By Deborah Blackwell

Nobody escaped the pandemic. Shamans, prophets, theorists, and other believers in the cosmic universe think this catastrophic event was a predicted shift in humanity. They call it The Great Shift — an extraordinary opportunity for all living things. Earth, and its inhabitants, would experience a transformative evolution unlike no other, via a global pandemic. 

This Great Shift concept isn’t far-fetched. Humanity is in dire need of help. I do believe in things shifting our consciousness, but wow, what a bumpy, wild ride.

Just as COVID hit in the U.S., I thought I already had things locked down. Not with hazmat supplies, good masks, and plenty of toilet paper, but with my soul evolution. I’ve been working on myself for a couple of decades and thought I was solid. Maybe even ahead of the game. In fact, I was so humbly secure about my inner wisdom, I thought I wouldn’t be vulnerable to the impact of the pandemic.

Of course, I was worried about getting sick, Covid -19 is a scary virus. I questioned anybody who didn’t worry. But I had already survived plenty of drama in my lifetime, and had my daily go-tos: yoga, meditation, deep breathing, writing, and intuition — tools to manage trauma. The Great Shift was for other people, and I was ready to see them shift, wake up, show human compassion, exercise dignity, care about the planet. But as the pandemic raged on day-by-day, it became clear that wasn’t happening. Instead, life just seemed really hard. 

A year into the mayhem on our wedding anniversary in 2021, Sir Husband and I ventured out in masks to celebrate. We took a picnic to Walden Pond. It was unusually warm for March; there was still snow on the ground, but it had melted just enough to walk through the woods. It was a beautiful day.

I hadn’t felt well, but assumed I had my annual winter sinus infection. We had both been sick a couple of times that year, not with COVID -19, we had salmonella and conjunctivitis. I shouldn’t have ignored how I felt that day, but it was a special occasion, and trying to function with normalcy during a pandemic was more than enough.

It hit on the way home. A hollow ache in my lower belly rolled up toward my chest and landed dead center. My left arm buzzed and went numb. I broke into a sweat and trembled out of control. I reached for my cell phone and handed it to Sir husband. “Call 911 please,” I said with the most quiet, calm voice I’ve ever had. “I think I’m having a heart attack.” 

“What?” He seemed confused. I said it again, but he was still  confused. We pulled over the first place we could, and I called 911. After 23 hours of extreme panic in the emergency room, I learned it wasn’t a cardiac event. 

It was the start of my personal Great Shift.

Over the next several weeks, the symptoms kept coming. Tachycardia, chest pain, fainting, unfathomable fatigue, tingling, trembling, clamminess, sweatiness, nausea, headaches, dizziness, dry mouth, pulsing in my ear—it went on around the clock. I had four ambulance rides, four hospital stays (one on my birthday), and encounters with a slew of doctors who could not figure out what was wrong. I could barely get out of bed, but every test, scan, lab, and exam were normal. My heart passed with flying colors. My brain and arteries, same. My numbers, levels, counts, all fine. But I wasn’t.

Finally, my own doctor figured it out. I had Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). My autonomic nervous system, the one that regulates nearly every major function in the body, deregulated. My fight-or-flight system was stuck in gear, and it was out of my control. 

What brought this on? A pandemic, politics, racism, the world at large, but it was salmonella that tipped the scales. A virus can set off these symptoms, as long COVID survivors also found out. 

I couldn’t escape The Great Shift. It hit me smack in the gut: a loss of control, of feeling safe, I had overwhelming fear that I wasn’t going to live, terrifying symptoms, and begged for the energy required just to take my next breath. I lived in fear and discomfort around the clock. The hospital was my salvation, nurses held my hand, doctors had such a confident stance. But at home, I stayed in bed, frightened of my body, afraid of my thoughts. I didn’t know what to do. POTS, not the pandemic, brought life as I knew it to a stop.

I had to surrender to all of it, and work hard to shift my terror into trust. It was my only available medicine. My body couldn’t regulate medication, so deep breathing, stretching, and implicit trust were it. 

Change is hard.  

I used to cringe when people said their most horrible situation was their best education, or their most awful people were their best teachers. But it’s true. Whether we’re ready or not.

When pandemic isolation first started, I looked at it as a break from the hectic, exhausting, uncomfortable pace of my life. I was in a job I hated with a miserable a commute. I endured relentless stress as an everyday M.O. I replayed worry like a bad song, so shutting down the world seemed like a good idea. Then my body shattered like fragile glass. 

As I put myself back together piece by piece, learn to be more patient, more peaceful, confident in my body and myself, I remember this: when we’re blindsided by life, perspectives and opportunities come that would have otherwise been lost or unseen. Learning to trust them, especially in our darkest moments, may just be the great shift.