As the head of Bridges, which sponsors 25 ministries in six states, I’ve seen our local leaders learning how to live and function during a dangerous malady which is impacting millions of people. But I don’t mean COVID-19; I mean the PTSD that results from it.
And it’s far from “post.” The PTSD we’re dealing with is ongoing, it’s Perpetual Traumatic Stress Disorder.
During my five years in Ethiopia serving as a Presbyterian missionary, I experienced post-traumatic stress disorder. An ice cream shop I frequented suffered a hand grenade attack that scarred the walls with blood-filled holes. A suitcase bomb at the Wabe Shebelle Hotel in Addis Ababa created rubble where I drank tea with a friend. I was told bandits killed foreigners a few days earlier on a road I was about to drive down with a friend. Since there were no alternate — “safe” — routes, we drove down that road. A missionary who provided a ride to a politician was given a message not to do so again: His fingers, toes, lips, tongue, eyes, and ears were cut off. That message was also meant to resonate with other missionaries, like me.
I lived in a perpetual state of hyper-vigilance. I walked with a guard. I sat strategically in restaurants so I could see who was coming in and could watch what others were doing. I always planned an escape route. When I walked outside, I noticed who crossed the street and would be in my path.
After I was physically safe, back in the United States, when I heard a gunshot on a TV show, my heart sped up. My body shot adrenaline into my bloodstream, even though I was sitting in a church-provided apartment on the campus of a seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. I was suffering from “classic” PTSD. It took time and work, emotional and spiritual, for me to bring those symptoms under control.
Now, like you, I am living through a pandemic. Graphic and vocal reminders remind us daily to be constantly vigilant. “Wear your mask,” “sanitize your hands,” maintain “physical distance.” Each warning spikes our adrenaline.
As I write this, the United States reports over 800,000 Americans have died from COVID-19, but the exact number doesn’t matter to the body’s adrenaline system, which is not a counting mechanism. It’s either on or off.
Perpetual Traumatic Stress Disorder is going to impact many, many more of us, and it doesn’t have the world’s attention. It can lead us down a dark path. Some of us find ourselves losing hope, blaming ourselves or a spouse. I know — knew — two fine people, dedicated to helping others, who suddenly took their own lives. Our children can start losing hope, as can our friends, and we even stop noticing if our neighbors and friends call for help.
There is much we can do to prevent Perpetual Traumatic Stress Disorder from dominating our home. To start, we can turn off our continuous social media feeds on our smartphones and tablets and spend quiet time. We can share physical hugs. Massages. Meditation. We can do thoughtful deeds. As a minister, I believe we need the love of God. All of these bring hope for the future and help our adrenal glands relax.
We may not be able to stop a seemingly perpetual pandemic, nor find a physical place to escape it, but we can mitigate continual internal stress.
Now, breathe deeply.
Again.
Again.
Jim Milley is head of Bridges, the fiscal and organizational sponsor of 25 ministries in six states.
