Hypervigilance in Recovery

I am safer now than I have ever been in my existence. Yet somehow, I’m considerably more anxiety-ridden than ever before. Recovery is supposed to bring tranquility, stability, and relief, right? For me, it mostly has.

I no longer find comfort in chaos or risk my life multiple times a day. I don't wake up sick anymore, wondering why I can't choose my family over opioids. My family no longer loses sleep worrying about me.

Survival skills in a safe world

The life I left behind was extremely dangerous. My brokenness attracted the brokenness in others. There was little safe about my life. The substances were dangerous. The places I’d find myself had no rules. And the people I encountered followed their own rules. So, I adapted. Back then, hypervigilance didn't feel like anxiety because it was a survival skill.

Each passing year in recovery, my sensory awareness goes way up. I'm more aware of sounds, lights, and people. I often ask myself, “Are they responsible?” especially when I’m in a vehicle.

I was so oblivious for many years through many substance dependencies. Now that I am hyper-aware, I’m often terrified. My central nervous system believes that danger could come from anywhere and at any time.

The challenge of human interaction

My fear shows up in ways people don’t expect or notice. Human interaction is extremely hard for me. It is easy to show up online because I can craft how I show up here. I can rewrite or re-record and feel confident about what I share. But in my actual reality, making eye contact with random people gives me the "ick". It feels like an exchange of energy that I’d rather didn’t happen at all.

I was nothing like that before. I was a regular “social butterfly” as my mom would say. Now, after what feels like lifetimes of learning lessons the hard way, my body reacts before my brain can process it. It’s extremely embarrassing.

Navigating daily triggers

Grocery stores are a special kind of hell for me. There's too many people, blind spots, and unknown variables. The COVID-19 pandemic made me question how many people touched every single item. I find myself apologizing constantly, even if I am not at fault.

I sweat every time I stand in the checkout line. I avoid looking at people's faces altogether, focusing beyond the cart and attempting to look unaware. I don’t want to ever appear approachable, ever.

Doing "The Work"

I am genuinely distrusting of most people, places, and things. Thus, I exist in my very predictable, very safe bubble. I think this is more common than people admit. I acknowledge that it is not healthy.

But what can I do about it? Is this what people mean when they say, “You’ve got to do the work”? Is this “the work”? The chaos is no longer an issue, but the trauma responses stuck around. Fear finds a way to attach itself to everything!

For example, we have cameras in the house so that I can check on my dogs anytime. I worry that they'll somehow go up in flames for something I didn’t unplug. If this is “the work,” then I’ve procrastinated this work longer than I would like to admit.

Ultimately, I am a survivor. I learned how to choose recovery. But now, I’m facing finally learning how to stay more present and do “the work.” I suspect this might be the hardest work of all.