I slept with a hot water bottle on my chest last night.
The ache in my heart was more than the heaviness from everything life has thrown at me recently. It was physical. Last night my heart was raw. Broken. And it hurt. No pain could ever compare to that of an injured heart … And that’s a big statement coming from me.
I’m no stranger to physical pain. My body has endured a great deal of trauma over the years and I’ve grown quite accustomed to high levels of pain. From cuts and bruises, burns, and broken bones to having body parts ripped and torn, crushed, and even amputated. Yes, you read that right. Amputated. I lost my left arm in a car accident in 2010. So I know what it’s like to feel pain. But I would go through everything all over again if I knew it would cure my injured heart.
Staying positive is a necessity Getting some fresh air outside the hospital Buddy comforting me after I had a seizure“I got your back, Mom” — Zoey Living hurts sometimes.
I think most of us have had our hearts injured at some point in life – maybe even regularly – and injuries need to recover and heal. If you’ve ever been injured physically, you know that warmth and gentleness are requirements for healthy recovery. We need that warmth. We need gentleness.
Sometimes you can get those things from other people, but sometimes you have to find a way to give them to yourself. And last night I found a great deal of comfort in sleeping with a hot water bottle on my chest.
To feel that presence of warmth, was something I had no idea I needed and as I lay there in the dark, something shifted inside of me. Though reluctantly at first, I allowed myself to lean into the warmth, and then tears began to fall.
It was like giving myself a gift – which I’m not that great at doing. But I really do want ‘Danielle’ to be okay. I want her to always know that a warm presence is available, no matter who is or isn’t around.
I think one of the most incredible gifts we have been given as humans is the ability to comfort ourselves. The best tool I’ve learned in my journey with CPTSD is self-soothing. I still have a long way to go, but I’ve come so far from when drugs, food, and self-harm were the only tools I had.
For me, this deep ache of sadness in my heart is the scariest emotion of all. It’s the one I run from time after time, afraid that if it catches me, it will swallow me whole. I always seem to forget that not once has that ever happened.
Sometimes it will feel like our heart has been shattered, beyond the point of being able to ever experience any sort of joy or peace again. Just remember, feelings are not always facts!
And you can always sleep with a hot water bottle! That helps too.
Like stones thrown into a lake, trauma creates ripples in the water that change not only its still, glassy surface but reverberate all the way through its flourishing ecosystems underneath. These microscopic quivers are often invisible, but present nonetheless—settling into the bones, minds, and memories of every survivor who’s known them.
When these ripples are born from multiple traumatic experiences, they can collide into chaos or build upon each other in strength – powerfully reshaping the ways a survivor sees themselves and the world around them. They can shift how one experiences their body, pain, touch, and even comfort; how they interpret and respond to danger, intense emotions, relationships, sensory input, and subtle reminders of that trauma; and how they’re seen by others. It can be difficult to disentangle the natural ebb and flow of the water’s currents from the ripples made from a downpour of stones.
Despite all the waves and wreckage, just as a lake remains beautiful, inviting, and a calm respite to all who wish to visit, survivors retain their beauty and resilience in spite of their trauma. Their healing isn’t about how quickly they can return to serene stillness after all that rocky hail, but in recognizing the unseen tremblings underneath, and finding ways to create harmony in concert with their movement. To those on the water’s edge, just as we respect nature’s quiet endurance, we should offer the same respect to those who’ve experienced trauma—tossing fewer stones and perhaps adding a few more reeds to ease a quivering shoreline.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a very ‘complex’ person (eye roll). And that neither my mind nor body functions as it should, and can be very unpredictable. So there’s not really a lot that really surprises me anymore. But like, seriously. Get this … I’ve been sick with what my tattoo artist is calling the ‘Tattoo Flu’. Have you ever heard of this?!
I got my 8th tattoo last week. I have never had any complications from any of them. Have never needed pain meds or even much aftercare because they all healed without any issues. I must also add that earlier this year I had one done on the left side of my chest, which is a part of my body that was seriously injured in a car accident (my left arm was amputated). No major issues with that tattoo. Minimal bleeding, swelling, and redness. No bruising. I went through the session with no problem.
But this time … Oh. My. Goodness!!
