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Have you read this article,“Your ‘Surge Capacity’ Is Depleted — It’s Why You Feel Awful,” that made the rounds last week? It’s interesting. I clicked on it because I really liked the artwork, which is by Adrian Forrow, and because I’d never heard of “surge capacity.” Now I know:
Surge capacity is a collection of adaptive systems — mental and physical — that humans draw on for short-term survival in acutely stressful situations, such as natural disasters. But natural disasters occur over a short period, even if recovery is long. Pandemics are different — the disaster itself stretches out indefinitely…
This, according to psychologist Ann Masten, is a real thing and it is making us all feel like shit. It’s rather dark to think that we only have so much stress tolerance inside, like how babies are born with all their adult teeth and once those get knocked out you have to replace them with fake ones, which would be like going on antidepressants once you’ve used up your surge… stuff. On the other hand, new teeth and brains that work again are great.
Speaking of brains, surge capacity got me thinking about how weird they act which got me thinking about all the other stuff trauma like this does to us. I’ve read about these deep trenches bad experiences dig in our brains and how once they’re deep enough, they’re kind of like dirt roads that have tracks in them and you’re just trying to get home but once you’re on them you have to stay in the lines no matter how bumpy it gets because there’s no way out until you arrive at your driveway. This visual helps if you’ve ever lived on a crappy dirt road. If not, I guess imagine a street with a ton of potholes you must carefully avoid by driving on the OK parts every time you leave the house? It becomes something you don’t even think about, you just stay in the tire tracks or avoid the potholes and eventually you get where you’re going even though the ride sucked. That’s one way to look at how our brains and bodies cope with ick: stay stuck because who do you think you are, the Department of Transportation? Do you own a gravel pit and a bunch of steamrollers? I didn’t think so.
WELL, stay with me here: I thought about this while watching The Real Housewives of New York last night because I kept involuntarily flinching when they would side-kiss each other, or sit too many to a table, or yell right in someone’s face. It felt like watching a car crash and I realized a new, terrible groove has formed in my brain this year that I didn’t consciously notice getting as deep as it is now — being repulsed by other people. It’s been creeping up on me, little by little, but now it’s just here. Will I be like this forever? I liked hugs. What if when this is all done, I don’t like hugs? And then I can’t express affection? And then everyone hates me and I die alone? But it also got me thinking about how change is possible! If being thrown into a new, weird world I can’t escape — one that is horrible but I have to adapt to — actually changed my subconscious response to formerly-innocuous visual stimuli, couldn’t I figure out a way to use this power for good?
I realize I sound like a very basic, bullshit motivational speaker or Instagram influencer (not to brag) but really I was imagining doing something stupid like not drinking so much coffee. At first it would suck, then I’d become grumpily resigned to it, and then it would just be the way it is and a nice consequence of that is I’d be chiller and healthier, maybe? Now to figure out how to make the grocery store withhold coffee from me. Look, I’m just trying really hard right now to not be all doom and gloom. Give the article a gander and let’s talk about these ideas I unsuccessfully connected down in the comments:
How’s your surge capacity?
What are you flinching at?
What new grooves do you want to dig into your brain?
This may come out sounding like a dorm room poster, but your mention of being thrown into a weird world has me thinking about the ways that our brain grooves and broader social grooves reinforce each other (yep, definitely dorm room poster, but whatever). Somewhere in my head there's a malformed thought about the connection between a Marxist conception of society and cognitive-behavioral therapy, but what I'm really thinking about is the ways that so often my own individual change has happened as a result of me getting whatever groove/pattern I'm stuck in out of my head (metaphorically) and seeing it as an object (again, metaphorically) before shoving it back in my head (...) with greater awareness so that maybe I don't get stuck in it next time around. Yes, that describes therapy, but it also describes what one can do sometimes mutually with good friends, and I guess the groove I want to cut is always to remember to seek out deeper connection and interaction with actual humans I know and care about rather than thinking the surface sheen of networked information is going to solve shit.
As for the flinching though, yeah--witnessing casual human contact has me twitchy.
The flip side of casual human contact and interactions now often being repulsive and wtf-inducing, is that some things have become incredibly erotic to witness, lol. Now when I see two people hold hands I'm like oh-shit, ohmygosh in PUBLIC? I get the Jane Austen sweats.
What I find really interesting about one of my new coping strategies, is the friends that I rely on most for emotionally understanding and regrounding me--I'm talking to them less frequently. But then we'll actually talk on the phone for an hour or get into a long scrolling text convo. It's feeling more like letter writing than how we communicated before.
Despite being depressed, I feel like I can deal with the second year quarantine weirdness. Except for my worry about my toddler. She has no friends, except for when her 8yr old step sister is here on alternate weeks. Which is a HUGE blessing, despite being an increased risk. She is so desperate for socialization and friendship, I cry about it on the regular. When her sister isn't here she drums on the backdoor calling her sister's name, thinking she's just outside. Fucking sucks so hard. My trauma is kind of whatever at this point, but my kid's trauma? It's killing me.