Am I the only one?
This weekend a rare thing occurred. No one home but me and the dog for a whole day and night. A decade since this last happened.
It was heavenly and disconcerting and I noticed a behaviour I have because something in me did not do it for the first time and its absence caught my attention.
Checking in.
My husband left for his ski trip at 3am. As he left, a decision was made in me not to check the stalking app (aka life360) to see if my girls had got home safely from the nightclub I knew they were going to down in Southampton. I say ‘a decision was made’ because it didn’t feel like ‘I made a decision’. I just knew not to. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
When I awoke, I found myself not checking whether my husband had reached the airport in time, not checking whether he was mid-flight or had landed, not checking the news to see if war had spread to Europe and taken out his plane and not texting my daughters to ask them if they had had a good night (aka making sure neither had been roofied and murdered).
The day went on and I noticed I did not check if my daughter had taken her meds or had something to eat. I did not text my husband to let me know when he was down safe from the mountain each day. (He did anyway as I have trained him well over the years but when the text arrived, I realised I had not been holding my breath waiting for it.) I did not check in on my son away at Uni for signs of life either, nor watch the dogs chest to make sure it was still going up and down.
It was weird. It was nice.
By Sunday, my usual checking-in returned with a vengeance and it was the contrast between the two days that caught my attention.
This is my usual life…
I have three email accounts and I flick across the tabs at the top of my screen, checking each one. Once those are done, I go to my Facebook account and check the notifications, then Instagram, then Substack. Then it’s time to start again. I repeat this cycle over and over throughout the day. On my laptop while I’m supposed to be focussing, in the middle of creating art, during any ad break on the TV, out comes my phone and I do the same there. I check my diary to see what’s coming up this week then check in with a couple of people I’m planning to meet, check the table availability in the restaurant and book.
I check my weight on the scales, the sales from yesterday on the shopify app and the seedlings in the greenhouse. I check life360 to see what time the girls went out and came home yesterday on their second night of clubbing. I see the black circle where my son has removed himself from the stalking app so I check in on him with a WhatsApp to ask if he has booked his train home for Easter (aka are you OK?). I check if the dog needs a wee, if I need a wee and whether there is milk in the fridge. I have sent an email to someone, the answer to which will determine a project I’m working on so I check my email for the reply a hundred times. I check in on a friend whose parent is sick, another who just lost her mother and another one who just saw the breast cancer nurse.
What am I looking for? Dopamine. And safety. And in a weird way, love.
Because if I don’t, something might happen and I won’t know about it until it’s too late.
It’s not OK to feel safe.
It seems my nervous system is set at a level where this vigilance keeps it revved up just to the degree I feel normal. And by normal, I don’t mean natural - just MY level of normal. The body is a homeostatic thermostat.
Too much relaxation in the system? Do a quick check-in to rev it back up to comfortable.
Too much adrenaline in the system? Do a quick check-in to reassure me all is well in all the corners of my world.
I realise nearly my whole day is spent in checking mode.
And I am aware that this vigilance is creating the very things I’m trying to avoid.
I’m looking for the hit of a new idea, an exciting invitation - simply a recognition that I exist. I imagine waking one day and NO emails or notifications arriving. Then the next, then the next, then the next. Despite how wonderful I imagine that would be - also how strange and empty and invisible that would feel. I would go find some newsletters to subscribe, for sure. I imagine people without phones and how free they must feel and my mind cannot compute how their daily lives would unfold, how their friendships would work, their family stay intact. What would they check on?
I consider stopping the checking in on my friends and family, but I realised it is how I show I care. I make notes in my calendar of the day my friend’s dad dies so I can check-in on her for the anniversary. Of my the day my other friend will finish her radiotherapy so I can message her celebrations; of the day another will get her test results.
I want to be checked-in on.
I’m reminded by a statement made by a teacher of mine, Dr Bill Pettit, when asked if he was concerned about his kids after the death of his first wife.
“I love them too much to worry about them,” he said.
Meaning presence trumps vigilance every time.
Meanwhile, I am due to pick my daughter up from the Southampton train at 3pm and it is now 1pm.
“Let me know you’ve woken up.”
Send.