This Is Your Body on Stress

Stress is just your body's natural response to perceived danger. But what happens when your stress reaction never shuts off?

By Roger Cole

People have struggled with bumps on the path of life since before the dawn of history, but it was not until the middle of the 20th century that physiologist Hans Selye labeled our reaction to life's challenges with a simple word: stress. Now, 50 years later, there's a conversation you hear so often, it's almost a chorus: You ask a friend, "How are you?" and she replies, "I'm OK, but I'm feeling a little stressed."

You know just what she means; you've felt the same way all too often yourself. For you, the stress shows up as insomnia, while your friend sleeps well but has a lingering stomachache and painful knots in her shoulders. Individual stress symptoms can differ, but all have their roots in the physiological changes that our bodies undergo when we feel we're in danger. To understand these changes, why they happen, and what you can do to reduce and avoid them, let's consider a day in the life of a typical American working woman.

The Story of Sally Stresscase

For Sally Stresscase, the day went from bad to worse. She awoke with allergies clogging her nose. Work was full of hassles. Her car stalled in rush hour traffic, and other drivers honked and scowled at her, turning her frustration into fury.

Sally picked up her four-year-old, Sara, at day care. That cheered her up, but when they arrived home to a dark house, her heart sank. Her husband, Sam, was not there—again. He had been working late a lot recently, and acting so distant and withdrawn that Sally was feeling insecure and suspicious.

She had just set up Sara with a coloring book in her favorite spot in the living room and started to cook dinner when she heard strange noises coming from the garage. Sally's mind raced; she and Sam never used the garage. Although a door linked it to the kitchen, they always parked in the driveway and came in through the front door. But now someone was out there.

The sounds grew louder. She heard footsteps approaching the kitchen door and realized with horror that it was unlocked. A knot formed in her stomach, her mouth went dry, blood pounded in her temples, and her palms sweated so much that the ceramic bowl she was holding slipped from her hands and shattered.

Sally tried to jam the heavy, iron-framed kitchen table against the door, but it wouldn't fit. In the process, she cut her arm, but she didn't notice it. She dashed into the living room and grabbed the fireplace poker. Placing herself squarely between Sara and the kitchen, she turned to face the intruder. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion as a man emerged from the kitchen.

It was Sam, with a big smile on his face. High in front of him, he proudly dangled a large key ring. His smile quickly faded to an openmouthed stare as he beheld Sally—nostrils flaring, eyes so wide that he could see the whites all the way around, arm cut but barely bleeding—brandishing the poker in her white-knuckled hand. She exuded a wild ferocity he had never imagined she was capable of. There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Hi, Daddy!" Sara said.

Sam's smile returned, tentatively. "Hi, Sara! Uh...hi, Sally."

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