Issue No. 5: Stressed Out!
Words - Ebony-Renee Baker

I’m afraid of my phone. I’m scared of texts and calls.

Before, it was the thunderous bang from my Dad’s recliner as he pushed it closed. 

Or was that the sound of him falling?

Then, it was the front door creaking open. Or was that just my Mom crying in the other room?

During and after trauma, stress is not just an inconvenience. It becomes this magnificent, invisible being that exists in parallel with your own heartbeat. 

At the time, my inability to focus was a blow to my usually driven self.

My heart would stop whenever someone called and that hasn’t changed.

To this day, my voicemail is filled with unplayed messages, for fear of what they might contain.

Two years ago, I remember listening to a stoic voice over the phone as it delivered the news I never wanted to hear. Somehow my legs didn’t buckle and my breathing steadied.

Stress tends to disguise itself as strength.

One year ago, I remember listening to a different, more broken voice, delivering sudden news I never expected. This time my legs failed me. My muscles liquefied and breathing was just as foreign to me as flying.

Our bodies also learn to protect us from that familiar stress it knows is coming. 

After that, the anxiety skyrocketed, preparing me for the next blow.

Sure enough, a recent missed phone call kept me up until sunrise, paralyzing me with fear, only to realize it was a butt dial. 

 Emotional trauma is like octopus tag, a playground game from my childhood. It’s a breathless race to the next checkpoint, all while avoiding the threat of the octopus and growing number of players stuck as seaweed. As more people around you get tagged, the more roadblocks there are to safety.

You’re barely surviving when you know there’s a long road ahead. 

So, I’m afraid of caring because I’ve seen what can happen when caring is not enough. 

My therapist often asks “is that true?” when I vent about my stress.

I’m selfish for even being so overwhelmed.

Is that true? No.

The people I care about are unsafe.

Is that true? No.

The next disaster is inevitably around the corner,  

Is that true? No, but I still believe it.

And she looks at me thoughtfully, reminding me that maybe, maybe, I don’t need to be so stressed.

Stress produces helplessness; it produces irritability, impatience, and oversight. Yet it somehow reminds you what’s actually worth stressing over.

Recently, I stumbled upon a text from my Dad, before he was sick. I’d been complaining about university assignments and long hours at work.

“Stress is fine as long as you don’t let it take over your life,” he wrote. “How you deal with it is the biggest challenge. Confront it head on, don’t shy away.”

I’m afraid of my phone, but confronting it head on helped me find those comforting words.

And that is how stress also keeps me living.