Episode 2: Pepper Spray

[MUSIC PLAYING] Our most intimate experience can be our greatest inspiration. The place where ideas are born. But what if those ideas stay in hiding? What if they never have the chance to be shared? This show creates a safe space for giving talks anonymously. We value ideas over identity, substance, over style. You cannot talk publicly about it. We impact it my whole life. Don't have the Constitution to get up on a stage, give it a hold. Never to let it go. Since there's something you talk about, you just don't worry about it. If you want people to take you to the end of the secrets, we can't go. From Ted and Audible, this is Sincerely X. I've never before query any sort of weapon. That day, as luck would have it, I did. My heart for it's going to explode out of my chest. I'm fighting like an animal. And on one, two, two, I'm dead. My life can crumbling down around me. And I go nuts. What is it that causes a seemingly normal person to snap? What forces have to conspire to make someone do something that seems crazy? In a way, it's surprising that it doesn't happen more often. It's hard to keep your cool in the modern world. On the one hand, you might have profound challenges-- sickness, grief, trauma. On the other hand, maddening everyday aggravation, a traffic jam, a burst water pipe, a rude sales clerk. It's amazing that we all carry on as well as we do. I'm June Cohen, a longtime host and curator for TED. And you're about to hear from a speaker whose life was redefined in a moment when she did something under duress that she lived to regret deeply. And from this regret, an idea was born. It's the kind of idea that could never be shared publicly because of the story behind it. And exactly the kind of idea that we look for, on sincerely X. The talk to here on this program comes from people who have chosen to remain anonymous. And some of the voices have been modified to help protect their anonymity. You won't know their names. And my suggestion is that you don't try to figure out who they are. Suspense judgment. Just listen. [ENGINE REVVING] It was a cold, overcast morning in midwinter, and I have an errand to run in a nearby city that's about 45 minutes away from home. I really don't want to go. It's the weekend. It's likely to be crowded. And crowds and traffic have recently become a source of high anxiety for me. But I have to get my eye glosses replaced. And I decide to motor on through the discomfort and get it done. After the drive, I walk into the crowd of store. I immediately feel my chest tighten. My head starts to throb. And I resist putting my hands over my ears to watch the intruding sounds of people talking, and infants crying, shopping carts clanging. And I'm thinking, it's so loud. And I look around at others, hoping for some sort of validation, but everybody else seems fine. Then my stomach begins to churn from the smell of greasy food from a nearby snack bar. It was a mistake to come here, I think. But I managed to keep moving and navigate my way to the tiny optical department. Unfortunately, though, it too is crowded. And every clerk is with a customer. I'm perspiring now. And a sensation of agitation rises in my throat as I imagine the walls closing in on the scene. I consider leaving, but then I hear a hairy voice. We'll leave it through as soon as we can. To which I respond with a friendly, oh, no problem at all. Take your time. This is an automatic response of mine. When I recognize that a retail or food service employee may be overwhelmed, I'd work those jobs long ago. And I know how hard they can be. It feels good to shift away from my own anxieties for a moment, but I still stand awkwardly in the middle of the store. I'm apprehensive about asking where exactly I'm supposed to wait. But luckily, I spot an empty chair beneath an optical display. I sink into it and reach for my phone to play an online game. I start to relax. Feel my shoulders drop and my fists unclench. After some time, though, my anxiety returns while I look up. And I notice three people are cute up at the register. And I'm wondering, should I be in that queue? How I lost my place in line? Do they even remember that I'm here and that I'm ahead of those people? You know that sinking feeling when you discover you waited in the wrong line or in the wrong place or whatever. But in my heightened state of confusion, I feel close to panic. And my eyes dart around the room for answers. For a moment, I feel disoriented. And I'm not exactly sure of anything. I'm disappointed in myself. I did. I do this. I hear why is I so difficult? And I do wrong. Eventually, I get the courage to speak up to no one specifically. And I say, excuse me, am I in the right place? Or should I be waiting at the register? The current response. Ma'am, we'll be with you as soon as we can. Wouldn't it have been so bad if the tone had been different? Or if my question had been answered? I think that's so unfair. I think that a lot lately. I've become oversensitive to situations I perceive as bullying, likely due to several colliding events in my life. But I know the power of taking the higher road, so I take a deep breath and I ask myself, what's