What Gives You Oxygen?

At a recent therapy session we were discussing burnout and the impacts of long-term stress. I mentioned emerging from a season where it felt like my proverbial fuel tank was running on fumes more often than not. I do not like living in that state; given my low-energy personality, casting anxious looks toward my fuel gauge as it hovers around Empty is not ideal.

My therapist brought up the metaphor of needing to put on our own oxygen mask first. We can’t help, love, and nurture the people we care about if we’re not helping, loving and nurturing ourselves. Yada, yada, yada. This is standard stuff and usually I stop thinking at this point. It surprised me when she asked: So, what gives you oxygen?

What now? I had never asked myself that question before.

If we go back to the fuel analogy (I’ve always thought of it like gas in my car with a tank that needs filling but, for consistency, let’s stick with the human body), we need food for energy and we slowly and naturally drain that supply over time via metabolism and activity. If we don’t consume enough food, our reserves dip lower and lower. Fuel is traditionally delivered in spurts. We eat three meals a day, toss in a few snacks and our bodies hum along.

I’ve been stuck on that fuel-gauge imagery for so long, always trying to think about what fuels me in a lump-sum way. A satiating meal – weekends, vacation time, a long nap – if you will. But food is fundamentally different from oxygen. Our bodies need both, but they serve different purposes. Energy reserves are replenished periodically. Oxygen is replenished constantly. We can go for days without food. We can only go for a few minutes without oxygen. We are designed to crave it. We even do it when we’re unconscious (thank goodness or we’d never survive a night of sleep). Deprived for just a few seconds and we start fixating on air. Deprived for minutes, the lack of oxygen wreaks havoc in our bodies. Carbon dioxide builds up in the bloodstream. Heart rates becomes irregular, organs start shutting down, brain cells are destroyed. Deprived long enough, we die.

In terms of mental health, we can learn to override those natural instincts and wind up living in semi-permanent states of mental and physical hypoxia.

Perhaps we have no choice but to survive in oxygen-depleted air (sick parents, turmoil at work, a difficult pregnancy); we’re climbing a mountain and the air is thin.

But, sometimes, we just forget to breathe.

This might not be a helpful distinction for anyone else, but it has helped me reframe this aspect of mental hygiene. Maybe I’m not running on fumes, maybe I’m holding my breath. Maybe my body is screaming for oxygen while I’m trying to feed it a steak dinner.

Oxygen is the stuff I need constantly. Oxygen is the air that gives me life and enthusiasm for that life. I can’t stock up and live off reserves, I need it over and over and over again.

It feels terribly selfish to say that my “oxygen” comes almost exclusively from solo ventures, but that fits my modus operandi. When I had really young kids at home I would sometimes feel like I couldn’t breathe. The claustrophobia of someone always being around me or on me or needing me was smothering. Why? Because I get oxygen from recharging alone!

I’m sure I’ll add to this list – and my oxygen sources may shift over time – but in my current season, oxygen comes in the form of:

1. Solitude. A stretch of at least an hour – preferably more – without having to engage with anyone.
2. Writing. It grounds me and ties in nicely with #3.
3. Thinking/processing. I am in my head a lot and sometimes view that as a negative trait. But, I feel freer mentally when I’ve had time to process, analyze and sort through life happenings (not always solo; I regularly process things with John or Joy or here on the blog or with my therapist).
4. Planning. I love planning. I like the structure of having a physical paper planner, I enjoy the satisfaction of having a list I can check off, I love my flow state when I sit down to organize my schedule, I appreciate the aesthetics of nice pens, pretty highlighters – even the act of writing something by hand is oxygen for me.
5. Order. In my head, in my planner, in my home. Order gives me oxygen.

Exercise does not give me oxygen. Is it good and an important component of my mental wellbeing? Yes. But it does not give me oxygen. Small group at church? Love it. But it does not give me oxygen. Do I crave and want to pursue both those things? Yes, but I need them much less frequently than oxygen.

I wish I could pick and choose what gives me oxygen. I wish a long phone conversation with a friend gave me oxygen. It does not. I wish getting up early in the morning to do yoga gave me oxygen. It does not. I wish reading a book gave me oxygen. It does not. I wish playing board games with my kids gave me oxygen. It does not. Do I enjoy spending time with friends and doing yoga and reading and playing games with my kids? Yes! But they are food, not oxygen.

And that’s okay.

Today is my birthday present – a day to spend completely and utterly alone (mostly). In the spirit of Lisa’s “shouldless” days, I don’t have an agenda or anything I have to do. I went on a walk and listened to a podcast and processed all sorts of things alone. I drank a cup of coffee alone. I grabbed my stack of planning items and sketched out next week alone. I’m writing this post alone. I ate a piece of the most delicious birthday cherry cheesecake alone.

And it all feels like a long inhalation of fresh, clean oxygen.

First let’s all take a collective deep breath; or, as Adriene Mishler would say, Take the biggest breath you’ve taken all day and then sigh it out.

Now…thoughts on metaphorical oxygen? In what areas of life are you feeling hypoxic? What gives you oxygen?

Header photo by Angus Gray on Unsplash