Within the first 30 minutes I started shivering, and it didn’t stop. 4 hrs later at home, I was still trembling. I threw up about an hour in. He gave me a break, had me eat candy, and asked if I wanted to stop and finish the rest another day. I told him to keep going.
I must admit though, the reason I didn’t want to stop was mainly because of pride. Because, you see, I am tough! I can handle a lot of pain. I’m a badass, with tattoos! A few needle pokes got nothing on this girl! I’ve been through much worse. So no, I’m not quitting!
Anyways, I was under the needle for 2 hrs. I was booked for additional touch-ups on 2 older tattoos but at the 2 hr mark, he completed my chest piece and told me he wasn’t going to continue. He said “I think you might be getting what we call the Tattoo Flu … you’re going into shock.”
Me being me, how did I respond? “Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’m fine! It’s all good!” I told him that if I could go outside for a few minutes then I’ll be good to go again. But he refused, said it would be dangerous to keep going, and added that I was a sucker for punishment. I was pissed. (I think the fact that my body was reacting this way made me want to keep going even more. Not sure what exactly I was trying to prove ….)
I appreciated his looking out for me and it gained my respect, for being a good responsible artist. But that doesn’t mean I liked the decision!
It’s been 5 days and I’ve been feeling like shit. Leading up to this I wasn’t feeling the greatest to begin with. There’s been a lot of additional stress lately and I think it’s affecting my health a bit. I guess I’ve just been feeling a little burnt out. But still!! I did not expect this. I made sure I got some sleep the night before and I even had breakfast and some water before going to the appointment. But man, this stuff is real!!
So the tattoo flu is caused by an immune system response. When the skin is punctured by needles, the body reacts to the trauma and treats the ink like a foreign substance. So the immune system works to heal the skin and fight off the perceived threat. This response is what causes the flu-like symptoms as it tries to recover and protect itself.
I’ve had chills. Every part of my body has been aching. I’ve been nauseous and dizzy and even more exhausted than usual. Did I mention the swelling and bruising?! I’ve never had bruising from a tattoo before but it’s as if I’ve been beaten with a baseball bat this time!
The tattoo flu could last up to a week. Thankfully I am feeling a bit better today. Its usually only seen it in ppl getting really large pieces done in one sitting. I began showing signs after 30 minutes. Also, low blood sugar is common when the body is under stress, which is why the artist had a stash of lollipops. I didn’t know that a tattoo could cause uour blood sugar to drop!
I was given some great advice, which I will definitely take, to hopefully prevent the tattoo flu if (when) I get another one. It basically all comes down to self-care!
🦋 Have lots of carbs, sugar, and hydration in my system before a session. Drink a couple of bottles of Gatorade the day before (and during) the session.
🦋 Get a good night’s sleep the night before. And afterward, relax and be gentle with yourself because your body just went through a trauma.
🦋 Leading up to the session, don’t do anything super activating. Being calm at the beginning will help make the adrenaline rush and subsequent crash less intense. A lot of tension in the body before the tattooing process begins could actually cause an immune response to occur, that might otherwise not have happened had there not been so much stored stress.
Those words were shared in an email response that I received from my psychologist last week. It had been a difficult session and afterwards, I spiraled. I emailed her in the midst of my upset and her brief reply ended with those words – Hope strengthens, fear kills.
Yes. I am scared. Terrified – of my own brain. I have no control whatsoever of the way it reacts to things anymore. Its like I’m dealing with a completely separate entity. I’m going about my day as if im babysitting some overly dramatic child that can’t be left alone for 2 minutes or else it’s going to get into something it’s not supposed to.
I got up after a nightmare that night and spiraled into the danger zone. I remembered that Magda (psychologist) had pointed out a couple of wins from the previous week (which I really appreciated) and she said that what I was doing was helping me grow my window of tolerance. In my frustration that night, I was like, “F* my window of tolerance. I’m not doing this”.
I want to be numb. I want to go back to the days when I was void of all emotion. I used to be so frozen inside but it’s like I’m thawing out now. I don’t want my thoughts to be so loud or sounds to be so clear. When my head was heavy and foggy and I barely even remembered conversations I didn’t have to deal with any of this stuff. My brain dissociated for a reason.