my part here? And I try to think of a way to reroute the conversation. I think, gosh, maybe I haven't communicated well enough. Maybe I need to ask in a different way. So I shake off my irritation, and I get up the nerve to ask, because nicely as possible, I'm just wondering, if it's OK if I remain sitting here, or have I lost my place in line? The clerk glairs at me and repeats her initial response. But this time, it's an allowed accusatory tone. Ma'am, we will be with you as soon as we possibly can. Burning hot sensation rises in my face, and I stiffen as each unjust word washes over me like acid. Now, everyone in the store is looking at me, and I'm pretty sure I can read the messages on their faces. Hey, lady, can't you see these staff members are doing their very best? I'm incensed at the misunderstanding. And even though I want to shout out the injustice to everyone, I count to 10, and I focus on my breathing like my therapist had taught me until I'm somewhat relaxed, and I'm back on my phone. Within minutes, the clerk standing over me asking me what I need. I explained about a pair of glasses that were defective when I took them out of the case for the first time. And I describe how I'd called before coming in, and how I was assured that I'd receive a replacement despite not purchasing the extra insurance. Her response is prickly as she tells me. Nobody in this store would have ever told you that. I feel a heat creeping in again and become hyper-aware at every noise in the store. I'm perspiring again, and I'm thinking, she's mean. She's calling me liar. She's calling me for something that's not my fault. And I think I'm not going to put up with this for another minute. Talking loudly, I anchorly refute her accusation and rattle off all the reasons she needs to honor my request. People are staring again, but I don't care. She tells me she'll talk to our manager. When she returns, I'm calm when she reports I have permission to replace them. But then she lends in and quietly adds, you need to know what we're doing. You a big favor. And I go nuts. Expo-letips fly from my mouth, and nearly every customer looks at me. And one particular woman looks up and says, "Shut up!" I'm visibly shaking now from anger towards the customer. And I vaguely recognize I want a slippery slope and danger of losing it, but I cannot regain control. I'm completely out of my body at this point. It's almost as if I'm watching myself from above. I call this customer every name in the book, and then her husband gets up and towers over me in a threatening manner. So I set in on cussing him out too. Everyone is yelling, "Call security, call security!" I only vaguely recall what happens next. One, I witness report states the husband pushes me, but I don't remember that. Some report state, I briefly I do recall getting in my vehicle but not being able to leave because I couldn't see without my glasses. The video admitted into evidence later captures me outside the optical shouting, "I want my glasses back." I vaguely recall seeing the angry yelling faces of the man and woman Amplified as if they were ten times larger than they were. I feel like I'm in a circus funhouse looking at mocking faces in a storshen mirror. In a split second I recall the pepper spray canister in my jacket pocket. Pepper spray had arrived from Amazon the day before. I'd ordered it for self protection for an upcoming international trip during which I'd be traveling alone. I've never before carried any sort of weapon. But that day, a look would have it, I did. Suddenly I'm pepper spray in the man and woman and I make a run for it. An angry mob of customers each takes a turn at wrestling me to the ground. I spray each one, chalking up additional salt charges as each victim falls by the wayside. My heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest and I'm fighting like an animal, as people eventually succeed at restraining me. I lose sense of all time and space. The experience could have been seconds, minutes, or even hours. At some point during the mayhem, a man comes out of the crowd who becomes a hero of the story. He instructs everyone to get off me. He's gentle, yet firmly holds me down and he talks in a soothing tone. All of this is still a difficult recall. I think he asked me to tell him what's bothering me. I begin sobbing and my body immediately goes limp, snots bubbling out of my nose and I wail telling him about the unfairness of the staff, the unkindness of the customers, and all about my recent struggles with mental health issues and difficulties with insurance. It all comes spewing out and he just listens and comforts me. I remain calm and non-combative as I am arrested driven jail and booked. And I spend three shame-filled days on suicide watch as my friends and family scrambled to raise money for my bail. I believe the de-escalation skills that my unknown hero possessed are as important as knowing CPR or the Heimlich maneuver. So I find myself thinking, what if large majority of citizens had these de-escalation skills? What if it was taught like CPR, something like a simple mental health care first-aid training? And what if it was made available to everyone? These