Qstack: Ask a Queer Coach

You ask, I answer. A monthly Q&A column with a Queer Life Coach

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Welcome to Ask a Queer Coach, the Qstack monthly feature where Transformational Coach and Associate Editor Keith Aron gives his best coachy take on questions from the Qstack community about sticky, scratchy or sludgy life situations. Have a question you wish you could ask a queer coach—about identity, relationships, work, creativity, community or becoming more yourself? We invite you to submit your questions for consideration. Big crossroads or small stuck places welcome. Submissions can be anonymous. DM Keith directly.

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Welcome to the inaugural installation of Ask a Queer Coach! Before diving in today, I want to say a big thank you to Pavini Moray, author of the brilliant Glitter Joyride Substack. Pavini got the ball rolling this month with the following:

I have recently returned to the US after a very extended stay in India. The air, while clean with blue skies, seems infused with fear. How do I protect my shanti when the environment I am in is suffused with cortisol vibes? How do I stay openhearted and connect with others when their nervous systems are jacked by the political climate? What is the relational cost for trying to stay clear of fear while my comrades are swimming in it? (And yes, I get my tremendous privilege in having the ability to leave, but it doesn’t change my experience of not knowing how to relate right now.)

OUCH. I felt these questions hammer hard as hailstones on the heart. Even though I’ve not had to grapple with the re-entry shock of landing in America’s socio-political cesspool after prolonged spiritual cultivation in a sacred setting, I still found Pavini’s dilemma damn relatable. So many of us — myself very much included — are feeling challenged to remain both serene and relational whilst in the midst of the category five stress cyclone of these times.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Let’s break down Pavini’s situation, one question at a time, in the spirit of “take what you like and leave the rest!” If something I say resonates, great. And if it doesn’t, let it fly.

“How do I protect my shanti when the environment I am in is suffused with cortisol vibes?”

The first thing that comes up for me here is the well-worn metaphor of the oxygen mask. I picture Pavini returning to what appear to be crystal clear, clean skies. I picture them smiling and inhaling deeply as they prepare to deplane after such a long flight. Then I picture them coughing violently as noxious fear fumes fill their lungs. And finally? I picture them instinctively pulling down their emergency oxygen mask, strapping it on, and experiencing the sweet relief of clean, filtered air before all the peace they’ve cultivated in India disappears beneath the rubble of crumbling consciousness.

But how should Pavini — how should any of us — effectively “filter” fear out of the air we’re surrounded by 24x7? That I don’t have an easy answer for, because…well, because different strokes for different folx, really. The kind of filter that works best for me might be slightly (or entirely) different for you. My preferred filter is to be in the middle of the woods by myself, letting the trees uptake the “carbon” of fear. But you might “filter” best by going to an art exhibit, sparring in a boxing ring, or doing any number of other things.

Regardless of what each of our unique filters look like, they need to have the same functionality. They need to leave us breathing a little easier and feeling solidly connected to some source of “oxygen” (truth) that’s bigger than the fear. We may not intuitively nor immediately know what kind of filter will do that for us — figuring it out might involve some trial and error, and that’s okay. It’s something that’s absolutely figure-outable.

Once we’ve got our filtration system in place, we’ll to take more than just a few sips of air. We’ll more likely need to saturate ourselves in our “oxygen” of choice and maybe even bank some of it. This will help us to build both a sufficient level of immunity for the toxicity of fear and also adequate muscle memory around how to detox if/when we need to.

Times truly have changed, and we can no longer count on there being a plenitude of clean (enough) air available in the collective ether. But taking the time to supply our own “oxygen” can be challenging, because urgency is one of the molecules bonded to the fear vibe. We will have to take time that it seems like we don’t have in order to do this resourcing. It will be hard, and it can be done.

“How do I stay openhearted and connect with others when their nervous systems are jacked by the political climate?”

Such a great question. It’s pretty obvious that nervous systems en masse are understandably jacked by the current political climate. And as humans, we come outfitted with mirror neurons that predispose us to empathy. So when we observe others experiencing and expressing emotions and sensations, it’s in keeping with our biology that we automatically and involuntarily mirror those emotions and sensations.

