Energy vampires

I had the life sucked out of me at a meeting. Everyone wanted a piece of me and by the time I returned to my haven, I’d been disassembled, each piece raisin-shrivelled.

Each piece of me, raisin-shrivelled. (Image copyright: J M Yeoman.)

This happened almost daily as an elected member of our regional government – I never quite got the hang of protecting my energy from the daily demands of being everyone’s punching bag.

What this looks like in reality is extreme exhaustion. Mind-bending, body immobile, everything shut down exhaustion.

There’s a lot to unpack with this and I’ve been doing just that since I stepped away from a public role. The real frustration comes from knowing I didn’t need to put myself into this situation in the first place! Lesson learned.

The scenario is seemingly innocuous. A community hall full of women, mostly aged over sixty – I’m a younger one in my mid-fifties – who gather to share a common interest, gardening. There’s a long competition table with blooms and vegetables grown by attendees.

Chairs arrayed, facing a table up front where three of us sit – Club President, Secretary, and Treasurer. I’m the secretary, in my first year of the role following in the footsteps of another member who did the job for around sixteen years. It will be my only year.

We have a meeting. There’s nothing more controversial than whether or not to have a banner at an event we’re hosting later in the month. Simple, right?

This is the best example of how a seemingly convivial gathering of like-minded women with the intentions of community and sisterhood can leave me completely shattered.

The trauma of community hall meetings during my tenure as a local politician, where I felt attacked and unsafe, physically and mentally, is still embedded in my bones. I’m working to release it, but there it is.

An innocent hall gathering triggers my nervous system to jump into fight mode and all the grounding techniques, breathing deeply in the enclosed “safe” space of the loo, aren’t enough to overcome the trauma and my basic instincts.

I want to run from it but must be there, so I have to fight. “Must” and “have to” are loaded concepts, akin to “should”. Do I, we, really need to?

Having the trait of high sensitivity means that I see, feel, hear, and sense everything.

Every undercurrent.

The person who is in physical pain – I feel it.

Those who arrived in a bad mood, sad mood, grieving – I feel it.

Resentments simmering beneath the surface – I feel it.

I feel the good vibes too. And the bright colours, the mingled scents from all the flowers, the perfumes and deodorants, and body odour. The tag on my new dress itching the back of my neck. The strain on my shoulders from the uncomfortable chair and odd typing position. The very air in the room – I feel it.

It all swirls around me. At the slightest raised, insistent voice, my heightened nervous system goes into overdrive because it’s already dealing with all the information buffeting from every direction.

When I’m also peppered with questions and don’t step away – because you have to be at everyone’s beck and call you know, regardless of your own needs – I’m fighting to keep going, and yet I stay to help after most have left because, you know, I have to.

Eventually in my safe space, finally on my own, I deflate; a sad, flaccid balloon.

Every ounce of energy is spent, sucked dry. Physically there’s cortisol and the effects of adrenalin spikes coursing through me, playing merry havoc with my body chemistry yet again. Emotionally I’m overloaded, a heaped dumping ground of everyone else’s garbage.

I’m sure the majority of you will say, well, toughen up, suck it up, you’re being silly, ignore them, it’s not about you, it’s just in your head, you’re being too sensitive...

I did all those things and have heard all those things. For the first fifty-odd years of my life, I kept going, pushing through, sucking it up, ignoring it, believing it was just me being too much, too little, too sensitive. And you know what happened?

The first tests I had for chronic fatigue were done in my early twenties. I was prescribed medication for a thyroid issue, given vitamin injections, and then pointedly told there was nothing “physically” wrong with me.

I had allergies from childhood, polycystic ovaries from the age of twelve, and migraines in my teens with a pill to pop under my tongue when I felt one coming on so I didn’t just faint in the school grounds or classroom.

I suffered injury after injury and spent most of my life in chronic pain of one form or another. I worked physically, throwing myself into all sorts of roles and adventures, climbing mountains – I also have the trait of high sensation seeking so, believe me, I kept going and pushing through.

Anxiety and depression. Always.

A friend who is a master in neurolinguistic programming would say it’s in your head and you can reprogramme it. I’ve tried that too.

You know what – it is in my head. And that’s okay. Yes, I am highly sensitive. And that’s okay.

I’ll continue to journal, practice all the tools to support my nervous system, and there will still be days when energy vampires suck every ounce from me because I’m still figuring out the balance of it all.

My only obligation is my health and well-being. That’s the bottom line. Living my best, balanced life, means I need solitude, peace, nature, joyful movement, and for the foreseeable future, to step away from most people, especially gatherings in halls!

I’m healing from a lifetime of nervous system overload.

Taking on this innocuous role at my local garden club was a step back to my old life. Since I took it on almost a year ago, I've discovered that I need to walk a different path and try a new way of living. Every fibre of my being screams when I walk into that hall, so I’ve found someone to replace me when the elections roll around in September.

It’s okay to say no.

It’s okay to try something different.

It’s okay to step back and find your authentic self. To heal.

You get one shot at this life and I’m taking the opportunity to create my version, my balanced life. Yes, I’m highly sensitive in a world that overwhelms everyone, let alone those programmed to spot trouble long before it arrives.

We all need to learn how to step back and get out of fight or flight mode because it’s creating a divisive world of chaos, disease, and destruction. And I, for one, am done being everyone’s canary in the coal mine.