Above the Water

From time to time, when the going gets tough and the tough just won’t get going, I go for a swim.  It’s quite a therapeutic experience actually, because I do not really swim. I just float. And as I float, I reflect.  

Picture from Getty Images, Daly and Newton 

Looking up at the sky, I clear my mind of all thoughts and happenings, and I find my happy place.  It is not always a simple task, and sometimes it takes hours.  Sometimes, I cannot find it all night. I even remember a time I could not find it for weeks.

But I continue to swim. I just do it a little slower, relying more and more on my ability to float. Overtime, I realize I have become more buoyant, but that is a new phenomenon.

I’ve had times that I have almost drowned. A couple times, I had to be rescued. Yet, nothing can stop me from getting back in the pool to try to brave the waters once more.

Oh, I’m not talking about the swimming pool. I’m talking about that finite pool of worry.

What is that, you ask? Let me explain. The “finite pool of worry” is a theory espoused by the Center for Research on Environmental Decisions. It describes the limited capacity people have for worrying about issues. Once overwhelmed with too many things to worry about, human beings mentally shut down and will not allow any new piece of bad news to preoccupy them.

In some ways, you could say those plagued with worry become desensitized overtime. This “emotional numbing…occurs after repeated exposures to emotionally draining situations,” argues "The Psychology of Climate Change Communication," a guide for professionals interested in persuading people to join the fight against the climate crisis.

We see emotional numbing in people oftentimes in response to all the trauma and drama in the news media. By the time the masses hear about ice caps melting and the fresh water supply in the earth running out because of their collective misdeeds, they cannot handle any more negative news. I did not read a newspaper for almost an entire semester, because I got tired of scourging pages of misery every morning.

As PR professionals, we have to learn how to break through that pool and give people hope to face tomorrow. Whether your message is climate change or HIV/AIDS prevention, you may find more success by giving people a chance to be a part of the solution than giving them more problems to think about.

I have not given up in this finite pool of worry. I think I may have finally adjusted to the temperature and my muscles have started to relax. It’s only a matter of time before I master my technique. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to glide effortlessly across the surface. I won’t anything else to cause my pool to overflow. Nothing else can bother me here.

Come on in, the water is just fine.

The Fear Factor

Picture from randalldsmith.com

I was afraid of the dark most of my childhood. I dreaded the night and especially bed time because it would be time to face my deepest fear anew. My only salvation was those moments I could sleep with my sister. I would anchor myself to her with my cold feet and pray for the sun to come out.

I slowly grew out of that fear by necessity when I came to college. I spent the first two years in the single rooms of on-campus housing. I had to learn to sleep comfortably in the dark. Alone. 

I remember vividly my first night by myself in my single room of the Paddyfote Honors block. I woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. The moment I opened my door, an unexpected battle ensued. It was me versus the flying roach. I cannot say clearly whether I lost the battle that day, but I know that I won the war. If I could face a silent battle in the cloak of the night with an aggressive insect, surely I could sleep in the dark, although I was paranoid my adversary would return for at least two weeks.

Unfortunately, I ended up trading one fear for another freshman year. I stopped being afraid of the dark and actually started being afraid of a skill I needed most, communicating with my professors. I can remember the biggest crises of my life that affected my academics in college. The most traumatic one was the death of my brother, and luckily my friends and colleagues relayed to my teachers, so I did not have to. When I returned to school, I was able to return to business as usual.

I was not able to escape my fear forever.

Maybe this sounds silly to you, so let me explain. The fear is really not about communicating. It is the fear of rejection and dejection. I hate to disappoint the people whom I respect. In a way, I feel that even when I am swamped with things outside of school, still none of that provides a good enough excuse to slack in my academic endeavors. So instead of making an illegitimate excuse, I choose to not offer one at all. I realized that I wanted to avoid the negative even though it didn’t make the bad situation go away.  In fact, it made it worse.

In the book “Do the Right Thing: PR Tips for a Skeptical Public,” James Hoggan espouses that PR people should “never ignore the ‘elephant in the room.’” On page 111, he states, “Business people tend to avoid speaking about problems and focus instead on solutions and benefits.” Another good point that he makes is that “Good communications on a serious issue begins with straight talk about the problem and then moves on to solutions and benefits.”  

I realized I was not just being a “scaredy cat.” I was not doing the right thing.

And overcoming my fear has made me a better woman.