Out of Your Head, Into the Dirt

After my grandma Hattie passed, we cleared her basement. She canned her own fruits and vegetables and seemed stocked for the next pandemic. And yes, quite possibly she was. 

Hattie was born in 1898 and learned resilience as an orphan. She survived a world war, then a depression in Europe, became an immigrant, survived another world war and another depression in America, and a pandemic by the time she was 40. Amazing!? Yes, but she was not unique to her generation.

She saved plastic bags and tin foil, raised chickens and grew vegetables in a back yard of Chicago. She cooked, cleaned, baked for, nursed and nurtured others. She was irreplaceable, but no one ever talks about her. She seemed lost to time. 

Grandma Hattie and the “Lost Generation.”

WWI, starvation and “consumption” (now known as tuberculosis) wiped out Hattie’s whole family. While poets and novelists of her era expressed trauma through cynicism, she persevered. She likely nursed them all, including her mother, before they died. Yet, she found the strength to emigrate to the United States at 25 with just one book and her bible. She healed and married, became a citizen and a mother of two. She rented rooms to those who were unhoused, cooked and baked and put up food her entire life. She and my Grandpa even set aside 10 acres of land to farm–just in case it was needed by future generations. She could have been beaten by her life struggles, but by “putting her hands in the dirt”, she mastered life through daily necessity. By her 70th birthday, she was a living legacy.

The Lost Generation developed physical protection with efforts like these, but their grit was fundamentally different than today. They packed feelings away and did what needed to be done. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop” was their mental health strategy. She must have understood that a traumatized brain or empty hours foster worry and dread, while canning peaches not only gave her self-respect, but also kept hunger at bay, protecting her family.

Evolution always favored humans who translated fear into action.

Fight or flight, build or gather. Emotions and behavior evolved together and are forever coupled. Grandma Hattie’s generation honored this design. She created from adversity to reduce anxiety, and it worked. They burned off stress chemicals with their hands. Knitted them into warmth.

Today, we are trying to doom scroll our way out of our anxiety from stressful texts, terrifying news and ominous emails from our boss. The survival response screams for physical action. But if the behavior doesn’t match the emotion, the survival energy is trapped inside. It curdles and burns, creates panic attacks, worry, insomnia and illness.

My Grandma Hattie was no superhero, she just honored her body. Today, when we feel the anxiety, we often overthink our way out, when our bodies want to work our way out. Science has proved that Grandma’s strategy of taking on active tasks can be as effective as—or better than—anti-anxiety medication. When you wash the dishes or clean the garage, you aren’t distracting yourself. You are clinically resetting your amygdala. [1, 2, 3]

The next time your chest tightens, stop analyzing. Go wash the dishes, organize a drawer, cook a meal, color in a book, clean the garage. Let your brain know you’re doing something with its cortisol: actively survive.

Finding your people

My Grandma Hattie didn’t sit alone in a rocking chair crocheting decorative doilies to pass time. She quilted and formed tight bonds with neighbors. They built necessities out of scraps together, solving problems with their hands. While they were stitching, they chatted and processed trauma. Exchanging stories and trading recipes the community was their therapy before therapy existed.

Women of the time typically didn’t have a lot of financial freedom, but they had connections. Deep and strong, the community helped each other through adversity.

Today, our lack of connection can make us feel crazy because we have a hyper-focus on ourselves, our problems and our issues. Isolated, we struggle to find perspective. There’s something to be said for getting together in a book club, hosting a cooking class or a paint and sip. Most people just need a reason to show up.

So here is your Kill My Crazy challenge of the week: give your amygdala a rest. Log off and text two friends and do something. Sign up for a paint and sip class or prep a meal together. Undo the left over pandemic isolation. Send us a pic @KillMyCrazy.