“Actually, I still am a calm person.”

Experiencing anxiety after a traumatic event is not being nervous. The two are not even remotely connected. If we were not so quick to jump to conclusions and make presumptions, real dialogue could take place about anxiety. When I share with others honestly about the anxiety that I have experienced after Justin’s death, I have had some interesting responses. People are surprised because I am a calm person, they didn’t think I was the “nervous type.” Sigh. I am calm, I still am calm. I am a calm person who after experiencing losing a beloved child in a violent vehicle accident now experiences anxiety triggered by events, memories, body sensations, smells, that relate to the way my child died.

Nerves are that almost welcome shot of adrenaline right before you go on stage, when your legs feel all quivery, your heart just flip flopped so loud you are sure the wireless mic amplified it, you are wondering why you ever said yes, and at the same time, you can’t wait to get started. You learn to channel that “nervousness” into pure energy, it gives vibrancy to your voice and lights up your face, you can feel it extending right out of the tips of your fingers to the audience. That’s fun. Anxiety feels nothing like the above. Nothing.

I can only speak as I have experienced anxiety in my body — we are all snowflakes, unique in our experience. Anxiety feels cold, icy, a dump of adrenaline into an adrenal fatigued body with heightened cortisol levels, the heart trips and stumbles, vision can become very narrow as the brain tries to focus on the threat, there can be the sense of an unnamed fear, an impending disaster. It can happen once a day, it can happen once a week, it may only happen once a month. I know my triggers. Water. Innocent retention ponds on the side of the road, especially unfenced retention ponds or bodies of water. Justin drowned in a body of water, a deep retention pond, they are a visual stimulation of a past traumatic event. Bridges. Bridges are over water. Justin was unconscious or not, either way he was trapped. In water. Do you see the correlation? Water does not make me nervous, water is a trigger of a very real event. I learned that if I know I am going to be driving over water, that the anticipatory dread is a non-stop adrenaline fest in my body. Driving over bridges at night, oh, not good. Justin went off the road at night, into water. I am not afraid of dying, it is not the fear of death, it is my brain revisiting the trauma. I have successfully driven over bridges during the day and know the anticipatory fear of experiencing anxiety is almost as bad as dealing with the adrenaline dump itself. But I can hold on to the success of driving over the bridge and allow that success to be my focus. I call it challenging myself to explore the trauma and to see where it will lead, what will it reveal about myself?

I have learned that I most likely will never babysit again or be responsible for a classroom of small children. I was shocked at the anxiety that being responsible for someone’s precious children brought to me. That may be one I have to accept, some things we cannot change, right? We seek the wisdom to know the difference. I can’t imagine something happening on my watch and being responsible for the cause of another parent’s anguish and sorrow. As parents we are supposed to keep our children safe, I will always feel a bit of lingering guilt that my son died and I didn’t do enough to keep him safe.

Going through TSA at airports. We don’t travel until July and I can already feel that dread building. I hate everything about it. I can never remember what to do and people are so horribly impatient and unkind, and those are my fellow travelers. Shoes off, they go in a bin. What is in my purse? Where does the laptop go, separate bin. Always afraid of appearing stupid or holding someone up from their very important travel. I hate forgetting a tissue in my pocket and then be patted down for a Kleenex. So many people, it is hard to be an intuitive mind and sense so many thoughts and emotions from the crowds, it is overwhelming. Doug reminds me to breathe, to not let other people and their impatience trigger my anxiety, the Norseman is the most calming color of blue to me.

The death of a child leaves one with a vulnerability that is beyond description, like having every inch of your body scoured with sandpaper, it takes time to grow new skin, it takes time to learn the whole new you. I have found that investing in creative outlets is the single most effective way to take anxiety and channel it into something positive. Learning new skills and discovering talents that have been exposed by the trauma can be like mining jewels. Those jewels may not look like much when you find them, but with nurturing they shine. The brain is resistant, it is convinced that there is sufficient need to shift to “flight or fight” status, but it can be lovingly coaxed into down shifting. If we shut out all the “helpful” voices that tell us what we should do, our souls will tell us what we need. We will be guided instinctively to those things that gently detach those triggers and new patterns in our brain are formed. A new person emerges after trauma, but time, it takes time, and it takes someone to believe in you. Affirm and delight in new growth no matter how small, we are only given enough light for one step at a time.

Be good to you.