The Color Pink — Chronic Blushing & Hyperactive Sympathetic Nervous Systems

After our philosophy lecture, I waited for Professor Swope at the back window. He answered student questions one at a time, while I pressed oily fingerprints on the window’s condensation. Placing the back of my hand on my cheek, I could feel my heartbeat pulse quicker. Outside, a breeze lifted cotton scarves around girls’ necks like they were controlled by marionette strings, and the wind shook free a handful of leaves. I watched in envy as the leaves escaped the cement campus walls to flit about through open fields — wild and free.

Escaping my heavy pea coat, I let the fresh air wash over my chest, red and blotchy from a pounding heart. The triggers were everywhere. Thoughts dashed through my head like arrows. Jumbled words, darting eyes, the room temperature rising, breezy courtyards looking farther and farther away. Mental gymnastics are exhausting. Always on. Always hyper-aware. Eyes searching for the nearest exit, for an end seat, for a drinking fountain. Sometimes my water bottle was already full, but I still had to dart from the dinner table and pretend to fill it up when I felt a feverish flush coming on.

Those students — passing me with bored faces — they had no idea how easy they had it. How free they were.

I inhaled… and exhaled. Deep… and slow. Deep… and slow.

“So, what can I help you with?”

I jumped. Professor Swope found me, and once the classroom was empty, he walked to the back window and sat down. The temperature rose until it was almost unbearable, not just from the florescent bulbs above, but from somewhere deep inside. My neck was sweaty. I spoke fast — struggling to string together sentences.

“I want you to know I really want to be able to talk in class,” I choked, trying to swallow. “I care about what we talk about… but it’s just… I’m… afraid of speaking my opinion… not just in this class, it’s been like this for years… I have some social anxiety.”

And then like that, it started to pass. A tear leaked out, and I felt the air conditioning move through the room for the first time. My cheeks drained, and the staccato beat inside my chest started to slow, slow, slow, slow. Swope looked at me and said:

“Let’s pray.”

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Most people blush at one point in their life. Whether embarrassed by a mistake, yelled at by an authority, or smiled at by their admirer, the average person has probably blushed once or twice and never thought of it again.

But there are some who blush daily.

Chronic blushing, it’s called. And it’s like hell on earth. Once someone blushes enough times, the body and mind start to remember patterns and create a heightened awareness of potential triggers. Your sympathetic nervous system becomes hyperactive, generating continuous fight or flight responses. Suddenly, you not only hate blushing — you start to anticipate and fear it, and this is called erythrophobia.

You may remember a tragic story about two years ago, about a boy who took his own life because he couldn’t live with this kind of shame anymore. But it wasn’t just shame. It was the exhaustion. From living with that kind of reality every single day. Exhaustion from being mentally “on” every time he interacted with someone — every time he got on an elevator, sat across from someone at dinner, or gave a school presentation. His mind was a chaotic maze of escape routes, and finally he took the only one he knew would bring release.

“Why didn’t he just tell someone?” the newscaster said, shocked by the story. “Why didn’t he get help, see a counselor?”

“Well,” said her co-host, “I think it was the nature of the fear.”

Exactly. The whole point of this awful syndrome is that you fear facing someone head on. Seeking help would cause his face to turn beet red and create panic. It’s at this point when you feel like you have no hope — and specifically no voice — that life no longer feels worth fighting for.

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This was similar to my story.

But where the heck does it come from? From all my research, it’s obvious there’s never one root cause. Insecurity, childhood shame, emotional sensitivity, public trauma, spiritual warfare. From age 16–26 (and occasionally, still today), I was controlled by this awful issue. Eaten alive by fear. It wasn’t irrational either. I did put myself out there, lots — through public speaking class and presentations and being the center of attention at birthdays and sitting across from family at the table and being called into my boss’s office and confronting issues, I was forced to be as brave as I knew how. Yet still my face went fire engine red almost every time. And when people pointed it out, that made it 10x worse.

But something changed in the last couple of years. After moving out and finishing college, a lot of the pressure was off. I could create my own schedule and my own calming environment (low lighting, cool air, candles).

And it’s gotten so much better. I never thought it would. But it has. There’s a confidence that grows after having experienced a lot of pain. You want to be freed so badly, that you find ways to break out of it. Some of it comes from just growing up. Some comes from being excellent in your field and wanting to advocate for others. Some grows from seeking out compassionate people who are willing to listen to you, even as your eyes dart around and you sip water every few seconds to cool your insides.

Most of it comes from that knowing Jesus made our bodies, and he won’t hold us accountable for the ways they malfunction. He just holds us accountable for how we react to them.

And his love is so great. That’s what strengthened my identity the most once I realized I couldn’t control what people thought of me. O, the deep deep love of Jesus…

Chronic blushing is much more emotionally painful than it is physically. Sure, it’s uncomfortable to have your cheeks flair up in heat and to feel like you’re stuck inside an oven, but it’s much worse to deal with the emotional stress that comes from 1) anticipating the flush, 2) experiencing the flush, and 3) dealing with the shame that comes, including people’s reactions.

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If you’re reading this because this is your story right now, I am so sorry. But listen up — if you’ve dealt with this junk for a long time now (or are just discovering it), there is hope for you in the future. Even if you sense it one drip-drop at a time. That’s why I wrote this article, and this is what I want you to know —

You are BELOVED and you are SEEN. No matter how much you feel silenced by your fear of speaking, you have a VOICE. God made you for a reason, and this frustrating element is NOT going to stand in His way for using you. Fear is NOT the truest part of who you are, and if someone hasn’t told you that yet, well I just did. You need to cry and release the pain if you feel like your voice has been stripped. Then take a cool shower. Go outside and face your fear — tell someone. Find someone you trust with your whole heart and confide in them. It’s okay to be afraid of being brave. Bravery shows fear who’s boss. And if, for some reason, you don’t have that trustworthy person in your life, then I want you to email me right now and share your story. I desperately want to hear so I can encourage, pray, and help you know that you are LOVED. Here is my email: baileylgillespie@gmail.com

Listen to this song, sweet friend. Joy is out there for you again if you fight for it. But don’t forget to get rest too — lots and lots of it.

“My comfort in my suffering is this: your promise preserves my life. Look on my suffering and deliver me, for I have not forgotten your law. Defend my cause and redeem me; preserve my life according to your promise.” Psalm 119:50, 153–154

Here is one of my very favorite songs: “Marvelous Light” by Ellie Holcomb https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twIgclfvCMw