Stress blows

Stress blows

I stole that from the back of a t-shirt. Boy, is that t-shirt speaking the truth. You could be doing the most fun thing ever — dancing like nobody’s watching, eating chicken ‘n’ waffles (from anywhere but Skillet), watching your favorite movie for the tenth time — and yet stress somehow worms its way in and soils the moment. I lived this.

After years of enduring that, I thought I’d found the cure for the Ultimate Fun-Killer: peace. It took a crap ton of pain for me to realize that. And a crap ton more to discover it for myself. (Check out my first piece if you want those deets. I know I keep plugging my articles — I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.) But somehow all those crap tons haven’t been enough. Because my stress is still there.

Before I start something — whether it be going to a class, knocking out a horribly long problem set, or writing this article — I pray. Or meditate. Or both. It helps me to let go of all the distractions, expectations, obligations, fears (I could go on) and instead live in the right here and right now. (Some call this “being present.” I couldn’t bring myself to say that. Just like I can’t bring myself to say “mental health” anymore. Feels clinical… Bleh.) 

You might be thinking, “That’s great and all, but what if it doesn’t work?” To which I would telepathically respond, “It does.” Well, most of the time. It should. I have all the tools: peace, clarity, flow, the right mindset, you name it. Yet there are times when stress still gets the best of me. Like yesterday.

I was studying for an exam later that day when I realized I was late to another class. Unfazed, I packed my things and hurried along. I knew I was going to have to play catch-up the entire class, but I wasn’t worried. After all, I had the tools — I could figure it out. Then I got to class. As soon as I sat down — I swear I’m not being dramatic — I was hit with a tidal wave of stress. My throat burned. My hands shook. An invisible hand squeezed my lungs shut. 

Weird, right? Want to know what’s even weirder? My peace hadn’t left me. My mind was so settled I bet it was smoking a cigar and eating extra-buttery popcorn while it laughed at my body going off-the-walls crazy. I wasn’t stressed; I only felt stressed. It was purely physical. So I thought it was organic, a knee-jerk reaction to something I couldn’t control. 

I was revising a paper last night when the feeling came back. I tried to ignore it, telling myself I’d prayed and that was enough, but it got worse. Worse than it had before. I couldn’t work, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was doing everything right, yet it was going all wrong. I convinced myself I needed to pray harder, longer. So I did.

However, this stress “awareness” has become so ingrained in me that I still automatically fear these situations. My body doesn’t know I have the peace to handle the situation now; all it knows is that fear signals danger. So my ever-dutiful body readies the stress-response missiles and, when the anticipated situation comes, fires away, pumping adrenaline fast and furious through my veins. Cue the tidal wave.

It wasn’t my body that was the issue. Nor was it my fear. It was what I did with the fear — how I responded to it — that wrecked me. 

My peace told me I was strong enough to adapt to arriving late to class, and I believed it. But pockets of me were filled with doubts — the stress awareness was kicking in — and I felt the need to quell their worry with assurances: “No, this time will be different. I got this.” But the doubts weren’t satisfied with my response; they kept coming. So I kept reassuring. And they kept coming. On and on and on in a never-ending churn: It was turtles all the way down. The doubts couldn’t touch my peace. But they could still wear me down. 

In trying to dispel these thoughts, I gave them validation. I confirmed to them that I did fear what they were telling me. And they preyed on that — that was the fuel they needed to keep coming back. They stoked the fear and tension within me. And my body just couldn’t keep up. 

Ironic. I attempted to control my thoughts and, in doing so, let them control me. But I was fighting an unwinnable war: I can’t possibly control my thoughts. None of us can. Our thoughts, doubts, assumptions, biases, preconceived notions, fears — they are the product of the life we’ve each lived. We can’t just pretend that our life — and all the experiences that are bundled up within it — didn’t happen. Our past will influence our interpretation of the present, guaranteed. I’ve had a lot of stressful back-to-back meetings, a lot of stressful dinners with friends — it’s only natural I assume they’re going to be stressful again the next time.

We are stuck with all those pesky doubts and biases. So we shouldn’t even waste our time trying to get rid of them. Which gives us only one option…

Live as if your thoughts are annoying salespeople working one of those fragrance mall stands. You know they’re there, but you don’t look at them. Because as soon as you do, they’ll be emboldened to start pitching their cotton-candy cologne to you. And you know once they get started they won’t take no for an answer. 

Our thoughts are just as incessant. As soon as we respond to them, as soon as we try to control them, they know they’ve got us hooked — and they won’t let us go. Rather, let them roll around in your head. Don’t ignore them — understand and accept that they’re there — but don’t give them anything more than that. Don’t resist them. Don’t try too hard to convince yourself they are unfounded or outdated or otherwise inapplicable. Let them be. 

In other words, control not the thoughts themselves but how you respond to those thoughts. By choosing not to respond, you strip the thoughts of their power — you are no longer wasting any of your energy on them, and thus they have nothing to feed on. In this way, you’ll stop getting stuck in proving yourself to your own thoughts; you’ll be free to take whatever the situation gives you, to stop worrying and start living. If I simply acknowledged my predisposition to believe that coming to class late could be stressful, I wouldn’t have felt the need to convince myself otherwise. As a result, I would have avoided the tidal wave and been better able to focus on my professor’s lecture (and maybe catch up on the material I missed, too!).

There will always be a thought to contend with, but that doesn’t matter: They can’t hurt you. They can’t disturb your peace of mind. You are stronger than them now. You always were. When you come to understand that for yourself, you just may forget how much stress blows.

Paul Dilly is a Trinity junior.