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COVID and Toxic Positivity

Posted on by Stacie Walton in Belonging, Toxic Positivity

I tend to be positive. I’m the glass-half-full kind of person. When dealing with adversity, I ask myself, “What is the worst that can happen?” My answer typically conjures up a scenario I imagine I can live with and manage. But last week, I experienced “toxic positivity,” and I finally understood what psychologists warn us about.

I am optimistic and surround myself with family and friends with the same perspective. Not all my family and friends are P people. The negatives, the N people turn an accomplishment into a misguided achievement. They might say, “Congratulations, but I wouldn’t get too excited ’cause I don’t think that is a realistic goal. Or I share a win, and I realize that that person can’t grasp how significant the moment is for me. And the worst is when I acknowledge a blessing or gratitude, and they quickly minimize that blessing by telling me what I should be doing with my life. So, I intentionally have my P People on speed dial and my negatives in my heart.

Last week, I got COVID. I’m immunized and vaccinated. Mask at work constantly and in public places, usually. Somehow, in the pressure and business of preparing for a national conference in a different state, where I would be leading two workshops and participating in a panel, in the days leading up to the event, I was not masking. On travel day, I felt tired. That night, the day before the conference, I felt achy. The morning of the meeting and 5 hours before my workshop, I felt congested and had a headache. I jokingly asked myself whether I could have COVID. The test showed the two blue lines confirming and explaining why I felt sicker by the hour. I called the Conference CEO to strategize about setting up an ad-hoc Zoom. There just wasn’t enough time, and her team was busy managing the many tasks for the entire program. On day two of my illness, I focused on seeing a doctor and getting medication because I felt ten times sicker than the first day.

During those 48 hours, I heard from my P team. You are so lucky to have health insurance. Yes, I am. What a blessing you are at your sister’s house, not a hotel. I am so blessed. So glad to hear your family is understanding and not giving you a hard time about isolating at their place. My family is always generous. Thank goodness for the antiviral medication. Medical science delivers a COVID win. You sound better already. Yes, cough, cough, cough, I guess I do. You look good. Thanks (and wondering, “Are they looking at the same pic I just uploaded?)

“Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it’s all over.”
— Octavia E. Butler

https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/octavia_e_butler_170210

The P team was doing their job with the information I provided. But I wasn’t doing mine. I was seething inside. Anger captures how I felt towards myself for slacking off on precautions. Devasted describes how I let the conference team down and those I partnered with. I was anxious about my ROI as I could not network at the event. Frustrated with masking, isolated in one room, and saddened to watch my family adjust their lives, COVID triumphed.

It was my job to acknowledge the myriad of emotions that were surfacing. My job was to walk through them, analyze their sources, and play with their meaning. As I began to explore the feelings, I could then express how I felt about my illness and how it wholly redirected and dictated the course of the next week to ten days of my life. And as I began describing the nuances of my uprooted life, my P team adjusted their support.

They acknowledged my disappointments and inability to follow through on my professional obligations. The positive support that had felt toxic initially began to feel positively affirming. 

Positivity doesn’t have to be toxic. Allowing someone to explore the impact of what is happening is the first step for someone on the positivity team. As I reflect on my first and hopefully only COVID illness, I am truly blessed to have a fantastic P team.    

Driving while 18 in 1974

Posted on by Stacie Walton in Uncategorized

I noticed the highway patrol following close behind, mirroring my every traffic move. The fear mounted in my body and I intentionally slowed my breathing. After five minutes of rising terror, he turned the corner and I began to relax. I assume the internet search of my license plate number did not signal any red flags. I began to think of all the times I’d been stopped “while driving Black” over the last couple of decades and then a countering memory from many years earlier came to mind.

Denver to Palo Alto

The first time a police officer stopped me, it was 1976, and I was speeding along Interstate 80 heading west towards California from Denver, CO, as a sophomore at Stanford University. I headed towards Phoenix to pick up my friend. Racing alone, when the lights and sirens showed up in my rear-view mirror, I remember feeling scared, not about my safety, more because of my embarrassment from being caught. At some point, I’d have to share the news with my parents.
On this long stretch of empty highway, my being safe only mattered to my parents, who had argued with me for days about driving to California alone. The compromise was that they would follow me along in their car as far as Colorado Springs, which turned into Salt Lake City, which ended at the Grand Canyon on the periphery of Arizona. Multiple arguments between my parents and me took place along the way. My father took me aside and told me I had inflicted hurt on my mother of indescribable proportions. But I held steadfast. I mean, I was an adult now, right. I demonstrated my adulthood by going to a college out of state and being a safe driver. I’d never gotten a traffic ticket. I’d been driving for years now. The arguments about flat tires and desolate stretches of the road with no way of getting in touch with anyone, waiting for luck to bring help, didn’t rattle me. I had Triple-A roadside service and a car with new tires.

Most importantly, I was responsible! It had been a conversation about personal maturity, not safety per se. Stories likened to the death of Sandra Bland heading to her newly acquired employment would never have been shared. Obviously, they existed but I had been shielded. I was clueless.


The older white officer approached the car. Nervous, my voice shaky, I had no strategy. I thought, what is my excuse for driving over the speed limit? I knew I would be late to pick up my friend in Arizona because of all the stops for meals and long debates with my parents. I stopped paying attention to my speed on my long drive through the flat desert countryside. He approached me, said hello, and smiled. He asked me my name, how old I was, and where I was going. He proceeded to chat with me about the dangers of driving fast. He described how many of the deadly car accidents on this stretch of the road were caused by young people speeding. He encouraged me to slow down and to be safe. He said it was a warning, and if I drove over the speed limit again, he would be obligated to give me a ticket. I smiled knowing I could keep this secret from my parents.