I feel like I’m going crazy. The fear is strangling me. Choking me. Killing me …
I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to me. So much fear, that I’m going to just snap, go totally crazy, lose my sanity entirely.
Fear. Its trying to kill me. The fear of uncertainty. Not knowing from one minute to the next what I’m going to think or feel. The fear that I’m not strong enough … that I might find myself completely alone and have to navigate it all by myself – again … that I’m going to collapse under all the pressure … fear that I’m going to start but never be able to stop crying …
Fear kills.
*Video clip of me in the midst of a panic attack*
BUT ….
she also said that hope strengthens. Hope. I need strength. I need hope. I’m not going to find either if I just wait around for it to fall into my lap though. So I must make it my daily goal to seek out hope. I know it exists in more than just the ink on my wrist. I see it around me. I see that other ppl have it. Its just that it never feels like there’s any for me.
If you want something in this world you have to go after it right? Well, I want to be strong. I want hope to fill me and strengthen me.
It all started when I went for my regular Ketamine infusion, which is part of my treatment for Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.
Felicia, the head nurse, asked if I was doing ok. She said I wasn’t looking like myself and that I was pale. I said I was good and that was all that was said.
I remember lying back on the stretcher while they prepped me, putting heart monitoring stickers on my chest, attaching a BP cuff to my arm, oxygen in my nose … I was shivering and could feel tears running down from the corners of my eyes but i had no emotions. It was strange because that doesn’t usually happen. They took my hand to start an IV and I heard a faint voice in my head whispering – don’t touch me.
I remember turning my head to the side and just letting myself drift away. Don’t have any more memories about the treatment than that.
Once the infusion was done they wanted to talk to David. Felicia asked him how I’ve been doing lately. David later told me that he told her I’ve been purging a lot, that I’ve been quite depressed and that he’s been worried. Apparently she told him that I’m not looking well. That I was pale, my eyes were dark, and my lips were almost grey.
I was awake, my eyes were open, but I was non-responsive. My neck and head were spasming and I was staring off with no reaction when someone spoke or touched me. So they decided to keep me an extra hour to give me more fluids and more time to let the meds wear off. David asked if they felt I had taken anything and she said no because my vitals were all good. But they did bloodwork just to be sure.
An hour later Felicia called David back in and told him that he needs to take me to the ER. Apparently I had been mumbling some things that no one could really pick out but Felicia had heard me say something about this being the end and it was almost time to die …. I don’t remember any of that. I’m just telling what I was told.
So they put me in a wheelchair and David registered me in the ER, where I sat/slumped for 9 hours. David said I kept falling to the side as if I couldn’t hold myself up. He had to ask for a pillow and blanket to put around me to secure me a bit. He said I was in a completely different world.
Then they called us in to a small room that had nothing but 2 chairs bolted to the floor. And that’s where I spent the next 26 hours. It was nothing short of brutal.
Tears are burning my eyes now as I write that. I think it’s cruel how this was handled. They took me from the OR after having a procedure done and forced me to sit up on hard seats for a total of 36 hours. I was hallucinating. I was in terrible pain and developed a migraine. Had multiple bouts of vomiting. And I started experiencing opiate withdrawal because after I took my meds Thursday morning, I wasn’t given anything until Friday night. By that time I had missed 6 doses of morphine. It was torture.
David had to leave at one point. We had taken our dogs with us that morning. So David spent the entire day going from me in the hospital to the dogs in the car. He’d switch every hour. Take them for a walk, a drink, get them a snack then settle them in the car again before coming back in with me. But they couldn’t do that all night. So around 10pm he spoke to the staff. They assured him that I would be in safe hands and would be looked after so he left to go home with the dogs. Just before he left, he brought me in Zoey’s blanket from the car because he’d been asking for a blanket for me for 2 hrs with no luck. So I just kinda dozed off, sitting up in the chair, with Zoey’s blanket over me.
