The Stress Response Returns

What sets us off teaches us how to move ahead

Repairs in my bedroom.

In February, my house started leaking.

I remember hearing the pleasant drip, drip, drip of a late-month rain as I slept in my bed. I rolled over, wondering if I was dreaming, and pulled the covers tightly around me. Looking out the window next to me, I saw the rain pulsing against the glass. But the sound of drip-drip-drip was coming from another direction.

Bolting upright, my eyes bulged open. Water cascaded from the window across the room, pooling on my walnut-stained hardwood floors. I leapt from the bed to retrieve any nearby towels or containers to absorb the flow, which was entering my bedroom at an alarming pace.

As I mopped up the water on the floor with towels, drops of water pinged on my head. Looking up, there was another leak in the ceiling. Like a line of soldiers, droplets formed along a ceiling seam in a perfect row.

It was middle-of-the-night torture.

With towels and pails secured to capture water from both leaks, I sat in bed, knees hugged to my chest, eyes darting from the window leak to the ceiling leak as I vigilantly monitored the unfolding carnage. My head bobbed with fatigue. When the rain tapered off and the drip-drip-drips stopped, I curled in the fetal position and fell back to sleep.

First thing the next morning, I called the condo association headquarters to report the leak. Since the association is responsible for exterior maintenance and repairs, they were on the hook. Delightedly, I left an urgent message with details of the water torture.

Two days passed. No response. I went to the association website and filed a ticket in the system. I called again. Another day passed. No response.

As we moved into March, the thought of spring rain made my stomach churn with anxiety.

Irate, I called the association again and demanded to speak to our property manager. The receptionist took a message.

When I finally spoke with the property manager, I could barely contain my anger. It had risen to a full white rage as I unloaded my watery woes. I felt my face redden as I spoke.

When I hung up the phone, I paused for a moment. I knew this feeling. I didn’t like it. I felt it before.

It was reminiscent of the persistent, unrelenting helplessness that I felt after my husband defrauded me.

I took several deep breaths, remembering the jittery fight-or-flight response I lived with for years.

I could and would change this now.

I called the property manager back and apologized for flying off the handle. I told her I needed her support and help to get these leaks fixed. She said she would help me and make this project a priority.

It’s August now. It took nearly six months for repairs to begin. I was at the mercy of the team at the condo association. There was an initial inspection from the building engineer. A report was generated. Three separate water tests were scheduled over two months to determine the entry points for the leaks. More reports were generated. The wrong crew was sent one day (they thought they were inspecting when they should have been water testing), setting the project back several weeks to reschedule the correct crew.

During these months, there were rains. Some small; some torrential. I stood at the ready with towels and buckets. I awoke many nights to rain leaking into my bedroom. I lost sleep. I was irritated and frustrated. But the property manager continued to work with me to get work scheduled and proper permissions approved along the way.

Once the source of the leaks was determined (cracks in the exterior masonry), cost estimates were prepared for interior and exterior repairs. The condo board of directors had to approve the expenditures. I had to wait until a regularly scheduled board meeting for the expenses to be approved. That meeting took place last week.

Scaffolding arrived last Friday.

Scaffolding up; masonry fixes in progress

Dust began to fly as the workers ground out the mortar in the masonry. It’s messy. It’s inconvenient. But it is getting done.

The feeling of relief is palpable.

During the last few months, there have been other bumps in the road of life. My car was side-swiped; I need to bring it to the shop for a week and a half to repair it. The closet system in my son’s room pulled off the wall and crashed to the ground. He and I chose a new closet system and hired a handyman to install it. Both of these incidents were out of my control, but didn’t cause the stress of the leak.

I asked myself why. My white-raging outburst with the property manager triggered me, bringing me back to a dark place I had hoped I left behind years ago.

Here’s the pattern that drove me out of my mind years ago:

• Something is out of your control (I was defrauded multiple times of hundreds of thousands of dollars by my husband, who forged my signatures on loans without my knowledge or consent; I was gobsmacked to learn of it);

• No one will listen to the problem (in my case, I was ashamed and didn’t tell anyone initially; I thought I could fix things, which was a big mistake);

• Nothing is changing (he said the right things to me; he promised to fix it, but his actions never aligned);

• Non-stop noise begins in your head; continuous thinking of possible solutions that can’t turn off (what do I do? how can I fix this? who do I tell? who can I trust?);

• Frustration, depression, physical symptoms (mine is usually a knot in my stomach); and

• Unbridled fury with no place to put it (I’ll never get this fixed; maybe it’s better if I’m not here; how could someone do this to me?).

Can it be that something can make you lose yourself? Can you be pushed to limits you didn’t know existed?

I think, yes. I know, yes. I lived, yes.

It may sound extreme; it may not make sense, but I lived in a state of nothingness. That gave me the ability to navigate life. Lack of emotion got me to the next moment, minute, hour, and day. If I wasn’t fully present in what was the horror of my life, I would not have been able to get through it.

It was a lot to remember that, to be triggered to remember that. At the same time, it’s not now. It’s not me. I’ve moved on and I’m so grateful. I’ll never forget where I’ve been. I’ll always hold it with me. And it will always inform where I’m going.

Let’s go!