faith unfaded

After my mom died, my nervous system had two settings: fight or flight.

Sometimes I wanted to run. I got in my car headed to Mexico one day. I made it to the third stoplight before I turned around. Another day— after feeling rejected in the family group chat—I researched jobs in Greece. (I am rather dramatic sometimes.) I would just get so hurt, so frustrated, so overwhelmed … and I wanted to be anywhere but here. 

Other times, I wanted to fight.

Sometimes that fire was useful. I fought for people I loved. I fought against things I believed were wrong. I fought the devil with every bit of faith I had in me. There is a good fire in my soul, and I never want to extinguish it.

But sometimes I fought whoever happened to cross my path. 

I threatened a timeshare rep who’d misled my parents. I told him I’d drive ten hours just to sit in the lobby and tell everyone he was a liar and to stay far away. And heaven help it if Dr. Pepper came out of the Coke Icee machine. 

Frustration became anger quickly. Even the small things felt enormous. My dad would tell me to chill. My daughter said I was glitching out. 

I knew I was overreacting but was unable to stop it. 

Then there were the times when I could neither fight nor run. 

I was just too tired.

So I cried.

I cried from grief, frustration, anger and sheer exhaustion. Sometimes I knew exactly why I was crying. I was definitely wearing my feelings on my sleeve—something I’d worked hard to change. 

Other times, I think my body simply needed somewhere for everything it had been holding to go. 

My nervous system was in overdrive. 

Things are a little calmer now, but far from normal. Grief is still a constant companion, and I have to actively work at not absorbing the grief around me as well. My mind once again gets first crack at a conflict or situation before my emotions weigh in. I can take a deep breath before reacting — something that you may be unable to do when your nervous system is in overdrive. 

Our nervous systems are designed to protect us. When the brain perceives danger or overwhelming stress, the sympathetic nervous system activates the fight-or-flight response. Heart rate increases. Muscles tense. Breathing changes. Our bodies prepare us to confront a threat or escape from it.

That’s incredibly useful when we’re actually in danger.

But it’s exhausting when the alarm doesn’t seem to shut off.

Grief, prolonged stress, caregiving, trauma, major life changes and chronic uncertainty can leave us feeling as though we’re constantly bracing for the next thing. Even when the immediate crisis has passed, our bodies may take longer to get the message.

People love to say that time heals all wounds.

Maybe.

But sometimes you’re sitting there waiting for time to do its thing while staring at what is obviously a broken watch.

So what do we do while we wait?

We give our bodies opportunities to recognize safety again. Intentional, regulated breathing can help signal that you are not in danger. Movement can release some of the energy created by stress. Sleep, regular meals and hydration matter. So does stepping outside, reducing unnecessary stimulation and allowing yourself periods when you aren’t solving problems for anyone.

Grounding can help when thoughts begin racing. Notice what you can see, hear, touch and smell. Feel your feet against the floor. Pay attention to the chair beneath you. Remind yourself where you are and that, in this particular moment, you are safe.

Connection matters, too. Talk to someone you trust. Sit with people who don’t require you to perform wellness for them. And when stress, anxiety, anger or grief becomes too difficult to manage alone, reach out to a friend or a mental health professional. Sometimes our bodies and minds need help finding their way back to equilibrium.

Healing doesn’t always announce itself. A regulated nervous system doesn’t come with a gold star. Sometimes you simply notice that you feel calmer. You think before reacting. 

Or you stop researching flights to Tokyo at midnight.