At one point I started to be more alert and I was really confused. I needed to use the bathroom but there wasn’t one so I left the room and just wandered around a bit. I went to the nurse’s station and asked if there was a bathroom and he said down the hall on the right. I roamed the hospital for a while. Took the elevator a few times, and eventually made my way back to that room. I called David, upset, wanting to know what was going on. When he realized that I was still there in that room – alone, he drove back to Grand Falls again at 4am. In the meantime, while hyperventilating and being trapped in that space with the chairs bolted to the floor, I clawed/scratched/cut my neck.
David came, and he channeled his anger into fighting for me. He took me outside for some air then went and found a vending machine and got me a sandwich and water. I hadn’t had anything since 7am the previous day. Thankfully there was one nurse there on Friday that had a bit of respect and showed some compassion. She even gave me a little bit of her on personal toothpaste so I could brush my teeth. No one gave me a breakfast tray but she made sure there was one for me by lunch time. And she also contacted the necessary ppl to get my meds ordered.
Then my psychiatrist came. It was still another long painful day sitting in that chair but by Friday evening I was admitted to the psyc unit.
And I’m still here. I am much more stable than I was over 2 weeks ago but still have a ways to go. Have no idea what is going to come out of this.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of safety. It came up in a therapy session a few weeks ago and I’ve come to realize that I don’t know how to recognize what safety ‘feels’ like.
I know that I’m almost always on guard. I don’t know if it’s fear, anxiety, or nervousness, or what it is, that I’m usually feeling but I certainly don’t think it’s safety. It also seems like there are lots of situations where I FEEL like I’m in danger but the facts state otherwise. How does one bridge the gap between real and perceived danger? I am not living in a dangerous environment by any means but it’s like my body thinks I am.
It’s incredibly uncomfortable to be in a state of hyperarousal most of the time. And exhausting. Lately, it seems like I’ve been having an overwhelming amount of trauma surfacing, especially on a somatic level, but I have very little capacity to create any sense of safety in the midst of it. It’s wreaking havoc on so many levels. I wish there any way that I could somehow learn how to feel safe.
I feel so stupid saying that. To admit that I don’t know what ‘safe’ feels like seems so ridiculous and it feels awful.
My head feels unnaturally heavy. It takes effort to just hold my head up straight. Letting it rest against the back of my chair while I rock brings relief. I feel like I’m stuck inside a cloud of thick fog. Going to different rooms in my house, walking on the beach, out in my garden, even to the shower, it follows me.
Things sound different. Far away. I often need David to repeat himself because I didn’t hear what he said. Music doesn’t sound right unless I’m wearing my earbuds, which I’ve been doing a lot of. Having the loud music playing directly in my ears helps drown out the constant dialog.
The level of pain in my body this evening cannot be described. I just don’t have the words. I feel as if all I can do is sit here and keep reminding myself to breathe.
I wondered why the clocks didn’t stop On that day. My world stopped spinning When I walked into the bathroom and found you submerged in a bathtub full of bloody water. I wondered how the rest of the world could keep going Without you here. You took a piece of me with you On that day. But I forgive you. I’d forgive you a million times over if it would bring you back to me.
Ive dealt with disordered eating for as long as I can remember. It’s like it functions by a dimmer switch. It’s always there to some degree. Sometimes the switch is turned down and, while never really on friendly terms with food, sometimes it’s not all-consuming. Purging is random and not an everyday occurrence during those times. Thoughts are not centered on food all day.
Then the switch gets turned up. Something will be particularly activating and the behaviors become prominent again. l have a few days or weeks where food is at the forefront of my mind and restricting, binging, and purging is what everything revolves around day and night.
Then the dimmer switch will turn down and I can pull myself out of the cycle again.
This time it’s proving to be much harder to pull myself out of it. There was no gradual onset. And I can almost pinpoint the exact moment the alarms started going off in my head. It was when I was in the hospital a few weeks ago …
I was in the bed connected to the various tubes and machines, with no clothes on, just several blankets wrapped around me, bags of glucose and potassium running into my neck, fluids, and calcium flowing in through an IV in my foot, I had a catheter…
2 nurses were at my bedside with juice, cookies, and cheese telling me I had to eat it and they weren’t going to leave until they watched me finish it because after all, that food was my ‘medicine’ …
I was severely hypo-glycemic and it was imperative that they grasp every possible solution, and that included food with simple sugars.
