3 Simple Questions That Work Faster Than Xanax To Calm My Mind And Nervous System
The impact of childhood trauma on my anxiety is far-reaching but I've found ways to counteract it.
Los Muertos Crew | Canva “Where would you like to go?” the anesthesiologist asks.
I turn, knowing my raised eyebrows are a dead giveaway that I’m perplexed by the question. Glancing toward the anesthesiologist’s hands, I see he’s holding a syringe, ready to plunge a cocktail of drugs through my IV. He tilts his head, grinning widely, waiting for my answer. “What do you mean,” I respond.
“You’re about to take a trip,” he says, “Where would you like to go?” At this, I smile back and tell him I’d like to go somewhere warm, like Turks and Caicos. “Enjoy the beach,” he says as his thumb pushes the chemicals into the clear tube.
I wait for darkness to descend. This may seem like a strange thing to say, but I love going under anesthesia. I relish those precious seconds between the plunge of the syringe and the darkness because I know that for however long the darkness lasts, it will free me from worry and responsibility.
During those few moments before the drugs overtake me, I fight to keep my eyes open because I crave the release I feel. Knowing I will soon be in a dream state, my brain unable to obsess about a hundred things, is the closest thing to paradise I can imagine.
The impact of my childhood trauma is unmistakable and far-reaching.
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Like an unexpected rain shower, it saturates me. Working its way from the outside in, chilling me to the bone, often leaving me unable to get warm no matter how many weighted blankets I pull over myself.
My brand of childhood trauma left me with a heightened sense of everyone in my orbit and is characterized by worry and responsibility. Because I wasn’t okay as a child, I developed a habit of wanting those close to me to feel safe and happy and a belief that it’s my responsibility to make sure they are.
Like a guard dog on duty, pacing the perimeter, I’m alert and aware. My thoughts pace back and forth in my brain, imagining scenarios that will likely never arise but need my attention, nonetheless. It’s exhausting.
This week, I find myself in a spiral of imagined circumstances as my wife and I get ready to drive across the country for our annual winter stay in Florida. Each day, there are reports of strife and hate, and being a gay couple traveling through conservative states feels risky.
We are always careful about how we appear when in public. We never hold hands or do anything that draws attention to the fact that we are a couple.
We’ve made this trek six times over the past three years, and we’ve managed to do it without any significant incidents. This year, the trip feels different.
There is a low-grade fear igniting, and we find ourselves talking about creating a plausible backstory for who we are and what we’re doing. If we encounter people who believe our beautiful love will send us straight to the pit of hell and see it as their job to rid the world of such trash, we want to be ready to respond.
Because we share similar hair and eye color and are often asked if we are sisters, I suggested to my wife that we take off our rings and tell anyone who asks that we’re sisters escaping liberal Washington State.
“That’ll work, right?” I ask, willing her to say “yes” so my worry can trend downward, even if it’s only for an hour or two.
You may be tempted to think I’m blowing things out of proportion. However, after the 2020 election, young men were patrolling Texas highways, running cars from liberal states off the road.
I would give almost anything to find a quick cure for the worry that runs rampant in my brain.
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After sixty-five years of this, I’m weary and convinced there’s no easy solution. My anxiety isn’t confined to making it across the country during an election year safely. I worry about those who are close to me and sometimes even strangers who appear to be struggling. My worry isn’t discerning, and it’s especially active with my adult children.
Throughout my adult years, I’ve heard parents talking about the relief they feel when their kids are grown up and out of the house. While I’m elated that I’m no longer parenting teenagers, my worry isn’t gone. It’s just taken on a different tone. I don’t obsess over whether my teenagers are out partying or whether they’ll survive their latest breakup.
Instead, I stress over things that aren’t my responsibility. Things like whether they’re performing well in their jobs, getting enough exercise, or if they have enough money to replace their roof.
These are secret thoughts, of course. I’m wise enough to keep them to myself, placing a higher value on my kid’s ability to make good decisions than on my irrational worries.
For those who don’t struggle with anxiety or feeling overly responsible for others, I’m sure it’s hard to understand the issue. There will be people reading this who will think, “Get over yourself, Lady.”
Oh, how I wish it were that easy. Recently, I read that trauma — especially repeated childhood trauma — creates neuropathways that keep us stuck. Like muscle memory, the trauma pathways act like superhighways for our errant thoughts and responses, making it extremely difficult to think (or feel) different
There has been some interesting work done with Ketamine Therapy, and the research seems to indicate that utilizing this type of drug in a controlled environment may help people form new neural pathways that circumvent the well-worn routes trauma created. That’s great news, and I’m looking into whether I’d be a good candidate.
A few years ago, I decided to find a viable coping mechanism for my ongoing self-inflicted anxiety that didn’t — for obvious reasons — involve repeated trips under anesthesia.
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I’ve developed a few strategic skills, and they’ve been helpful in deflecting thoughts that send my anxiety skyrocketing. Sometimes, the solution is as simple as telling my wife what’s going on in my head.
When we keep negative thought patterns secret, we give them power. Often, shining a flashlight on them causes them to dissipate. I’m grateful for a partner who recognizes when I’m in a spiral and knows to ask me what I’m thinking.
The other thing that’s been helpful is understanding that I can’t stop anxious thoughts from flying around in my head. When they do, I picture my mind as an airport, and I’m the air traffic controller. When worrisome thoughts fly onto my radar screen, I choose whether to let them land or encourage them to fly on by.
When I realized I was not powerless against my thoughts and emotions, everything changed. I can’t control my random thoughts.
Like emotions, thoughts are not right or wrong, good or bad. But when I allow them to drive my actions, I give up my power. I am the one who chooses what planes get to land, and I can acknowledge a thought on my radar screen without engaging with it. I can say, “I see you, but I don’t have an open runway.”
This tactic helps me stop a cycle of irrational worry before it takes root. As our drive to the East Coast approached, I recognized that I was allowing my thoughts to run wild. Like an air traffic controller on a coffee break, planes were landing wherever and whenever they wanted, and chaos ensued.
It took me a few hours to remember that I needed to get back up in the tower and start giving some directions. As soon as I took charge, it felt like my nervous system went from anarchy to a manageable buzz.
Each time I envisioned something bad happening, I deployed my second coping strategy, which is a series of questions that bring calming clarity to my frazzled mind. This technique is easy enough for a child to utilize.
Here are 3 simple questions that work faster than Xanax to calm my mind and nervous system:
1. Is (insert the stressful situation I’m picturing) happening right now?
2. Is it likely to happen shortly?
3. Am I safe at this moment?
For me, worrisome thoughts are like salacious gossip. They are rarely based on truth but are enticing, nonetheless. Like gossip, worry thrives on attention. It pulls us in and grows in power when we feed it. When I recognize reality and take away anxiety’s fuel, I find peace.
Soon, we will hit the highway for our 3000-mile journey to Florida, escaping the impending Pacific Northwest rain for the winter. With the help of my coping strategies, my mind is at ease and cautiously looking forward to the drive.
While there is a chance we could run into some sketchy situations, we have planned a route that feels safe and comfortable. I’m confident that I’ve acknowledged any threads of truth or possible danger found buried within my worry.
As for the rest of my worries? I’ve instructed them to fly by. Like the Top Gun movie scenes where Tom Cruise’s character, Maverick, buzzes the tower, I may feel the vibration of the jet as it passes, but I know I’m in control of the landing.
Kim Kelly (she/her) is a writer and speaker who writes about authenticity, retirement, relationships, and life on the road.