When I was a child, I lived in a constant state of fight or flight. Mostly flight, I think. Maybe it was freeze or flight. I spent any time that my brain was not engaged in learning scanning my surroundings and going over my steps for the entire day to discern whether or not there was danger lurking. Did I forget to do something? Did I do something incorrectly? Was there something, anything, that would cause a negative effect? Would I be yelled at? Punished? Traumatized in some way? Had to minimize the effects.
Despite this, or maybe because of it, I grew up to be an optimist. I have always tried to find the bright side, the silver lining. I have perfected the art of minimizing the effects of anxiety. I have perfected the art of minimizing the negative. By minimizing it, I disarm it, remove its importance. I negate its negative effect by refusing to acknowledge it. This is the strategy I have employed almost all of my life. It has served me well. Mostly. But I am beginning to wonder.
I am beginning to wonder if this may be a flawed strategy.
Have I missed important signals/signs/red flags because I have been so relentlessly positive? Perhaps. Did I minimize the negative so much that I failed to deal with it at all? Maybe. Have I employed the “It could be worse” mantra for so long that I shortchanged myself and didn’t see what was really going on? Probably.
Sometimes, acknowledging the dangerous, the negative, the almost imperceptible threat is actually the better thing to do. For the ultimate optimist, this is not an easy feat.
Lately, I find myself feeling that tightened throat, rock in the pit of the stomach, clenched jaw sort of feeling that takes me right back to childhood. Hyper-vigilant. On edge. Distrustful. All while telling myself that everything will all work out and there is sunshine right on the other side of this cloud. But the throat, jaw and stomach are telling me something else entirely.
I am working hard on taming that beast. It doesn’t listen to rainbows and sunshine me, glass half-full me. It is piling all those spiky bits into my shoulders with glee. I meditate to have the little anxiety trash collector take them out. It is a temporary respite.
I remain hopeful, though, that this too shall pass. And I can welcome that ever-the-optimist me back full-time.