Since that moment my mind has become preoccupied with every single bite of food I take. The monster in my head has woken up and is on a vicious rampage. I gained a few lbs in those 2 weeks b/c of everything I had to eat. And drink. So many calories were consumed through fluids alone!
3 days before I was discharged they took the catheter out and I could get out of bed then. The first thing I did was go and throw up. The tubes in my neck complicated things a bit because the pressure of vomiting kept causing the alarms on the IV pole to go off. But once I figured out what the different buttons were for I was able to turn off the alarms by myself.
So here I am, spiraling. I’m mentally and physically unwell because of the sudden lack of medication in my system. So vulnerabilities are running high. I feel raw, trying to claw my way out of this mess.
I sweep the shower curtain aside. A few water droplets fall from my hair before gliding down over my bare chest. My skin is bright red from the hot water. Steam rolls out through the window that was slightly ajar. It’s been a busy weekend, but it’s over now and we’re back home again.
It’s mid afternoon and David is in lying down, trying to catch a nap before he heads in to work tonight. Last night was a late one for us. Being the designated driver David spent the early hours of the morning taking ppl home. It was almost 4am when our heads finally touched the pillow. 5 hours later we were back in the car again. Thank God we are home. So while he rests, with the dogs curled up beside him, I go off to shower and calm myself down. In my own shower. In my own bathroom. In my own house. Safety.
The scalding water distracted me from the thoughts that had been swirling around in my mind. The tension that was trapped in my body that had been brought on by so much overstimulation, washed off me freely, mixed with the coconut body wash.
But the second I stepped out and my foot touched the towel that was on the floor, something didn’t feel right. The hair rose on the back of my neck. Goosebumps covered my arm and legs. The frantic beating of my heart became confused with memories of someone pounding on the door. Oh my god … there was someone else in the house.
Fear wound itself around me at the thought and circulated within my mind until it flooded my entire body with panic. I pulled the bath towel tighter around me in a lame attempt to suffocate the terror. Then, I reached for the doorknob and my hand lingered there. I couldn’t turn the knob, my mind was bombarded with images of who could be waiting for me on the other side of the door.
I pulled my hand away from the door, my lungs …too paralyzed to breathe. My shoulders trembled as I held back the cry that was threatening to escape from my throat. I forced my hand over my mouth to block it. Backing up, I felt the bench on the back of my legs and I let myself fall onto the seat. What the heck is wrong with me??!
I reached for my phone on the sink next to me. Placing my thumb on the screen it recognized my fingerprint and unlocked itself. I instantly searched for David’s name and opened up a new msg window. I knew he was asleep but assumed the sound of his phone receiving a new msg would stir him. ‘Are you awake?’
I stared at the screen, silently pleading for him to pick up his phone, a feeling of something dreadful happening consumed me. No response. I msged him again. ‘I’m really sorry for bothering you. I know you’re tired, my honey. But can you get up for a minute?’
Still no response. I thought of calling instead. The ring is louder than the new msg notifications. But that would mean I would also be required to speak. I couldn’t do that. My voice was currently non-existent.
A sob got stuck in my throat and my body trembled. I felt the sting of tears on my cheeks. Panic was pulsing through my veins. I thought to myself, “This is insane. There is nothing out there. There is no one out there! This is ridiculous. Why am I so scared??” I remembered that I needed to breathe. I have a tendency to hold my breath in moments like this and have been working on becoming more aware of it. I take in a small, shakey breath through my nose. “That was then … this is now. That was then … This is now.“
I repeated the familiar words to myself several times. I stood up from the bench I had been sitting on, and reached for the doorknob again. As my fingers touched it panic surged, threatening to drown out the mantra i had just been repeating to myself. Thatwasthen … this is now. Slowly I turned the knob and opened it ever so slightly. My chest burned from needing to exhale, but the grip of terror was strangling my throat.
I paused, waiting for that looming, dark figure to inch his way into the bathroom … but he didn’t. And suddenly I realized that it had happened again. My brain had forgotten where we were.
