Jump or Fall?

For a long time, I thought I was afraid of heights. Driving over bridges gave me shivers and I was inclined to close my eyes. Standing near glass barriers in hotels, shopping malls, or sporting arenas made me anxious and jittery. Over many years, I finally realized it’s not that I’m not afraid of heights, it’s that I don’t trust myself not to jump. The fear of falling is so overwhelming, jumping would be soothing. It is easier to jump with a plan than to fall unexpectedly. 

But wait - I’m not suicidal. I have no other tendencies to harm myself or end my life. So what is this about? I struggled with this a lot. I’m not afraid of heights, I don’t have a death wish. I simply can’t handle the potential of falling and the sheer anticipation of that potential becoming reality. It might not happen but oh, what if it does?!  I’d almost rather just make it happen than wait to see if it was going to happen against my will. Is this rooted in my anxiety? Or my control issues? Or my desire to know how things will end? 

The most important aspect of this revelation about the particulars of my discomfort was recognizing that this parallels the way I live my life. I want to know how suspenseful movies end so I don’t have to deal with the anxious feelings during the movie.  I hope to get the stomach flu when it’s going around because I don’t want the surprise onset. Waiting for relationships to end is almost stressful enough for me to walk away. This is probably the saddest area of my life that this anxiety imposes itself. 

I’m so aware that everyone will leave - by choice or by death. This is the first thing I consider when entering a romantic relationship, a friendship, or a even a work partnership: can I handle waiting for it to end? Engaging is easy, that’s the part that feels good. It’s the end I always have to carefully consider. And sometimes I can handle it. Until I can’t. And then I walk away. Out of fear and anxiety and avoidance of uncomfortable feelings. It is always easier to leave than to be left. You can see it coming. You can brace yourself. It’s easier to jump than to fall. 

Everything is temporary. Can you handle the ride until the fall or does it become too much so you jump to stay in control? 

I’d bet my life on you

I grasped the metal bar to keep my balance and avoid taking in all of the blood pooling around my feet, running down my legs, and splattered all over my hospital gown. She gently said, “it’s ok, lower yourself down, I’ve got you.” She guided me step by step of cleaning myself, using the bathroom, and tending to the the most sensitive and private parts of my body. I was exhausted, afraid, and slightly embarrassed. She was calm, reassuring, and patient. She cleaned up every pool and drop of blood without hesitation or grimace. Her name is Kim. She was my labor and delivery nurse when I had my most recent baby. And she cared for me in my most vulnerable first moments after delivering my son. 

Recently, a GOP senator made an off-handed comment about nurses spending most of their day playing cards. The internet ran with it. Memes. Tweets. Social media posts. It blew up because it couldn’t be more off the mark. 

I keep thinking about Kim and what she gave to me in the 6 hours she cared for me, barely leaving my side. And she wasn’t the only one. My baby came fast, with little warning. A dozen medical professionals rushed in the room and enthusiastically, lovingly helped my baby into the world. I don’t know what they were doing 5 minutes before my baby crowned unexpectedly. And I don’t care. They showed up with the energy, knowledge, and focus to care for my family. 

Nurses work tremendously long hours, sometimes assisting with planned medical procedures, sometimes waiting for the unexpected to happen, because it will. This can mean hours without using the bathroom or eating or checking in with their families. Not only can the hours be long but they are required to fully give their physical, cognitive, and emotional all with every patient. And they do. 

I was completely dependent on Kim and she was completely present with me. I hope she got a long break and did something that relaxed her when I left her unit because she likely had to do it all again with another patient and she would fully show up for them too like she did with me. 

We see you, nurses. We recognize the physical and emotional sacrifices you make every day. We know the toll it takes on you. And we are so grateful. So go ahead and play some cards if you get a chance. I’m guessing you won’t but I’d bet my life on you any day. 

If you're confused, you're probably seeing it clearly

We have an innate desire for things to fit into place, to make sense, to feel complete and absolute. So much so, that our brains naturally filter or overlook conflicting information and seek validating information (see "confirmation bias") and we want to be right so we do our best to see things that way. When we don't have all of the information, our brains fill in the gaps for us (see Banaji and Greenwald's "Blind Spot: Hidden Biases of Good People"). Those gaps aren't filled by the conflicting ideas but rather space holders consistent with our existing mind-set.

These are well-known characteristics of how the brain works and smart people (advertisers, politicians, etc.) use it to their advantage. They play on what we already believe to be true and often tell us what we want to hear. This presents a challenge for us attempting to move through the world as conscious objective thinkers as it is impossible to ever fully understand absolute truth - every idea and situation is skewed by our unique perspective and interpretation. So when something doesn't seem quite right or we are confused, rather than something actually being amiss, it is likely that we are seeing things more clearly and it simply doesn't fit into our skewed framework. Therefore, we need to question everything and invite the unfamiliar.

While it may feel unfamiliar, our feelings of disequilibrium mean we are increasingly closer to internalizing new information. But at first, it can feel a little unsettling - to take information we already believe to be true, experience new information that conflicts, and try to make it all fit together. It's uncomfortable at first, and that's okay. Progress often feels a lot like discomfort.

Where in your life are you encountering conflicting information? Understanding the current political climate? Confronting your biases? Spend a little time in that discomfort.  If you feel a little uneasy or a little confused, you're probably just seeing it clearly.