Page 2 of Under Pressure

You know you’re a terrible interviewer. He’ll notice how shaky your voice is, how sweaty you are, how underprepared—

“Will you do a mock interview with me?” I blurt out, needing to redirect my thoughts.

“Okay, but if I’m going to look at you any longer, let me at least fix your hair first.”

I hesitantly touch the mass of brown curls on top of my head, wondering just how bad it appears. Sure, the termrat’s nesthas been used to describe it before, but I honestly don’t know what to do with it. While my mom’s curls somehow form perfect spirals that neatly fall down her back, mine seem to tangle together and then multiply, making more unruly curl babies.

She grabs a hair tie off the coffee table and motions me forward, doing some kind of complicated twist with my hair on top of my head that transforms it into a messy bun. When she does it for me, it looks cute, but when I try it, it’s just… messy.

“Thanks.”

Even though you didn’t ask for her to do your hair. She basically insulted you—

Shh. Be quiet.

Kelsey steeples her fingers together, adopting a professorial air, despite the garish pink of her nails. “Tell me why I should allow you to work in my lab.”

Oh, I guess we’re starting. “Um, well, as you know, universities across the nation have become increasingly aware of the elevated amounts of stress their students are experiencing.”

She nods her head knowingly, even though she’s the least stressed person I’ve ever met.

“Some colleges have made efforts in response to this,” I continue, “such as puppy rooms during exam weeks where students can interact with the animals. While therapy dogs have been shown to reduce stress levels, it’s not a long-term solution for students that can’t have pets in their dorms or don’t want a pet.”

She holds up her hand to interrupt me. “You’re coming across a little anti-puppy. Nobody likes a dog hater.”

“I’m not a dog hater. I love puppies. Bring on the puppies!”

“Now all I’m thinking about are puppies and I still have no idea what the study’s about.”

“Fine, I’ll nix the puppies.”

“Aww, poor puppies.”

I take a deep breath, ignoring her and centering myself before continuing on. “I’m proposing a study using students on this campus as participants utilizing biofeedback—”

“What’s biofeedback?”

“Dr. Price will know. I won’t need to explain it.”

“No, but I don’t.”

“Remember those sessions I used to go to? Where they hooked me up to the electrodes?”

She scrunches her face up attempting to recall, but shrugs her shoulders after a few moments. “Sort of?”

I mentally sigh, knowing I’ve explained it to her before. “You measure a person’s body functions, like heart rate, respiration, muscle contractions, and then that information is fed back to you. The therapist explains what’s going on so you can change your thoughts or behavior to better control your body’s physiological responses.”

“Okay… but why did you do it?”

“For my anxiety.” I whisper the last word, even though there’s no one else in our apartment. It’s ironic that talking about my anxiety still gives me anxiety, but I’ve made huge strides since my official diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder two years ago and the cognitive behavioral therapy and biofeedback sessions I’ve done since then. The techniques I learned are worth their weight in gold for what they’ve done to improve my life, and I want to share it with others.

“Oh, that.” A sheepish expression crosses her face. “Sorry, let’s start again.”

I run through my spiel, talking about how I hope to show how biofeedback can be used as a resource on campus to help students gain lifelong skills to deal with stress and manage their anxiety.

“Wow, you sound professional. I’d totally hire you.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. If I pass Kelsey’s high standards, I should be good.

---