It’s 2024 … you’re in your own house … David is here … he’s asleep … you’re here in your own bathroom …
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face. My lungs began to relax and I took a few shakey breaths. I grabbed my robe and pulled it close around my body, letting the towel fall to the floor. Feeling ashamed and broken I left the bathroom and went to our room. I quietly positioned myself on the bed next to David, sound asleep. A few silent tears fell before I cuddled in closer to his back. The warmth of his body against mine reminded me once again …
The family has gone to the rec center to decorate for the birthday party tonight. I opted to stay home with the dogs. They’re here beside me, soaking up all the different sounds and smells.
In-law’s backyard
Chronic pain is wreaking havoc on my body today. Despite being fully recovered from being crushed in a car crash in 2010, my left leg throbs with pain. From the base of my skull to lowest part of my back, burning, lava like sensations flow in all directions. It too has recovered, from the same crash, having been broken in 5 places. It once rendered me immobile but I proved medicine wrong and within a year I was walking again. But the cell memory remains intact and sometimes pain pulls me under. Especially in times of high stress. And today is one of those days. But I know that this too shall pass.
Having accepted that I can’t do and be like everyone else today, I’ve resolved to breathe and be gentle to self as much as possible. After everyone had left though, anxiety wrapped it’s ugly hands around my throat and with one quick gasp I began to hyperventilate.
My body trembled … sounds faded away as a high-pitched ringing appeared in my right ear. The intense pounding of my heart was making it almost impossible for air to reach my lungs. The pounding echoed through my skull. An overwhelming sense of terror seeped into every pore on my body, causing my limbs to go stiff with fear. I couldn’t breathe … I was being smothered. Where am I? This is not my house. I am not safe here … I HAVE TO GET OUT!
Frozen with fear
Suddenly, I didn’t know where I was. I heard something being whispered inside my head … he’s here. I felt my body begin to tingle, sending a shiver right through my very core. I had a sudden urge to rip at my skin with my fingernails.
I was losing it. My connection to reality was slipping away and I was drifting into another time and place. I was back in an experience that I didn’t want to remember. In someone else’s house. Under someone’s watch. Being stared at …
Mixed Reality
My current surroundings are unfamiliar and therefore intimidating and I think it triggered an emotional flashback. Being alone in this house gives me a very unsettling feeling and I felt like I was being watched. That feeling of someone staring reminded me of something else. And the thing about a traumatized brain is that it can’t tell time. Feeling this way today brought forth a memory of a previous time when I was being watched. It was not a pleasant memory and my body reacted as if this was that same time.
With both dogs at my feet, both recognizing the shift in my energy, we stepped outside where the cool air worked it’s way into my lungs. The change in temperature and lighting brought me back to now. 2024. My in-law’s house. It’s a safe house. This backyard is safe. Zoey and Buddy are just a few feet away. Look at them. It’s 2024. Its just the 3 of us. You’re OK …
The birds are chirping. I pick out at least 3 different songs being sung. Several little ones fly up from the ground at the sound of my footsteps and into a nearby evergreen, causing its current inhabitants to flutter off to the next tree. I scan the whole yard for potential areas of danger and once I felt relatively confident it was ok, I looked down at Zoey and Buddy and told them it was ok to go play. Off they ran, overjoyed with canine pleasure.
Buddy and Zoey
I wandered around the backyard, first focusing on the ground directly in front of my feet,as I needed the visual proof of what was around me. The sound of one of my dogs nearby, sniffing something of interest, reminded me of their presence. This caused a slight wave of relief to roll over my chest.
Last Year’s Leaf
I looked around at the trees and took note of a couple of dead leaves scraping along the ground in the wind. There was a fairly steady flow of traffic on the road out in front on the house so instead I headed further into the back of the property. I wanted to avoid the street to keep the dogs away from traffic, but I also wanted to avoid the stares from passersby, strangers to me, curious to see this outsider who was here in their town this weekend.
Zoey and Buddy, Bay Roberts, NL
I maintained the general route the dogs were taking, zigzaging all around yard with them until the shivering from cold was too much for my burning back to endure. I had accidentally left my jacket at home, tossed over the back of a chair … 5 hours away. Still not wanting to go inside I went in and added another hoodie to my current outfit then took my mother in-law’s red blanket from the couch. Now here I am, in the backyard, attempting to soothe my body as much as possible.
These attacks are draining.
