementing safety measures. Don’t get me wrong; it sounds like the vast majority of Americans may need to hear these instructional messages about how Covid-19 is transmitted, how to sanitize items that enter your home, and how to distance yourself from others.
A rather extreme viral video from a reputable source demonstrating cleaning measures we should all take was the match that lit my obsessive flame. This recovered germaphobe hit her limit of third-party warning messages that morning. That dormant part of me woke up, and when she reemerges (which is rare these days), it means that hypervigilance can easily take over. Hypervigilance = stress = dis-ease.
The rubber band stretched around my hands was being pulled too far apart—the two ways of handling this crisis becoming increasingly opposed to one another. The calm hated the vigilant. The vigilant hated the calm. And so the space between them expanded. If they diverged too far, the band could snap, and the reverberating sting could affect everyone around me even more than it had so far.
I allowed a wave of sadness to give way to tears as I ventured out to get some fresh air at a nearby park. At first, the sadness was elusive. I had a vague sense that I needed to acknowledge something that I hadn’t been willing to face. As I permitted the tears to flow, I saw the fear. The fear that this pandemic is very real. The fear that I could lose someone I know and love. The fear that my family is not untouchable. None of us are.
Once I connected the dots that my irritability and interest in cleaning were clever ploys by my psyche to help me avoid the buried fear, I was able to bring my hands closer together, prevent the snapping of the rubber band, and find a middle ground.
middle ground
For me, that middle ground looks like doing my part consciously (and realistically—there’s no need to be hypervigilant superwoman!) from a place of love instead of fear. It means letting go of trying to control that which I cannot. Asking my husband if he’s washed his hands for the third time since coming home is once such an attempt at control, controlling another human being. When I catch myself trying to conduct a bazillion-instrument symphony of variables, then I know I’ve switched from love to fear.
The future of this pandemic is larger than me and my symphony. All I can do is try to enjoy the music in this moment and trust that if there is indeed a plan, it is a divine one.
postscript
As I sat there listening to my son have a meltdown over some video game for the second time that day, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe his angst wasn’t merely the result of too many hours in front of the screen. Perhaps this time, his game-perfecting mania ran parallel to my irritability and intense desire to tidy up the house. The irrational meltdown was a receptacle for his fear. He sensed the gravity of this global health crisis and didn’t know how to feel such intense and vulnerable emotions. Taking them out on a game felt safer. I have a feeling we’ll be figuring this out together. Just as our country and our planet make sense of this event. One day, one moment at a time.
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Want to learn more about how you can recognize and process these difficult emotions ad bring balance to your stressed physical body? Check out my 8 Mind & Body Tools to Bring Calm in the Face of Fear
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