A Safe Place
Last week, I was writing from a safe haven among the incredibly stressful times that have befallen the world - my friend’s house, where her dog sat by my side as I worked, happily showing me every toy in his toybox and nudging up against me if I dared to type for too long.
This week, I’ve got another dog here - specifically, my family’s dog. Thanks to over twelve hours of driving (including some incredibly stressful driving to get out of Chicago right before Gov. Pritzker sent out the order to close things down), I made it back to my family’s house several states away.
I can’t see my Nana, who I wrote about a while back for her 91st birthday, but I have been hunkered down in my childhood home with my parents and dog by my side. In two weeks, if I remain symptom-free, I’ll drive over to see Nana, and with luck, we might all be able to spend Passover together.
I may have felt like a failure last week for failing to stay in Chicago amidst the tough times, but now that I’ve gotten here and realized how good I can feel just from having other people around me and enough things to do to properly distract myself, I would do it again a hundred times over.
It reminds me of when, several years ago, I had a very hard time mental-health-wise and wound up having to leave college for a short while and come back home. Then, like last week, I felt like a total failure for not being able to cope on my own. But the second I even knew I was going - in both cases - my resting anxiety plummeted, and has remained low ever since.
I never really thought about how important it is to have a safe space, somewhere I feel so comfortable that my fears dissipate almost effortlessly. Any worries about running out of food or toilet paper or just living in a big building with other people who could be taking the restrictions lightly are completely gone, and having my family and my dog here means that I don’t have to do everything alone. If I start to feel my thoughts going somewhere I don’t want them to, it’s so easy to find someone to talk to or hug (well, air-hug, except for the dog).
In the car on the way out of Chicago, when I heard many rumors that I wouldn’t make it out of the city in time before the governor would shut it down, I started breathing fast and my heart rate got fast. It wasn’t quite a full-fledged panic attack, but it was far closer to one of those than anything I’ve had in the years since I’ve done cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). I was terrified. The only thing that helped me was the knowledge that every time I pressed my foot on the accelerator of the rental car, it was getting me a little bit closer to home.
I haven’t felt that way since, thankfully. I’ve been getting control of other things that have gotten out of control thanks to worry, like my eating and sleeping habits. I’m not showing up to virtual events in a bad mood, needing to be cheered up - my friends have noticed that I’m back to the ray of sunshine they know me as, and I can help others feel cheerful too.
My coworkers have also noticed that I’m happier, and the pace of my work has increased as I find it easier to concentrate. I’ve also made great progress in a strategic video game I was struggling with before because I simply didn’t have the brainpower to get through the puzzles after dealing with everything else going on.
I know it might be impossible, but I hope as many of you as possible can find a safe place, somewhere that feels just a little less terrifying as we weather this storm. The uncertainty of what will happen next is scaring me and many of my friends, and many of us have fled home or to other places where we feel more comfortable. Nothing will quite be normal, but I hope you find a place where things feel better enough that any fear or panic doesn’t have a chance to fully set in.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.