Buddy BuddyZoey
I need to get ready for this evening. Attending this 60th birthday celebration is far outside of my comfort zone. But I feel obligated to be there. We don’t make it to see David’s family more than a few times a year and his family is very important to him. I would never stand in the way of that. Having had such an episode (I honestly don’t know what else to call it. Breakdown, maybe? Meltdown? Crash?) take place recently, David didn’t want to leave town without me. So I agreed to make the trip to his hometown for his mom’s birthday.
First I need to make space to breathe in some calm and exhale the overwhelm, as I sit here in the beautiful outdoors.
You’re not crazy. It has all been real, and it stretched you, and at times, it has felt as if it would even kill you. Their words broke your heart. Their actions broke your trust. That injury broke your body. That illness broke your hope. That circumstance broke your spirit. BUT GOD… He came to overcome it all. And guess what? It never broke you! It challenged you, and it LOST!
You’re still here. You’re not “just” a survivor. You’re a fighter. You’re a warrior. And yes, you may be covered in scars, but they are scars of deaths defeat! Your scars have become a memoir of your journey, and they tell ONLY a story of triumph!
You see, they don’t see you the same way anymore, because a warrior was birthed from the destruction and fires in your life! What was meant to kill you, didn’t and while some keep judging you for starting over, others are clapping because you never quit! You went into the flames covered in life’s grit, but came out of the fire polished in Gods grace!
The abuse, the pain, the anxiety, the bullying, the fear, the anguish, the doubt, the worry, the crushing, the pulling, the words, the moments, the days and the years – were real, but so was your strength and resilience. You did it. You survived everything they said you wouldn’t! You are still standing, and you are a WARRIOR!
A lot has happened over the past week. My uncle passed away which meant I had to go back to my hometown, which happens to be at the top of my list of least favorite places on earth.
The 2 days I was there have stirred up a lot of unwanted crap, bringing on a stream of anxiety. I’m drowning in waves of it. Just when I get myself back to baseline, my body stops trembling and I allow myself to take a breath, the air gets stuck in my throat and I start gasping again.
I’ve spent my entire life believing I’m not smart. I sort of “know” I’m smart, at least in some ways, but I usually still feel “stupid.”
Maybe what’s happening might be a form of an emotional flashback? Feeling young and vulnerable, operating from the same emotional mindset and with the same emotional tools as I did when I was a child? Possibly.
But another part of it is just good old fashioned conditioning. If we’re told over and over again that we’re stupid, we start to believe it. Repetition works its way into our brain, whether or not we initially believe what’s being repeated.
When the people SENDING the message that we’re “stupid” are people who have known us a long time, maybe who even share our name and DNA, maybe people we were dependent upon for years … it becomes REALLY hard to truly test or second guess that message.
The thing about the belief that I’m not smart is, there’s no way to really disprove it. Not to my satisfaction, anyway. Someone can point out lots of ways that I seem gifted or talented, and I’ll just counter that stuff by saying it doesn’t count.
Is that what a “mental filter” is? The thing where we decide that the good stuff about ourselves “doesn’t count” for various reasons … but all the bad stuff, well, of COURSE that’s all true. Is that what a mental filter is?
It’s all a bunch of BS in my opinion.
Smart people get treated like they are stupid every day. It has nothing to do with intelligence. It often has to do with someone’s desire to control us by lowering our self-esteem.
A part of healing, I think, is to consider the possibility that maybe, possibly, we ARE smart … that the people who told us we weren’t maybe had some other agenda.
You did not come this far for nothing. I promise you. And deep inside your heart, you know it too.
Yet all the setbacks and all the obstacles and all the dark paths you have faced along the way make you question if you have truly made any progress at all.
Do you remember at the beginning when you could barely see the next moment? Now look at you.
You have grown. And taken chances. And fallen. And gotten back up.
And i think that if you were to be honest, you would admit that occasionally when the light shines just so onto your bedroom walls, you can see a glimmer of something. Something that wasn’t there before.
A dream, perhaps. Or a heartbeat that rises up from a place you never thought you had. You are not just trying. You are doing this.
And every step forward is a step in the right direction. Keep going darling. You’ve got places to go.
