Back when I immersed myself in the studies of psychology, I was exposed to the understanding of how our defense mechanism reacts to a new or unwanted situation- fight or flight. In the most recent years, I can honestly say how grateful I am that a third concept was discriminately added- freeze.
Understandably so, this last piece to what I always felt had been missing in my studies (applause to the expanded addition confirmed in animals in the 70’s connected to now the physiological reactions in humans in the new millennium) regarded situations where fallen victims either fight off unwanted situations or take flight from such predicament. It’s what I somehow questioned in my mind as to the term to use when you neither fight or flight. “What if your body just freaks out and does… nothing?” I would sit there and wonder, knowing through my own reactions in life, that there was that other piece. I would have suggested that “f” word that came to my mind. Hence, freak out. I am thankful some ingenious came up with a more politically correct term, “freeze”.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with the terms fight, flight, or freeze, in physiological perspective (psychosomatic-mind affecting body), since my excuses of five children and other life happenings haven’t afforded me a doctorate degree, I respectfully address these terms in their most simplistic forms. To best address each, I will share moments in life where I exhibited examples of fight, flight, and freeze.
Fight
I was in junior high. After my parents received a mandatory letter of request that I had to return back to my neighborhood school rather than continue to what I had been bused to 45 minutes to and from in my previous school year, I inevitably faced the wrath of what was waiting ahead for me.
In class, I thrived. I loved learning. Still do. It was the passing periods, lunch, before and after school that reminded me what type of physically aggressive neighborhood I was in.
Not even a week went by and I found myself being introduced by a mutual friend to a Chicana (matter-of-fact speaking-no disrespect). Clearly strong in her own reputable stance, she gave me a quick glance and noted, “Yeah. I know who she is.” It didn’t matter what she meant exactly by that statement. That, to me, was the message that I had been marked as a foe, not a friend. It didn’t take less than a month before I found myself facing the fight or flight response to her “invitation”. I knew respect was an issue here. Fleeing today would only mean having to keep doing the same tomorrow for the entire year. In sum, yes. I fought. My defense mechanism took me back to the 45-minute bus ride to my previous school.
Flight
I had attended six different elementary schools before junior high. Needless to say, I was the “new kid” every year. Perhaps having nomadically moved about as a student, my grades did not reflect my true academic prowess. I learned very quickly upon entering fifth grade at this, yet another, new school, that there was a divide between general education and those placed in the Honors program. To my silent humility, the corn-silk hair, green-eyed boy looking my way who spoke each time to me with confidence announced that he was in that Honors class. On the other hand, I had been placed in a class, two teachers dually teaching (I understand it had to have been a tag-team effort now), where I can only remember to be rowdy-obstructive of any enriched learning. While I survived before school, recesses, and lunchtime, it was after school where the “new kid” was outnumbered all the time. Somehow, the kid that I want to swear, had repeated 5th grade several times, was the one who loved taunting me almost on a weekly if not daily basis. What did I do that year to survive? I took the “flight” response. Walking fast or running home was my survival that year.
Freeze
That same year, I befriended someone in my classroom. She was tougher than me, able to stand her ground against others who would try to challenge her. What do others do to break up unity? Turn the united against each other. The only friend I had that year and now we were faced to have a small meeting with one of our teachers. With three other classmates present, it didn’t take long for that small group of girls instigating their thoughts to make it sound as if the whole class was in the room, noisy as usual. I sat there mostly in silence, in disbelief that my good friend had turned against me, being a puppet to the the perpetrators now seemingly her friends. Before I knew it, that good friend of mine had gotten out of her seat to approach me. I stood up, pride and all, thinking nothing but a face to face confrontation to occur. All it took was for someone to say, “Hit her!” Before our teacher could do anything, my dear friend’s right fist landed on my left eye. I saw it coming. In fact, I recall having the opportunity to hit first. I simply froze. I don’t regret it to this day. One friend did the right thing that day.
May your own examples of fight, flight, or freeze continue to take you to the very you you proudly are.
