In praise of the mental health day
Yesterday, after a weekend spent doing room renovations in anticipation of a new tenant in my house, and in the midst of ongoing grief about a recent relationship change, I woke up in an intensely triggered state.
For the record, I have an unofficial C-PTSD diagnosis. I’ll be writing a much longer post soon about what that means; PTSD has made it into the common lexicon and the cultural conversation enough that most people know what it is, but the ‘C’ in front—it stands for “complex”—tends not to be as familiar. But largely what it means for me is that I can easily spiral into states that Pete Walker calls “emotional flashbacks,” where I’m either severely dissociated or a fearful, sobbing mess for what seems like “no reason.”
Yesterday morning, it was both. I woke up from fitful dreams with my partner next to me, and instead of the soft relief and warmth in my chest that often soothes me in those times, I felt desperate, dire, and more to the point, I felt not much at all. The space between my neck and my legs felt dead, like a hollow body. His warm arms and soft skin failed to comfort me. And a fatal spiral began in my mind: All is lost.
The fear and sadness warred in me as he held me and led me through some somatic exercises, including pendulation, a technique I’d like to dedicate an entire post to. (Here’s a very nice personal blog post about a survivor’s work with the technique.) When I was all cried out and able to experience the feelings that were flowing through me, rather than being numbed and locked down, I was still exhausted, but no longer so activated.
It was at that point that I realized this day was fired.
I’m very lucky to be in a circumstance where I can decide that the things I was committed to on a given day can wait until another. I needed to rest, I needed to process, I needed to get out in the sun a little, and get some of my anxiety-producing tasks off of my plate. I knew I wasn’t going to be any good for my two clients I was meant to see, and they graciously rescheduled with me. I also knew that as healing as singing is for me, yesterday was not the day for me to drive into Boston and be in a room with 75 people for two and a half hours.
So instead, I cleared the decks. I needed a lot of time to recover from the anxiety and overwhelm, and I didn’t get much done for most of the day. Near the end of it, my partner and I finally managed to make it out of the house and we picked up some things at the hardware store. As he predicted, doing so was extremely grounding; sometimes doing even one practical, productive thing can help soothe the demons. Afterward, we risked a few micro-Covids and went to a favorite Turkish spot for dinner.
The end of the day did much to ameliorate the effects of the earlier part. By bedtime, we were both absolutely exhausted, but able to connect far more closely than we had at the start.
Today, my eyes aren’t irretrievably puffy, I don’t feel like the entire world is a hostile place, and I sense that my presence and listening abilities might actually be helpful to someone. This is a significant improvement. I don’t know what I would have done without the ability to call a Mulligan on a whole weekday, but I’m very aware that others don’t have that option. To bring up Sanity by Tanmoy yet again, the state of workplace mental health is abysmal, and most people can’t just take a mental health day. Many can’t even take sick days right now. Some are simply surviving, and missing a day of work isn’t in any way an option.
I’m very aware of my privilege here. But far from stopping me from singing the praises of taking time off when your nervous system is freaking out, I want to promote the idea far and wide.
I’d love to hear about your workplace mental health policies, and/or your experiences with attempts to steward your own mental health (which is where most of us are left), in comments.