trainings exist for law enforcement and first responders, which is likely where the bystander got his skills. You never know, people with these skills might someday find themselves in a situation where they can prevent a violent act. But I want to come back to the hero of the story, the unknown man who comforted me with his de-escalation skills. He disappears into the crowd when law enforcement arrives, so I never learned his name. But he seemed to know something about me that I'd only recently learned about myself. I have post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD. And that day I experienced what's known as a maladaptive stress response as a result of the disorder. Once triggered, my executive thinking was hijacked by the Fighter Flight Center of my brain despite my greatest efforts to act differently. What I come to learn in subsequent treatment is that the most effective intervention comes through what trauma experts call "creating safety" as our hero did for me. Now, I want to be clear, I take full responsibility for my actions that day, and I later receive and serve a three-month jail sentence with some time off for good behavior. To this day, I'm horrified by how I acted and how I may have hurt other people. Unfortunately, I just can't change the past. But maybe I can use this experience as a catalyst to change the way we as a society understand and respond to PTSD. Before the day of my demise, I knew only a little about post-traumatic stress disorder. Even in the past, when people had suggested that my over-the-top responses to situations I perceived as unjust looked a lot like PTSD, I blocked it the idea because I thought PTSD was something only war veterans and rape-fricutum sad. And I was neither. But it turns out that trauma in many forms can lead to PTSD. For me, as for many others, it resulted from my experiences as a child. As a little girl, I was a recipient of frequent and unresilbly harsh punishments for misbehaving, including being tied up and gagged when I was seven while family members looked on and did nothing. Additionally, I was beaten up by school yard bullies in middle school at age 12 and later blamed for the event while the instigators went unpunished. For years, I had downplayed these traumas. I didn't understand that they could have the lasting effect that they can. I was a strong-oiled, positive person, and I didn't dwell on the past. And I'd forgiven those perpetrators. But what I didn't understand is that despite my best efforts, the trauma experiences as a child was lying and wait to be triggered. For me, it was triggered by a combination of getting sober, hormonal changes at midlife, and an abuse of work environment. To give you a better idea of my employment situation at the time of my demise, I was working in an environment where managers bullied their subordinates. Grow a thicker skin was a frequent refrain heard of the water cooler. I'd never before tolerated such treatment yet. But I became terrified to leave because I was afraid I'd be unable to learn a new job. You see, as a situation in my workplace worsened, I began experiencing an inability to concentrate and remember things. Eventually, I entered into a deep depression and I stopped leaving home except to go to work unless I absolutely had to. Now, every one of these symptoms I mentioned is a symptom of PTSD. To complicate matters, most are also considered possible symptoms of menopause and are not uncommon for those in recovery after the initial buzz of the first few years of sobriety wears off. As the symptoms pop up, there's the urgency to treat each one separately. So, while I was first diagnosed with PTSD shortly after that 50th birthday, when I first started to feel badly, several obstacles kept me from receiving the intensive long-term treatment I needed. The cost of trauma therapies very high and my insurance was covering less and less. My family doctor was a saint through the process and she did the best job she could as my insurance coverage dwindled. But I found it increasingly difficult to navigate the current complex healthcare landscape and essentially I just gave up. The thing about my situation is that I know I'm not alone. Most people are unaware that trauma in many forms and not just bowel-filled trauma can lead to PTSD and the symptoms that accompany it. Depression, insomnia, anxiety, lack of concentration, and maladaptive responses to stress. That is, many of us are unknowingly broken. Some of us have slid into substance abuse to self-medicate. But once we're sober and ready to seek help, we unfortunately find there's no pill or simple pull yourself up by your bootstrap solution. Again, I want to be clear, I'm not trying to make excuses for my behavior or anybody's behavior. My intentions are to shed light on the complex circumstances that can lead to unfortunate events like mine. And to suggest ways that we just might be able to avoid or mitigate them. In my ongoing treatment, my mind always waters back to the skillful way which the unidentified bystander taught me down. I'm odd by his seemingly effortless objective mastery over the task and more so over the immediacy of the results. Just