Two states later, with my friend in the passenger seat, I encountered another police officer. Speeding along the beautiful California coast heading north from Los Angeles, chatting about friends, courses, and sports; I had forgotten the warning in Arizona. Again, I wondered what I would say to the police officer as he approached my car. He too let me off with a warning to slow down, and a promise of a ticket if caught speeding again. I look back at my attitude and behavior so long ago and think, “clueless while driving at 18 in 1974.”

Jade

Posted on by Stacie Walton in Family

6 months

Something magical happens when you welcome a dog into your life. Suddenly, dogs become prolific in your neighborhood. Neighbors appear like strangers in the night. There are a lot more neighbors, too. New dogs appear from behind fences and in the middle of parted curtains. Quiet people with historically averted eyes and silence, boldly ask you the most intimate questions.

What is your dog’s name? Is he a mastiff? A Dalmation? no, ahhh, a Great Dane right? I answer, yes, she is a Great Dane puppy not quite half her expected size. She’s big. Yes, she’s big.

The other thing that starts to happen is you begin to bump into these strangers everywhere you go. You see them at the city park, the dog park, the kiddie park, the secret park, and the park. You realize that you used to have a life that took you to the grocery store, the department store, the mall, the library, the new hip restaurant and now, you can be found at the park. You can be found walking to the park, running in the park, and walking home from the park, and throwing a ball using a plastic arm extension in the park. You are blessed if your city or town offers parks. You can find yourself planning trips and getting yelp recommendations for regional parks.

I love my new lifestyle with Jade…romping around in the parks.

10 month old Jade at William Land Park Sacramento

Accused of Attempted Murder

Posted on by Stacie Walton in cultural competence, Humanity

Part One



We planned a ski trip to a fashionable resort, joining a group of friends from my sister’s sports club. I promised Marianne a private ski lesson, as she had only been to the slopes a few times before. It was the early 90’s, and I hadn’t seen Marianne in over two years. Our residency programs kept us busy and free time was spent with family. Marianne had made my medical school years bearable, even fun. Brilliant, confident, and beautiful, I aspired to be just like her. I talked about the trip, she said she would join us. Weeks later, she called and said, ” I have something I want to talk to you about on the trip.” Why not now, I said. “It has to be in person.” sounding severe. On each phone call leading up to the trip, I would ask what she wanted to talk about, and each time she would say, ” It has to be in-person.” Even after greeting all of my sister’s friends in the Colorado chalet, getting comfortable in our appointed rooms, she avoided the conversation. “Let’s talk on the slopes,” she said. The night before skiing, I couldn’t sleep. Repetitive thoughts kept me awake. Was it her new boyfriend, Andre? Her parents disapproved. They never approved of anyone. Had she been diagnosed with a terminal illness? She appeared healthy? What was I missing?


As the ski lift took us higher and higher into the air, as the blue sky and the sun peeked through the clouds, my anxiousness mounted. What was it? In medical school, we confided with each other about everything. She was my person.


I pushed, “Marianne, please, tell me what is going on? Are you sick?”


“No,” she said. ” I’m healthy. It’s Andre”.


I knew it. “Your parents disapprove because he is white? Right?”


“No, my parents have never met him, ” She continued, “I wanted to let you know that Andre is actually Adrienne!”


Her words hung in the cold, dry air. I just stared at her. She said slowly, making eye contact with me, as I was obviously stunned. “Her name is Adrienne, and … I’m gay.”
As her words hung in the air, I actually felt my body shrink into itself while my thoughts raced to question myself silently over and over. What did she say? What do I say next? What am I supposed to say? What do I do?
She began to recall how she and Adrienne had met. How she had kept this secret from me for so long and why. How her parents would never approve. That she had kept the secret to keep her career in medicine.


She interrupted my thoughts, ” Stacie… Stace, are you listening to me?” Suddenly, jolted out of my thoughts, I yelled, ” Oh Thank God,… I thought you had cancer!”

Accused of Attempted Murder

Posted on by Stacie Walton in cultural competence, Humanity, Unconscious bias

Part Two

Please read Part One first!

We disembarked from the ski chair, and I led to the left. The gentle slope led me to a run I had skied multiple times in the past; simple and easy. I chose a beginner slope, or so I thought. I remembered an easy grade with minimum pitch and gorgeous terrain. In retrospect, I never saw a trail marker, probably because I didn’t look for one. Taking the lead and moving down the mountain, feeling the cold breeze against my face would offer me the chance to get my head together; I slowly moved forward. I thought I had chosen a simple run, as Marianne had only been skiing a couple of times before. Marianne followed close behind. As I skied over the first ridge, I immediately recognized the steep pitch of an advanced slope. I wondered, where am I. Skiing over the first ridge; I realized I had led both of us onto a double diamond run, difficult for me and impossible for Marianne.
As I coached her down the mountain, falling occasionally and watching her take spill after spill, I realized I had put us both in danger. She could be hurt. We focused on the job at hand. I had forgotten that minutes earlier, my friend had told me the most important fact about her life- who she chose to love.
One hour later, when the danger seemed to dissipate, with skis in hand, walking down in knee-deep snow and crawling over moguls the size of little hills, Marianne laughed at the top of her lungs, smiling at me, ” I’ve come out to a few people, but Stacie, no one else has tried to kill me!”
We tell this friendship story, entitled “When Stacie Tried To Kill Me” at gatherings and between ourselves. My love for her has never wavered, and I have no idea what happened on that ski slope some 30 years ago when I steered her onto a double diamond ski run. Could it have been unconscious biases guiding my actions? Could it have been my need to appear accepting, using up so much brain space, that I had blinders on for the reality surrounding me? I wonder…