Supernormal. Мэг Джей

requires finesse and focus and countless minute adjustments. Being able to do this—day after day and night after night—can feel as empowering as it does out of control. It can be as exhilarating as it is exhausting.

      Prolonged stress not only keeps the amygdala activated, but also suppresses activity in the prefrontal cortex and the hippocampus, both parts of the brain that help us downshift our own arousal. The prefrontal cortex is the part of the brain that moderates fear, as it “talks back to” or reasons with the more emotional amygdala. The hippocampus is where we place learning in context, recognizing that what went on in the home may not go on elsewhere, that one bad person is not representative of all people, that that was then and this is now. If one’s amygdala is extremely sensitive, the prefrontal cortex and the hippocampus may be less able to be effective. As a result, supernormal children and adults can feel locked in to their own hyperarousal, simply unable to make it stop. In this way, vigilance can persist for years, and even for a lifetime, after the original exposure to danger.

      From an evolutionary perspective, there is value in generalizing danger; in not being naive in every new situation. Yet the overgeneralization of danger is problematic, too, as the supernormal child may take those “traumatic expectations” and her “anxiety of premonitions” everywhere she goes. This is the insidious nature of the mistreatment that many children experience, especially when it is at the hands of loved and trusted others. When bad things happen again and again, the brain learns that danger is not an unusual encounter but rather a way of life. Besides, it is difficult not to overgeneralize abuse at the hands of those who are supposed to care for you, no matter how infrequent it may be. If Jessie’s own sister was willing to hurt her—and her mother failed to protect her—then why should she expect better from mere strangers or friends?

      Vigilance helps us manage external difficulties yet, over time, it can take a toll on the brain and the body, leading to an array of inner difficulties: upset stomach and diarrhea, over- or undereating, immunosuppression, insomnia, lowered sex drive, heart disease, anxiety, depression, and—most simply—exhaustion. Even as an adult, Jessie felt chronically on guard, as if her mind never rested. She worked so hard that she forgot to eat, and she had little time for life outside her job. She had trouble relaxing when other people were around, and she sometimes wondered if her friendships were genuine or if she was just a reflexive handler of other people. Jessie felt distant from, and even a bit resentful toward, those who seemed carefree and careless, people who never would have dreamed of needing an owl tattoo.

      Rather than watching the clock in an effort to stay awake like she used to, after long days at work Jessie now watched the clock desperate to nod off to sleep. “I haven’t really slept in 20 years,” said one Vietnam veteran in a book by Laurence Gonzales, aptly titled Surviving Survival. Jessie, too, felt as if she could not and did not sleep. She must have slept, of course, but her sense that somehow she hadn’t may not have been entirely inaccurate. Not only do those who experience chronic stress have trouble falling asleep, but once they do, they often don’t sleep as deeply, spending less time in what is called delta sleep. During those long nights, Jessie wondered if she would ever have a regular life or even a regular night’s sleep, like the seemingly normal people all around her.