I grabbed my keys off the counter, stuffed my phone in my pocket and frantically scanned for my wallet. I didn’t really know what I was doing or preparing for but I just knew that I needed to get outside. I was starting to hyperventilate, my mind seemingly pre-planning for catastrophe. I located the wallet and rushed to the elevator, made it outside and found a nearby bench where I’d attempt to wait it out. My brain helplessly ran through worst-case scenarios, manufacturing paranoia to the point where I found myself checking bank statements in some sort of attempt to prepare for my own demise.
Most people who know me know that I went through a gauntlet of difficult health situations over the last few years, much of which I wrote about at the end of 2020. I currently live with a scary-sounding blood disorder though my day to day life has generally returned to normal and is rarely clouded anymore by anything resembling fear or despair. I was only 29 years old when all of this started and having just turned 33, I generally feel like the last few years have largely been an opportunity to defy the odds in a multitude of ways and as more time has passed it’s become progressively easier to deal with the issues that had initially seemed insurmountable. Given all of that, it probably sounds surprising that the panic-induced state detailed above is from only two weeks ago, not years ago like most of the worst days of my life. As I’m writing this, there’s actually almost no one who even knows that this happened.
Ultimately, it turned out to be nothing. I was feeling an odd warming sensation in my left calf which is sometimes a warning sign for deep vein thrombosis, and this was particularly concerning as someone who’s life had already been upended by a blood clot. Prior to collecting my belongings and pondering my own death I had called my doctor to describe my symptoms and was waiting for a call back with instructions on what to do. I went for tests the next day just to be sure, but in all likelihood it was either just a sunburn or too many stair runs or some other silly explanation.
The 90 minutes I spent panicking really do feel pretty stupid in hindsight but I also think they serve as an important reminder on multiple fronts. On the one hand, I’ve realized that I’m not always as strong as I generally believe myself to be. I’ve downloaded an incredible volume of spiritual knowledge into my brain over the past few years but there are always moments for just about anyone where stoic concepts break down and raw emotion takes the wheel. The deep pits of irrational thinking never entirely go away no matter how good you get at navigating around them. We are basically all susceptible to winding up in the psychological fetal position with a strong enough push.
At the same time, I’m now acutely aware that I’ve gotten so much stronger as a result of what I’ve been through. Getting subjected to another destructive health event could conceivably break me but the likelihood of that seems far lower than it used to. I have little ability to really predict what’s to come from this but I at least know that I’ve acquired some of the best mental and physical tools for dealing with such things, and have fully committed to the pursuit of more of them. It’s not just that I went through adversity and came out of it largely unscathed; I’m constantly reflecting on the feelings I felt, the intense struggle I faced, and gratitude for the fact that it was only as bad as it was and no worse.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” has two important caveats: One, that it doesn’t in fact kill you, which is easy to take for granted if you’re in the lucky category of people who are still capable of properly reflecting on the experience. Two, that you take stock of what you’ve been through and actually internalize the lesson; You don’t grow from suffering unless you decide to.
One thing I’ve really been trying to work on in response to these situations is the burden I transmit to those around me. I’ve had a long-held tendency to almost intentionally spread guilt about my problems, perhaps on some subconscious level thinking that it would alleviate some of my suffering if I could give some of it to other people. Or worse, maybe I’ve gotten so upset at times that I felt like I should throw pain onto friends and family merely out of spite for the fact that they weren’t already in as much pain as I was. Whatever the explanation, it’s become quite clear that all of this is counterproductive. I’m not only making myself feel worse when I do this, I’m also very likely diminishing everyone’s capacity to actually help me.
There is a balance here of course. Would it have been better if everyone knew when I was suffering two weeks ago? I’m not sure. Ideally we want to be able to let the people we care about in on the things that matter and allow them to help us. We also want to show true vulnerability often enough so that others feel empowered to be vulnerable themselves. What we don’t want is to unnecessarily burden them, but “unnecessarily” is the operative word. People don’t usually view having to help as burdensome when their help is actually helpful.
The unexpected side effect of all of this is that I’m now in a position where I’m not only capable of coaching other people through similar categories of problems, I’m finding myself actively seeking out opportunities to do so. The process of strengthening myself has given me sufficient confidence to know that I know what I’m talking about, but perhaps more importantly, I’ve expanded my mental bandwidth to the point where I actually have the energy to teach what I’ve learned. It’s starting to feel as though I’m just scratching the surface of this phenomenon and potentially this new phase of my life.