like that, he created a safe-set egg that trauma specialists talk about. He may well have saved my life. So, today I want to shout from the rooftops, "Hey, we need help here." We need compassion and we need understanding from the general public. We need researchers in psychology, psychiatry, and neuroscience to sort out the complex details of PTSD treatment. And we need more frontline therapists trained to provide specialized care for trauma victims of all kinds. We also need our legislatures to help us get access to care. But in the meantime, let's be kind to each other out there. You never know the depths of another person suffering. Several months before my breakdown, I recall having this thought. I know the pain, shame, and desperation that gunmen and mass shootings probably feel just before they pull the trigger. That's a frightening thought. And you can bet I never told a soul. To those who may have had similar thoughts or believe they may have PTSD, whether or or not you've been diagnosed, I want to tell you you're not alone and I want to urge you to not give up. There's therapy out there that works and it's important to keep seeking it out, especially when you feel like giving up. And for everyone else involved, imagine if you had the opportunity to intervene in the thought process I just described. Imagine if you had the de-escalation skills that allowed you to create a safe space for a triggered person and listen compassionately while here she regains control. And if you were able to help prevent some sort of horrific event, you'd be a hero. Just like the udon hero in my story. Hearing this talk has changed the way I read the news. You don't often get to hear the fragile human struggle behind this kind of sensational story. And the chance to humanize these incidents is what brought the speaker forward. When I was lying on that jail cell floor that first day when I was hauled off to jail, all I could think about was how I could share my experience and have somebody, anybody, a handful of people in a crowd say, "Oh my God." I'm not alone. I wondered though why she couldn't advocate for her ideas publicly. I'm embarrassed. This is not something I'm proud of. While I can talk rationally about it and sound okay, there's a deep wound inside of me and I like to tell people, I try to do my best to stay one step ahead of this shame train that's coming at me full force. And I just don't know that I'd be ready to share the story with my name attached to it. Yet. At the core of this talk is a simple, powerful idea that a mental crisis is as real as any other health crisis and it's much more common than you may realize. It's estimated that half of all Americans experience at least one trauma in their lives and that one in five experience some form of mental illness each year, but it's still not something we talk about. I want people who are suffering to know they're not alone. I want the walking well, if you will, to understand that mental illness as much as it brings a bad taste to people's mouth is more rampant than you may think and that there are a lot of silence offers out there. Some counselors now take an approach of initially assuming trauma when working with patients and there are known techniques for helping a survivor who's been triggered. Give your calm, undivided attention, collaborate with them and give them choices. Approach them from the perspective of what happened to you, not what's wrong with you. The unnamed hero in this story knew how to create the sense of safety. He just called me down and let me talk. He was just so gentle. This does require training, of course. In fact, more and more police departments in the US are teaching their officers these techniques, hoping they can de-escalate situations that might otherwise turn violent. And there may be a role for us here as well. To revive the heart we learn CPR, to revive the lungs we learn the Heimlich maneuver. Why not view the brain as a third organ that could misfire? Chain citizens could perhaps act as what you might call emotional first responders. And this, we believe, is an idea worth spreading. I'm June Cohen. Thank you for listening. If you're trying to identify symptoms and possible treatments for trauma, the National Center for PTSD has great resources, I'd also like to recommend a TED Talk by Nadine Burkaris, a pediatrician who studies the way childhood trauma can unfold across a lifetime. On the next episode of Sincerely X, I was awakened at 3 a.m. by a flashlight shining directly into my eyes. The guard grinned and my first thought was, "Happy freaking birthday." My orange jumpsuit was way too tight. And I laid there like a mummy in the dark, windless cell, trying to suppress the rising panic. You'll find new episodes of Sincerely X on channels in the Audible app. Our original music on this program is composed by the Holiday Brothers, with sound design and mix by Alex Traano. The Sincerely X production team includes Chloe Shasha and Kelly Stetzel, with help from Amy Eason and Barbara Allen. Our executive producers are Daring Triff and Colin Campbell. Creative leadership comes from Chris Anderson at TED and Eric Newsom at Audible. [BLANK_AUDIO]