There was nothing in particular that grabbed my attention there; I was simply looking out the sliding door while waiting for my lunch to cook, as I often do. But when my mother walked into the room to fill a water bottle to water her plants, some subconscious instinct kicked in, making me move my gaze upward and outward.
I normally don’t put much thought to such things, but for some reason, I found myself wondering why I’d suddenly changed the angle at which I was looking. A few seconds later, the microwave beeped, signaling that much food was ready, so I grabbed the plate and started heading back towards the basement (my “office” is in the basement, and I often eat lunch at my desk, provided it’s nothing messy).
As I walked towards the basement stairs, I found myself again looking mostly downwards, instead of forwards, and it suddenly dawned on me that I do this almost *constantly* when I walk, and even when I’m just gazing into space. And, in the second that I realized how often I do this, I also realized exactly *why* I do this.
I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and PTSD, and as such, fear has been a constant companion in my life. My early adulthood was particularly ruled by fear, as I was struggling just to keep my head above water. Many people with anxiety (as well as other mental illnesses) find it difficult to make eye contact with people, and often subconsciously look down instead of outwards as a result. I believe that to be the case with me, but in my case, I think it’s also due to my PTSD.
For many years, I lived in a constant state of fear due to trauma, and as a coping mechanism, I became hyperaware of all my immediate surroundings. There’s actually a term for this, called Hypervigilance, and it’s common among people with PTSD and other forms of anxiety; in short, you feel that, in order to protect yourself, you have to be aware of everything happening around you. You pay attention to everyone nearby, wanting to know who they are and what they’re doing, you’re hyper-responsive to stimuli, and you may even feel a need to map out escape routes.
I’ve experienced all of these things (particularly when in a crowded, tense room), though I didn’t know there was a word to describe this until quite recently. But, thankfully, I’m not ruled by fear and hypervigilance the way I once was; I’ve been able to put my past firmly behind me, and therapy taught me valuable (and much healthier) ways to live and deal with anxiety and fear. These things will likely always be with me, but they don’t control me the way they once did.
But their long hold on me has clearly left certain habits and instincts in its wake, and I’m still discovering them to this day, more than twenty years later. I believe my habit of walking with my head pointed downwards is one of these symptoms, but I didn’t realize it until today.
It comes out of that old hypervigilance. For a long time, I was focused solely on my immediate surroundings, simply trying to keep my head above water so I could survive. As such, even when I moved, I was still focused more on where I was than on where I was going. Looking forward wasn’t an option in my mind because I feared that taking even a tiny bit of focus off of my immediate surroundings would invite harm.
I may have beaten fear’s hold on me, but this habit remains, and I think it’s an apt metaphor for my life. For so long, I’ve paid little attention to where I was going, including not focusing much on long-term goals, because I was focused entirely on the here and now; surviving the moment was all that mattered, and that was so much of a struggle that I had little power left for anything else. But it’s time I broke this habit; I can’t keep going through life staring at my feet because I won’t know where the hell I’m going. Yes, I’m always going to need to look down on occasion, but I have to learn to balance awareness of my immediate surroundings with awareness of where I’m going, preferably before I walk into a wall or off of a cliff (metaphorically speaking, of course; my hyperawareness of my surroundings and fear of heights make it unlikely I’d walk off a cliff, but I’d be lying if I said I’d never walked into a wall before).
I freely admit I’m not sure exactly how to do this. However, admitting the problem is the first step to fixing it, so I’ve at least got a start. Furthermore, while contemplating all of this, I think I’ve come up with the next logical thing, which is to simply start being mindful of where I’m looking, especially when I’m moving.
I may not know exactly where I’m going in life, but my instincts tell me that if I just make sure to look out instead of down now and again, I’m sure to find my way. After all, I can’t very well see the path I need to take if I’m looking straight down, can I?
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