There’s part of me that tends to think of self-care as the activity of a wimp. That’s not true, of course.

The typical mandate for me, as a believer, has been in the acrostic J.O.Y. – Jesus, others, you. To me, it’s a noble thing to spend myself in the service of others. The betterment of mankind, if you will.

Self-care comes in third place in that schema. I’m wondering if that’s actually the most helpful methodology.

Follow me here. I have a bit of a testimony/confession to share.

I’m aware of having two clinical panic attacks, and possibly a third.

The first two happened while we were living in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. One time, Teresa and I were sitting in the stands during Jeremy’s peewee football practice. All was well.

Out of nowhere, I got short-winded. My heart felt like it was about to erupt from my chest. I broke out in the proverbial cold sweat. Then came the chest pains.

I was alarmed enough to ask Teresa to take me to the ER. Note: saying you have chest pains will get you to the front of the line.

After an EKG, tests for enzymes, blood oxygen, and other imponderables,  I was turned loose because, physically, there was nothing wrong.

It happened again a few weeks later. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

This time Teresa and I were on a date. We were at the movies. I don’t remember what we were watching.

What I do remember is that about fifteen minutes into the film, I had the same symptoms as I did earlier. I tried to talk myself out of it, breathe deeply, the whole drill. Nothing. So off to the ER we go.

Same diagnosis as before. Nada.

Afterwards, I confided in a friend who I thought would “get it.” It turned out that he had a history of panic attacks – I’d never have expected! – and he said what I was describing were textbook symptoms.

My argument then, as now, is that there was nothing wrong. Seriously, I wasn’t going through any kind of crisis or anxious ordeal. There just wasn’t any reason for it to happen. So I thought.

Since then, I’ve had my struggles with mental illness, which has been multiplied since my head injury three years ago or so. Being the anal researcher that I am, in trying to figure stuff out, I ran across articles about panic attacks. Understand that I’m not one to be anxious; depression is my thorn in the flesh.

What I found is that, true, there doesn’t have to be anything in particular to trigger a panic attack. A cause can be vague and ill-defined, and be due to the cumulative effect of a lot of little things. I love knowing the “why’s”  of a situation.

 

The why’s aren’t evident. Enter self-care.

I share all that because this past Sunday I had a low-level panic attack. I don’t think anyone knew. I recognized what was happening and was able to deal with it. It took the rest of the day, but I emerged just fine.

As before, there wasn’t anything to cause it, at least superficially. There were, however, some stuff happening.

I’ve noted on these pages my tendency to try to fix everything and everyone. That’s a type of codependency, they say. I’m aware of that and recognize it.

I’ve been taking stock of the state of the world in recent days. It ain’t pretty.

Just when you thought the pandemic was in the rear-view mirror, the delta variant has come roaring back with a vengeance. You are wise not to ignore it. Actually, you can’t ignore it. We are bombarded with questionable information, and trying to sort through it is nightmarish. Folks are flat-out scared – they are scared of dying from Covid, or scared of losing their freedoms, or any number of fears in between.

What I’ve tried to do in the midst of all that is to be the voice of reason. When I’ve posted my thoughts on Facebook or wherever, I’ve learned that people tend to get really upset with you when you try to be reasonable. I’m like, dude, do your own objective research, vette your sources, and remember: My experts can beat up your experts.

That’s Covid. You can’t escape its impact. I thought about this earlier … the virus, were it a sentient thing, doesn’t care about any of the discussions we’re having. It lives to infect, and if one route of infection isn’t successful, it figures out a different way to go about its task of living and reproducing. I hate Covid because of what it’s doing to you, me, us. I wish there were a test for the mental and emotional effects of it, just like there’s a test for the virus itself. We’d see just how sick we collectively are.

That’s just for starters.

Let’s throw Afghanistan in the mix. How about earthquakes and tropical storms? How about just general all-around meanness and hostility? And the most divided United States since 1861!

Lovely.

Being an empath, I tend to absorb all this even when I’m not aware of it. Then I face “compassion fatigue.” I want to reach out to others, but before I know it, I got ‘nuthin. I just retreat silently into solitude, for as long as it takes for me to recharge. Sometimes it takes longer than others. (This week has been a case in point.)

That’s where the self-care thing comes in.

That’s not being selfish and self-centered. It’s simply recognizing your personal needs and taking steps to meet them, or have them met. Is that weakness? I think not.

It’s self-evident. You can’t water others from an empty well.

As a believer, I tap into that living water source. In this particular blog, I won’t go into specifics. I’d like for us to talk more, though, about how to get nourishment without being a glutton. And how to keep self-care from mutating to a place where you think the world exists to meet your needs.

Addendum: Last year I wrote an online course/workshop called Cruising Through Chaos. I’ve gone back and taken my own study. Doggoned if it didn’t help me, and I’m the dude that developed it. That falls in the category of “physician, heal thyself.” Or, “practice what you preach.”

You can check it out HERE. I recommend it if you’re in a bad headspace. Or, if you’re doing fine, share it with someone who isn’t doing as well as you.

Talk soon.