This First Person article is written by Tara Pyfrom, who lives in New Brunswick. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
My first job as a newcomer in Canada was at a busy real estate office. I was excited about the job; I saw it as an excellent opportunity for professional growth and my co-workers were welcoming.
My main task was to speak on the phone with prospective clients and drum up leads. All around me, phones were constantly ringing as other agents in the office took calls, bustled in and out for showings and chatted with clients. Within the first few days of my new job, I felt overwhelmed. Even though I was used to a busy office atmosphere from my previous jobs, I was struggling to multitask and focus here. I couldn’t seem to filter the sounds around me to hear clearly on the phone. The office seemed excessively loud even though no one else seemed to be having any trouble.
During that time, I also noticed I couldn’t hear my daughter seated in the back of the car if the radio was on, even at a low volume. I was getting close to 40 and assumed hearing changes were a natural part of aging. I felt like the two issues were somehow connected.
I had my hearing tested and the results showed there was nothing physically wrong. So, I questioned the technician about why I was struggling to hear if the test showed no hearing loss. The technician hypothesized my brain might be struggling to isolate and process multiple sounds simultaneously.
That’s when a lightbulb went off.
In 2019, my family and I barely survived Hurricane Dorian when it hit our home in the Bahamas. While we sat waiting for the flood waters to reach the attic and potentially drown us, the wind and rain that pounded the roof echoed remarkably in our cramped quarters. As we sat terrified during the worst experience of my life, the volume of the noise changed how my brain processed and interpreted sound.
At least that’s what my wife and I felt must have happened.
We were lucky to make it out alive and unharmed, save for many bruises. In the aftermath of Dorian, we immigrated to Canada with only three weeks of planning.
The stress level in those first few months was immeasurable. Eventually, our whole family sought the help of a therapist. We understood that we could not cope with the emotional after-effects of the natural disaster trauma on our own.
Before Hurricane Dorian, I never had trouble isolating a person’s voice in a crowded room. But it seems the trauma of what we experienced was still affecting me two years later.
Learning to cope with the anxiety brought on by surviving a natural disaster has taken many different strategies. I’ve practised creative visualization, picturing calming locations and listing all the sensory attributes associated with the image. Meditation and structured breathing exercises have been helpful when I’ve had trouble falling asleep as my mind imagines I am back in the ocean, being tossed around by the waves. I used a gratitude journal for a while to combat hopelessness and depression when my mind fixated on the idea that I would never feel any better. Writing therapy helped me the most.
After years of working on my mental health, I was finally making solid progress, and I started my new job at the real estate office only to realize my new job might now be outside my capabilities.
I sought the help of another therapist who specializes in trauma recovery. He explained that many people with PTSD struggle with symptoms similar to attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, including an inability to sit still (check), struggling to multitask (check) and difficulty isolating sounds (check). I was floored.
When I explained my problem to my boss, they were supportive and got me a phone headset. For several weeks, I continued trying to force my brain to process more sounds than it could. But eventually I was forced to resign from the position and I took on a new job that allowed me to work from home and control the noise level in my workspace.
More and more Canadians are experiencing the trauma of natural disasters yearly. Sadly, the frequency of these events is increasing. The historic flooding in Nova Scotia in July and monumental wildfires continuing to burn throughout Canada have kept natural disasters at the forefront of news outlets in 2023. The billions of dollars in property damages worldwide is evident for all to see, and it is horrific to hear about the number of lives lost. However, there is another invisible toll these events have on people like me who survive them: mental illness.
New Brunswick has experienced two milder post-tropical storms in 2023 so far.
While I didn’t fear for my life during these events as I did during Dorian, my anxiety increases with the constant updates and news of preparations. It’s an ongoing battle to remind my body that it doesn’t need to react with a rush of adrenaline just because I have several things on my to-do list, including buying storm supplies. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this anxiety.
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