I've always thought of myself as a kind person - compassionate, empathetic, and understanding. As I have been recovering from my injury these last few months, I realize I may have been giving myself too much credit.
Don't get me wrong, I think I am indeed a kind person, maybe even compassionate, but empathetic and understanding, yeah, now I'm not so sure.
You see, I've always been the kind of person who, much like the Weebles of my childhood, doesn't stay down for too long. Weebles wobble but they don't fall down. But even if I do get knocked down, I get up again pretty quickly, because, let's face it, there really isn't much other choice. Keep on truckin', as they say.
I'd listen to friends/colleagues/employees talk about problems, sometimes even really awful, life-altering ones that were physically or mentally debilitating, and although I felt for them, and felt genuine concern, my reaction inside was always, "Enough already. Time to get back on the horse."
Until recently.
Recently I've learned the lesson that sometimes even the simplest things we take for granted in daily life can become huge challenges.
I've always been an anxious person, worrying and obsessing over the smallest details. Reliving mistakes over and over. But recently, as I'm learning is common for some patients recovering from head injuries, especially women, the anxiety is stronger than ever. Every minute of every day, I'm mindful of how I feel -- Am I better? Worse? The same? And I'm just as mindful about what I'm doing -- Am I doing too much? Not doing enough? Is it too noisy in here? Are the lights too bright? Am I going to be feeling this later?
I can almost hear my grandmother's voice in my head: You need a hobby. A hobby that isn't worrying.
I wouldn't mind all of this so much if it served a purpose, and it stopped there. I don't think it's unhealthy to ask myself those questions -- what's unhealthy is to be thinking those things ALL the time, to the point where it interferes with daily life.
Acupuncture has been helping my anxiety a lot. I also have a prescription for Zoloft, the presence of which makes me feel reassured, although I have yet to take it. I'm not against taking it - it's just one more thing to obsess about.
Although anxiety is no stranger, I've never been someone to be slowed down by it. I travel all the time, frequently by myself, and it doesn't bother me a single bit. Post-injury, I find myself scared of even the smallest, most random activities, like waiting in line. Ever present in my head is the fear that I will pass out, despite the fact that I haven't passed out one time this whole journey. What I really fear is a loss of control and being vulnerable. Friends and family try to convince me that New Yorkers are essentially good and that, if I did pass out, someone would help me. And if the worst happens, if I fall over and die on 9th Avenue, I'll be dead and won't care.
Intellectually I believe them, but emotionally, not so much.
Taking the subway is a challenge, being underground at the mercy of the train really revs my anxiety, my heart feels like it's going to explode and I'm sure the person next to me hates me because I fidget constantly, but I force myself to do it at least once a day. Mainly because I know that I can't afford to never ride the subway again. If I stray too far from my neighborhood, I tell myself that escape is at hand if I just put my hand up and hail a cab.
Sometimes I'm more successful than others.
Just today, I was walking around my neighborhood, running some errands and trying to burn off some energy, trying to push the anxious thoughts from my head, knowing that exercise would help. Then I went into Starbucks, a Starbucks where I had been dozens of times before (although not Len's daily haunt). The line wasn't long, surprising for a Sunday at noon. I ordered, and then it hit me, a full fledged panic attack. I felt like the whole place was spinning, I was nauseous, my legs were trembling, my hands were shaking and all I wanted to do was run. I thought I'd die. Somehow I managed to talk myself down, tell myself it was all in my head, quickly paid and then fled.
And as soon as I was on the other side of the door, outside in the cool spring air, I felt two immediate thoughts wash over me -- One said, "You need to get home right now." And the other, "This is what it felt like for J." "J.", as I'll call her, was an employee of mine who only worked for me a short time - a time plagued by frequent absences, and ultimately, a medical leave. J. suffered from mental and physical illness, which as a human, I thought I understood and felt compassion for, but as a manager, I candidly didn't have much patience for. She rarely showed up for work and, more often than not, when she did, she was distracted. I just couldn't wrap my head around some of her actions -- how she would call and say that she had gotten halfway to work and then had to turn around, she just couldn't make it all the way in. "How hard is it," I would ask myself, "For her to just stay on the bus and come to work?"
Now I know the answer: Pretty damn hard.
In the midst of my heart-pounding, gut-wrenching panic, I felt compassion for her, and for anyone else suffering from things they can't understand or control. I thought of all of the times I had judged others for what I perceived as weakness -- but the truth is I've never judged anyone more critically than I judge myself. Safely on the other side of my apartment door, I cried tears of fear, sadness, empathy, and relief.
I know that I will keep marching myself defiantly back into that Starbucks and onto the subway until I can do so without fear, even if it takes 1,000 more panic attacks to get there.
Because I know that feeling this way won't last forever. This too shall pass.
The perspective and compassion I've gained I hope stick around a little longer. If everything happens for a reason, and I do believe that's true, they have been worth the price of admission.
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