This can feel like a bit of an ambush. We might enter an interaction regulated, resourced, and looking forward to connection only to find ourselves abruptly fritzed when confronted by the overwhelm and anxiety of the other(s). Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a “sleep” mode for mirror neurons — as long as we’re “on,” so are they. But fortunately, there are things we might do to disrupt an emotional takeover.

This brings me back to the stress cyclone I mentioned earlier. When we know a storm may be coming, we can prepare in advance. We can fasten to a sturdy anchor. Again, I see this as some kind of indestructible, or near-indestructible, truth or concept that’s bigger than the storm. Perhaps a spiritual tradition or practice, perhaps the spaciousness of nature, perhaps the solidity of our own bodies that keep on keeping on despite it all. Something constant that stands the tests of time and chaos.

We can also fasten our focus on the most basic daily needs of nervous system regulation. Because if we don’t meet these needs at the level of “good enough,” we easily lose our way in the storm. These basic dailies include:

1. breathing (this seems easy, but when fear strikes, we breathe shallowly, if at all)

2. getting adequate rest

3. feeding ourselves well, hydrating and remembering to use the bathroom regularly

4. keeping our bodies at a comfortable temperature

5. managing our sensory stimulation so we’re neither over-nor-under-whelmed

The last thing I’m thinking of here is a bit more nuanced. It may also land as counterintuitive, and maybe also counter to the way we’ve been socially conditioned. We can choose NOT to dive into the emotional vortex with our comrades and kin. When we dive in, either as a rescue maneuver or simply in a show of solidarity, we all but guarantee that the parts of our brains capable of creative problem-solving and optimizing collective resources will sink. And all our best energy will be diverted to the task of keeping our heads above water.

If, on the other hand, we stand on the terra firma of loving detachment and nervous system regulation, we have so many more choices about how to help. And chances are good that our comrades’ mirror neurons may begin to slowly reflect our calm back to us. Because mirror neurons work in that direction, too.

“What is the relational cost for trying to stay clear of fear while my comrades are swimming in it?”

Another great question. And another one without an easy answer, because there are so many moving parts at play — relatively few of which are under our control. We’re nearly always powerless over others’ reactions to our choices. No matter how well-intentioned or skillfully choreographed they may be.

So what exactly do we have control over in our relationships? The way I see it, this boils down mostly to our own choices. What we do or don’t say, what actions we take or don’t, and what limits we set or don’t.

When it comes to setting limits, I’ve found it helpful to think first about internal limits. Those I need to set inside myself in order to make me — my body and my mind — feel like a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. Such limits might look like me asking an inner critic to step aside when it’s telling me I’m not doing enough. Or reassuring an inner kid part that it won’t get in trouble for saying “no.”

This safety and trust on the inside tends to widen the lens of my perspective and translate into a greater ability to set healthy external boundaries. And the healthier my external boundaries, the healthier my connections are within my circles of belonging. In fact, the healthier my circles of belonging are, period. Healthy limits are like kryptonite for unhealthy groups - they just can’t tolerate them consistently, if at all.

To answer Pavini’s last question more directly, taking care of ourselves may cost us relationships with others who aren’t able to take care of themselves. Folx who are caught up in cycles of self-neglect or self-abuse — even big-hearted folx who are doing much good in the world — may not be able to make space for others to set healthy limits as an act of self-care. And that’s a real loss that needs to be grieved. But at the same time, when we steadfastly honor our own limits, we deepen intimacy and trust with ourselves. And we open space for new relationships with others whose capacities align with ours.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on these questions, Qstack. Have you navigated something similar? What wisdom emerged from your experience? Comment below.

Keith Aron (he/they) writes Big Blue Sky Dragonfly, a Substack about finding the sweet spot between belonging and authenticity. He’s a trans and queer transformational coach, writer, erstwhile Jack of all trades, proudly witchy weirdo, and honorary tree. Find him at keitharon.com.