My kids are sick. Normally, this wouldn't be cause for alarm. My daughter seems to be prone to catching anything that is floating around out there, and my son (still, at age 13) routinely tests the limits of his immune system by doing stuff like eating tasty morsels that just fell on the very dirty floor. But, in the midst of a global pandemic, our situation feels a bit, or maybe a lot, different.
My daughter has been sick for 15 days. She's exhibiting all the troublesome symptoms: cough, shortness of breath, fever, nausea, exhaustion. She was tested for COVID-19 a day and a half ago, and we are not-so-patiently waiting for the results. Today was the first day in over two weeks that she's shown even a mild improvement. My son has been sick for 6 days. He's also been running a fever, has a sore throat, developed a nasty cough, and had a sore stomach. Initially his illness seemed a lot less severe than my daughter's, but this morning his cough had worsened noticeably. I'm writing this in the middle of the night after spending an hour with him, because his stomach hurt so badly he was bent over the toilet weeping. I couldn't hold his hand.
I'm detailing this only as the backstory to my ever-present fear. I thought I was familiar with the sensation of fear, but it turns out I was was only casually acquainted. After a couple of weeks of attempting to mitigate my kids' illness in the middle of a pandemic, I've realized that I'm functioning on top of a low-level terror that intensifies or decreases depending on how much sleep I've gotten, what my hormones are doing, and what kinds of news I've read recently. How can I tell that this is the case? Well, for a while I thought I was getting sick too. My heart rate was a lot quicker than normal, even when I was perfectly still. When I lay down to sleep at night my muscles would slowly become tense and I would wake up with TMJ so bad it felt like I had been punched in the jaw. I had a headache all the time. I was thirsty all the time. My stomach hurt and my body felt strange, as if it were just slightly off kilter. I alternated between bouts of near manic energy and sheer exhaustion. But I wasn't getting sick; all of these things are actually the body's physiological responses to fear.
I've never experienced fear like this, likely because this is connected to my children. I'm afraid that they might end up being isolated from me, alone. I'm afraid that despite all my efforts I won't be able to make them feel better. I fear the sensation of complete and utter helplessness that accompanies the necessity to maintain physical distance when all my kids need is a hug. I fear, I fear, I'm afraid.
After a time of being virtually disabled by fear, I had to ask myself, what is fear telling me? Obviously, fear tells me what I care about, and how deeply I care. It's telling me that stuff is happening to the people I care about that I have little or no control over. Fear tells me what I need to learn more about, as well as where it might be helpful to place some boundaries around my learning. Fear is warning me to be prepared for a change.
I've discovered that it's useful to interrupt my experience of fear, just briefly, so that I can steer myself away from the fight-or-flight response and consider more deeply what fear is telling me in that moment. I'm trying to do this now, in the middle of the night, when I feel encased in fear and can't get back to sleep. Maybe your situations are different, but I'm going to leave you with some of my fear-interruption strategies in case they might be helpful. These are not about being productive. Most of them are not at all meaningful. These are simple ways that I've re-directed my body's energy away from fear and toward curiosity.
Try to remember and sing as many commercial theme songs as possible. I promise, it is difficult for the body to internalize fear when you are humming the Buns Master jingle. Bonus points if you dance along.
Clean your bathroom. Even if it's pretty tidy already, clean the crap (literally) out of that bathroom. Clean until you're pretty sure it's the cleanest bathroom on earth. The brief, if short-lived, mastery over your immediate environment stops fear in its tracks.
Bake something. I prefer bread because of the ten minute kneading requirement. It's hard work, and directs your body's physiological fear response into creating a glutinous masterpiece.
Take photographs of all the things. Some people argue that we use our phones as a crutch, essentially deferring our need to be present in the moment. The opposite is true for me, especially if I force myself to take the time to thoughtfully compose a photograph. My attention is entirely directed to capturing an image and my body forgets about fear for a second.
Post to social media but don't scroll. I've found, through the process of trial by fire, that if I put stuff out on the internet I'm sure to get a response from someone who feels the same way, who is kind and compassionate and generous. But, if I scroll too much I inevitably find something to worry about, especially now.
Try a one hundred day project. These are typically art projects but they can be anything, really. You can also start any time you want. The trick is to create a project that requires only a small diversion each day; it should only take enough time to force a brief pause from fear and anxiety. I'm working on my third one hundred day project and it's been a relatively easy way to make a significant positive difference for my mental health.
Play solitaire, on your phone of course. I play until I win a game, which usually takes between 2 and 10 minutes. Solitaire is beautifully mindless, but requires just enough cognitive energy to be distracting. It's what I'll be doing as soon as I've finished this post.
Step outside. I've learned that this is possible even when quarantined; you can step onto a deck, into the back alley, or even just open your window. The aim is to directly experience the outdoors. I prefer sun on my face, but it could be any meteorological phenonomenon--a breeze, a raindrop, a snowflake. I find that this draws my attention to a universe that is much bigger than my own, putting my fear into immediate perspective.
That's all I've got for now. I know at some level that this has something to do with my Significance Project, but I'll figure it out tomorrow.
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