Happy Until March 4th
Several months ago, I made a proclamation while teaching an exercise class. It started as a joke, I think, but perhaps there was more to it in my mind at the time. I had spent the entire class complaining about the stressors in my life, blowing an opportunity to relax, share, and exercise with my wonderful peeps. Not only did I feel worse afterwards, I realized this attitude was causing me to miss plentiful good moments.
The next day I consciously changed the scenario. I came to class with new moves and delivered a solid workout that focused mostly on guiding people with exercise, along with the usual lighthearted banter from the group. I felt great this time, a stark contrast to the day before. The next class I did the same, and by the one after that I blurted out my statement; ‘I plan to be happy until March’. It was random and instinctual but, for me, March represents more daylight that is enhanced by changing the clocks, the calendar start of spring, and a lot of hope going forward.
As I was proclaiming my intent, my niece added that it would be nice if I could wait to be ‘not happy’ until after her birthday, which is March 3rd. Hence the detail in the proclamation; ‘March 4th’. Thus began another running theme at my place of business, my sanctuary called the Fitness Loft in Libertyville, Illinois. For over 16 years The Loft has proven to bolster, nourish, console, and motivate me all at the same time. My peeps are wonderful - not only are they my backbone of strength, it is the strongest spine collectively anyone could hope for. We have a camaraderie that is uplifting, celebratory and authentic; a significant blessing for me.
The weight that my husband’s terminal cancer added to my existing burdens was crushing. My literal and figurative home-base became shaky, my future proved terrifying, my partner changed into an old man practically overnight, and hope evaporated from my spirit. I felt threatened on a level that was foreign to me; hard to do since I have conquered many serious threats since childhood. I started exhibiting temper tantrums and complete meltdowns with just the slightest trigger. Something would snap in my brain, a buzzing would start in my ears, and I could feel insanity taking over. According to my therapist, this is a common short-circuiting of the brain that occurs with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The amygdala, a collection of cells near the base of the brain, is where emotions are given meaning and are attached to responses such as ‘Fight or Flight’, an automatic reaction to a threat without rational thought. The frontal lobes are the other extreme; two large areas at the front of the brain where thinking, reasoning, and planning happen. They manage emotions rationally under normal circumstances.
Although somewhat knowledgeable about the amygdala and frontal lobes for a long time, I did not understand the degree to which one part can overpower the other. In PTSD, when there is a perceived high-level threat, the amygdala completely disables the frontal lobes, renders them useless, shuts them down. It’s called hijacking - the amygdala hijacks control of mental reasoning; causing irrational reactions, unclear thinking, and illogical responses. For me, the snap in my brain and the buzzing in my ears is when the hijack takes place. If I don’t retreat from the situation (flight) then I lash out like a wild animal (fight). It is not until the stress hormones even out that the tantrums finally end. Then comes the remorse.
If I act like a wild animal, I do hope it’s a cat, ha. And on that note, humor and laughter is one way to activate the frontal lobes after they have been hijacked. Perhaps that is why my proclamation started, it was an instinctual response to remember to look for joy at all times, even in sadness. As the weeks have rolled on since my grand announcement, the peeps have held me accountable for ‘being happy’ even when I snap and say ‘I AM fucking happy!’ (not). When technology goes awry for no reason at all I say, ‘This additional hurdle in my already stressful day is soooo welcome’. When my dad’s 94 year old girlfriend becomes obsessively jealous of the 18 year old caregivers attending to my dad I say, ‘Love is so sweet’. When my alive brother, who talks to my dead brother, says that I should give the nicer-now-that-he’s-dead one another chance I say, ‘It’s so great that my brothers are getting along’.
My responses, though facetious in nature, lift me up. Whatever to call it… ‘fake it to make it”, ‘living with intent’, ‘placebo effect’, ‘just pretend’... IT IS ACTUALLY WORKING. I am waking up hopeful, treating myself better, and laughing more. It is ‘grading on a curve’ because of course there is sadness, but not so much to drown out what is good. I don’t want to miss my life waiting for the tragedies to go away. I want to immerse myself in all of it, soak it up, learn from it, and of course laugh. So apparently ‘Happy Until March 4th’ is here to stay. After all, I did not proclaim which year.