Remember, in order to get there you have to actually be here. So don’t throw in the towel just yet. Just you wait and see. Your sunshine is on its way. It won’t keep raining forever.
Oh, how I wish self compassion wasn’t so hard for me. It’s like my brain purposely goes against it. It doesn’t come natural. There’s a part of me that tends to speak in a compassionate way yet she gets knocked down repeatedly. Kind words spoken to self makes the demon mad.
When things are quiet in my mind and I sense safety in my body my thoughts are more productive, kinder towards myself, hopeful, truthful, encouraging, calming … they’re healthy. But more often than not my system is fired up. I yearn to feel safety but it’s a very rare thing for me.
I try and make the best of what I have. But the slightest little thing pushes me into high alert and my system begins firing threat signals. A sound, a smell, a cell phone notification, a car door, a movement, a bodily sensation … these things all crush my sense of safety and my body takes over. My heart rate shoots up, trembling overwhelms my body, sleeplessness haunts me at night and exhaustion plagues me by day.
I want solitude. I want healing. But it’s so far out of reach that it’s a waste of time to even try.
Its hard to talk sometimes. That’s above and beyond everything else, and it’s not a mental complaint – it’s a physical thing. Like it’s physically hard to open my mouth and make the words come out. They don’t come out smooth and in conjunction with my brain the way normal people’s words do. They come out in chunks as if from a crushed-ice dispenser. I stumble over them as they gather behind my lower lip.
One of the pitfalls of healing childhood trauma, in my opinion, is awareness.
Let me explain.
When you are at a point in your life where your history of trauma is affecting you on a daily basis you decide to enter some sort of journey towards healing. This may take on many different forms. It may involve finding a trauma specialist and entering some hard core trauma therapy. You may start seeing a therapist for some general therapy to help you figure things out. Or maybe you dive into it from a self help perspective. Whatever you choose, you just know that your past trauma is wreaking havoc on your present life.
So you’re on a new journey. You have information at your fingertips. So you do a deep dive into whatever you can get your hands on. If it relates to trauma then you are interested. Maybe you will find the very thing that will fix all your problems. So you read websites and books and articles. You watch YouTube videos and listen to podcasts. You want all the information that you can find.
In your search for answers you have several breakthrough moments where you realize why things are the way they are in your own life. You learn things. You fill your mind with all kinds of professional jargon. You read all about trauma recovery and the various steps it involves.
Ta da! You’re all fixed! You know all there is to know. You’ve taught yourself all about it. You’ve had your ah-ha moments and you have it all figured out!
There’s the pitfall. You consider your new knowledge and awareness to be exactly what you needed. Sound anything like you?
Yeah, me too.
Unfortunately awareness doesn’t change anything about your actual situation. You may now know why things are the way they are. You may understand more about your diagnosis of cPTSD. You may even think you don’t need therapy after all. You’ve figured it out!
Except, your life continues to unravel and you feel more lost now than you ever were before. Its because you’ve mistakenly thought that awareness was the answer. I did too.
Healing requires so much more than education and awareness. It requires action. Change.
Dishes … laundry … returning a call to my mom, who has been calling for 2 days but I don’t have the strength to pick up the phone and utter the word ‘hello’.
I’ve been putting off hanging a pile of shirts in our closet, but hey, at least it’s all clean..
I’ve been putting off some photo editing as well. I have a little over 120 pictures needing to be uploaded to my laptop, and sorted then edited but I haven’t been able to get in a clear frame of mind to even be able to think about it.
I’ve also been putting off something else… asking for help, telling somebody … because I anticipate that things will get a lot worse if I do. Depression has flooded every part of me, both physically and mentally. I have very little control over what enters my mind. From terrifying images that flash without warning to lines from songs that get stuck on repeat, over and over and over to absolute silence.
A couple of ppl know I’m not well but they aren’t in any position to help. My psychiatrist is out of the country until the new year. I have no more options. Unless … I go to my family doctor. Tell her how severe my insomnia has become. But I’ve been putting it off because …
I’m scared. I’m scared of having to answer any questions she may have because I really don’t want to talk about the fear, the dreams, the feelings, the memories …….
Her Complex Musings 
You must be logged in to post a comment.