The Only Way Out Is Through

I’m feeling better, slowly, and I think this week will be more productive than the rest of April, but I’ve been picking apart why I had such a sharp turn downward seemingly out of nowhere when the current state of things really isn’t affecting me much.(1)

I like to pick things apart and I analyze everything well past the point of what’s healthy, probably, but it’s a long-time ingrained survival mechanism for me: over-analyzing refines my ability to predict, which gives a (false) sense of control. The brain is fascinating in how it develops these strategies to survive trauma while it’s still forming in a child, which then informs how we approach everything in the world as adults.

Trauma is a response, not an event, and that response imprints on us. I read(2) about trauma and recovery a lot (to analyze, to understand, to predict–as I said), and the body remembers on all levels. It remembers, in part, as an attempt to prevent it from happening again.

I think I was already primed for a downward spiral as I had to go off a particular supplement I was on for a few weeks due to the pandemic (I’ve since started back up, and there’ll be an adjustment period). That affected my brain chemistry, and when I hit stressors in April, I couldn’t handle it. Shawn’s injury, in particular–even though it was benign, ultimately, the way he howled in pain and stared at me seemed to trigger a light-up of all those previously carved pathways of trauma in my brain from when Dinah went into distress and died two years ago. It didn’t matter that it was a different cat and different circumstances, my brain reacted like Dinah was dying again.

It’s helped, as well, to research and understand the collective trauma response to the pandemic. I’m finding some of my behaviors are similar to that of burnout, even though I don’t consider myself burnt out right now, but it all comes from the same place: the brain’s attempt to protect itself. The escalating stream of bad news and the sheer enormity of it, combined with others’ anxieties I encounter and manage, seems to be coming together to trigger my brain to go into protective mode–even though I don’t, personally, feel like I’m in any danger. Many responses right now come down to versions of the fight/flight/freeze modes.

With parts of the brain shutting down to go into survival mode, I waver between being irritable and on the verge of tears (needing to fight when there’s nothing TO actively fight), to unfocused and unsettled (as if I’m trying to flee), to being stuck and unable to DO anything with diminished cognitive function and inability to make decisions (as if I’m frozen). Like my mind has just gone “Nope! Nope nope NOPE!” to everything, I haven’t even been able to prepare meals. I’ve noped out of work because I can’t multitask and everything makes me cry. I’ve noped out of talking to people. I’ve noped out of any responsibility that will involve a discussion (I can’t handle any arguing). And no amount of tricks and pushing can make the brain work when it’s gone into protective/survival mode.

All this is so the brain can conserve energy and deal with the danger but, as previously established, our amygdala hasn’t evolved past uselessly screaming BEAR in our ear over and over again.

When there’s nothing to fight back against, when you can’t actually flee to the Yukon and live off the land (notlikeI’vebeenactivelyplanningthat *cough*), that tension has to release somehow (like a nervous breakdown!). The anxiety has to go somewhere, and you can only process trauma when you have distance.

The only way out is through.

In a culture that praises sleep-deprivation and overworking, that falsely tells us not being productive is the worst moral failing, it’s hard to remember to listen to the body and rest. That might mean eating Kraft Dinner every day for three weeks because choosing/planning meals and preparing them is too much. It might mean, yes, lying in the fetal position under a weighted blanket for hours listening to Angelo Badalamenti. It might mean putting on Pretty Little Liars for the seventh time from the beginning because offering your brain low-stakes crap that won’t surprise it allows it room to relax.

It definitely means kindness and forgiveness. For ourselves and for others, as we all do our best in extraordinary circumstances when the brain doesn’t necessarily cooperate with what we want it to do. It’s helped me to remember that things right now are not my fault, and the weight of self-blame on my shoulders won’t make it easier to stand up and move again.

We’ll come out the other side again, eventually, if we just keep going.

(1) Other than typical economic concern–book sales are dipping even further and I don’t have a lot of work scheduled beyond June. If you cannot afford books right now, I get that, but please do not steal them or I will not be able to write more of them.

(2) Further reading, if you’re so inclined:
The Body Keeps the Score and Trauma and Recovery.