How Hypervigilance Derails Intimacy

And the Problem with Questions

I recently visited a dermatologist for the first time at Kaiser, my health provider. The mid-to-late-30s doctor was surprisingly chatty, and toward the end of our visit, he asked what I had done over the weekend, followed by what my plans were for the day. I didn’t sense that he was flirting, but I also didn’t understand the reason for his questions. Had Kaiser asked their doctors to express greater warmth and friendliness with patients? Or was this part of their effort to offer more holistic care—something my primary doctor mentioned after she asked me to name three things I was grateful for (apparently, my response could provide insight into the state of my mental health and well-being).

While I didn’t mind her question, I was suspicious of his. Why? Was it the difference in the questions? Who was doing the asking? Or something else?

I felt safe with my primary doctor from our first meeting. With the dermatologist, I didn’t feel unsafe, but I didn’t feel safe either, especially after his questions veered toward the personal. People sometimes use questions selfishly—to control and manipulate others—and if the person is in a position of power, they can do great harm (especially if those in their care are vulnerable in some way).

I answered the dermatologist for two reasons: first, I was raised to be polite. Second, my hypervigilance (the state of being highly or abnormally alert to potential danger or threat) makes me overly suspicious of people, and I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—especially since my husband liked him during a prior visit. But the entire time I was responding to his questions, I was trying to discern if he was the kind of person who could spike a woman’s drink, or worse, be a Ted Bundy-type. Behind his geeky glasses, he did seem kind of handsome.

My dermatologist was probably implementing his interpretation of what he was asked to do by his employer. He might be a kind, curious person—attributes I value. I probably missed an opportunity to connect, but my nervous system doesn’t know the difference between what’s dangerous and what’s safe—it just reacts.

In addition to being hypervigilant, I absorb the emotions of others like a sponge. I could be having a conversation about something as banal as the weather and start to feel anger or sadness that has nothing to do with me. It’s not until later—after spending time in silence—that I know what’s mine versus what’s not. Meditation helps, as does prayer.

So, hypervigilance is a problem, but answering questions in general—even simple ones—can be equally troublesome. During my almost 20 years of living in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was often asked, “What do you do (for a living)?” I got to the point where I couldn’t stand that question. I currently live in Baltimore, Maryland, and no one has ever asked me that as a way to start a conversation.

There are several reasons I dislike being asked questions, especially ones like “What do you do?” First, no matter what I say, the answer fails to express the fullness of who I am. I understand this isn’t the case for everyone. If a person always wanted to be a doctor, and being a healer is part of their identity, they may have no trouble saying, “I’m a doctor” or “I practice medicine.” But that’s not the case for me, so no matter what I say, it doesn’t reflect who I am or what I value. Second, I fear being judged. Even though I know my own self-worth, others could look at my choices and think that I’m unreliable. I’m close to not caring what others think, but there are still situations where I feel self-conscious talking about my work history, which has not been neat, linear, or easy to explain.

My LinkedIn profile contains a curated list of jobs, including the 9 years I worked for a solar power company, majority-owned by one of the largest energy companies in the world—ahem—and other stand-out achievements. But you won’t see my early and in-between jobs—those that don’t fit my attempt to show that I’m an intelligent, put-together person 🙄—that might have something interesting to say about my history and personality.

For instance, I had a job driving a taxi in Dutch Harbor, Alaska. I worked the graveyard shift, taking men and a few (tough) women back and forth from the fishing docks into town. The most common drop-off points were the Grand Aleutian Hotel and the Elbow Room—a bar locals claim was cited in Playboy magazine in the 70s as the roughest bar in the country. I believe it because I had a fist fight outside that bar, trying to help a co-worker (an older Vietnamese lady) who was having trouble getting three drunk women to pay their fare. When I confronted the women, they came toward me with their fists raised and yelling. Thank goodness I knew how to fight—something I learned as a kid when I used to play football with the boys.

There’s an even greater story behind why I went to Dutch Harbor in the first place—something you’d never know, but that speaks volumes about the kind of person I am.

Another employment experience was during high school, when I worked as a sales associate in domestics at Macy’s in Kenner, Louisiana. I discovered that I was quite good at selling linens and other home goods. I earned enough in commissions to buy myself a high-end black suede dress, as well as a sweet leather jacket. Woot!

Other jobs you won’t find on my LinkedIn include:

• Office Manager and Wedding Coordinator at the San Francisco Swedenborgian Church

• Community Engagement and Children’s Program Manager at Ladera Community Church in Portola Valley, California

• Office Manager for the International Chinese Snuff Bottle Society in Baltimore (my current gig)

• Plus one that I’d like to scrub (pun intended) from my memory: Detailer of Cessnas at a private airport in Gainesville, Florida—a job my dad lined up for me over the summer to help me save for an upcoming trip. He thought it would be fun (it wasn’t). After a day of working outside, my clothes drenched from the humidity and dirty, love-bug-infested water splashing off the plane while I scrubbed, I quit.

How to Support Someone with Hypervigilance

If someone you care about suffers from hypervigilance, please be patient, kind, and loving toward them because they’re likely experiencing a tremendous amount of stress (even if they appear to be calm). A good way to be of help is to spend time doing things they enjoy and truly listen when they speak.

I saw the kind of deep listening I love modeled in a movie. The main character was sharing what they were thinking and feeling, and the person listening stopped what they were doing and never said a word. This went on for about 5 minutes. I expected the listener to say something—even just a “yes”—but they never did. This was a foreign film, of course. We Americans love talking, and we have a bad habit of interrupting or just thinking about what we want to say next while others are speaking. But we can do better. We can be a healing presence for one another by holding space, listening deeply, and doing our best to remain open, curious, and non-judgmental.

❤️

-Stelli