Every Ounce Matters

Organizing this trailer with the "must have" pieces of my life is starting to become a fun and creative challenge. So I ordered some slim jewel cases to condense down the CDs and DVDs that I want to maintain, but when I went to the store to pick them up tonight I, immediately knew that I was going ro return them, because even though they consensed the space well, the box was way too heavy! There was no way I was going to take on all of that extra weight!

So, I have reordered a different style of cases, ones that will barely add any weight at all, but the degres of shock that I felt when I picked up that "heavy" box made me realize just how sensitized I have become to just how much everything weighs! Yes, size definitely matters, but more importantly than size is the fact that every single ounce I can shave off matters, too!

My trailer is like a backpack for my car! An I am obsessed with the baggage that's going into this trailer...how big it it...how much it weighs...how much emotional significance it has...whether it's replaceable....how much I need it...how functional my life will be if I keep it...and on the list of considerations goes.

And I can't help but wonder how different my life would be if I were as focused on the emotional baggage in life as I am with the baggage going into this trailer. I can just imagine how much lighter I would feel if I understood how truly burdensome my emotional baggage really is on my spirit...if I weighed and considered each and every piece of emotional baggage that I take on in my everyday life...if I understood just as poignantly that every ounce of emotional baggage matters, too.

Personal Liberty

I did something last night that is causing some inner conflict today, because I can feel the invisible seething criticism from the guardians of all things proper and appropos on the inside of "the box."

But the problem isn't the critical opinions that people are having about what I did...the problem is that I am giving these opinions power to influence my choices about how I live my life.

As I was taking the trash out this morning I grumbled to imyself that this shouldn't even be an issue in the first place. But then I realized that it's an issue because I'm not the only person who has a right to form my own thoughts and opinions, which means that free will by its very nature implies a perpetual sea of difference.

Conflict about this sea of difference, however, is not inherent.

There is a very clear line between the choices that I make in my personal life with cause that effects that affect only me (choices that fall within the realm of personal liberty) and the choices that I make that fall within the realm of community accountability. Unfortunately, we don't always agree with which choices fall within which category of rights. 

Personal Rights vs. Public Accountability.

Thank God for the artists of the world, because it is the artist who is compelled by its very nature to question the rules, to push the boundaries, and to speak a truth that the people of the box could not even dare to whisper.

However, for the artist to survive, they must come to terms with this inner conflict with the critic...or their voice will be lost in the seas of chaos. And I do realize that the conflict ultimately lies within my own mind. So, I grapple once again with this INNER critic who assaults my choices and tries to rob the joy from the fun adventures of my artist self.

And, over the years I have learned one important truth about my artist self...the more pressured she feels to be silenced, the more compelled she feels to speak out and hold these self-imposed guardians of the box accountable for their critical judgments and negative commentary about how everyone else chooses to live the truth of their personal liberty.

So look out...because I am about to clean me some house! 

The Phoenix

I am more than a little bit in love with this part of my journey, right now. Every day more stuff is donated or delivered to its rightful place, and I feel lightened with each day's release.

Today was another very productive day, and tonight I tackled what I first thought would be the toughest piles to purge...my "process" history...journals, sketch pads, poetry portfolios...calendars...photos albums...etc. But I was wrong.

Now I have a box filled with stuff to be burned. And I will create a wonderful ceremony out of it...just myself so I can immerse into the moment of it...the same way we go through when a person dies...to honor and celebrate the life lived and lost.

I am honoring the parts of me that have died along the journey.

This process is so liberating...filled with great reverence and respect...no sad, slow dirge. And at the end of this work, when I leave this part of the world and head east in search of the path to my roots, it feels like an entirely new me is rising up out of all of this death that I've been holding on to, moving from place to place.

It feels amazing...and I can't wait to get to know this new me...

Thoreau on Wheels

My life is in transition. But, it is not a transition from one place to another...or from one job to another...or from one obligation to another, either. My life is transitioning internally. No longer am I willing to put my needs, my passions, my purpose on-hold in order to further someone else's passion, purpose, or agenda.

My life is now completely my own.

I am also no longer willing to spend the vast majority of my week working to earn the chinks to pay for the home to house the stuff. If having the stuff means that I need to work full-time to pay for all of the stuff-related-stuff, then I don't want the stuff...which is why I am sorting and purging my life down to "functional minimalist." (Oooh, I love this term!)

But I am not simply moving from one place to another.

My life is no longer on hold. This isn't another temporary fix that I'm willing to endure until my "real" life can be made manifest. This is it...my life is here...my life is now...and I am fully engaged with creating it in a way that reflects this wonderfully liberating inner transition.

My life is here...my life is NOW!

And I realized this morning that my life is like "Thoreau on Wheels." I am stepping outside of the bulk of social conventions so that I can live an authentic life...an unencumbered life with freedom to chase my dreams and pursue my passions. Dear Henry may have gone to the woods and built his own version of functional minimalist home, but I am building my functional minimalist home so that I can go to MANY woods. And there may be few who ever understand what I need to do, or why I need to do it...but their understanding is not required in order for me to continue moving forward....and, so, I do.

My trailer is not something to carry my things from one place to another...it is my home...my tiny, tiny little tumbleweed gypsy home that will make it possible for me to simply be (at home) wherever I am.

I am Thoreau on wheels...and that is enough, for me :)

The Stuff That Binds Us

I am so filled with anxiety right now. I bought the trailer yesterday, which took a good chunk of cash, so I was expecting this anxious backlash.

But, I''m also continuing with the sorting and purging project, working to pare down my life into this very tiny trailer space. And, not to fill it to capacity, but to create functionality...so, paring down this stuff is kicking up HUGE waves of anxiety.

But this is exactly what this life change is all about! The stuff that's making me feel anxious tonight is stuff that I bought for future potential projects that I have not had time or energy for...and will NEVER have time or energy for...yet here I am, feeling like I can't breathe because these books are in a pile to be donated to the library!

I can't wait to rid my mind and body of all of this stuff!

Here's what I know...this anxiety lives in me every day, whether I am sorting and purging, or not. Because whether (or not) I am thinking about it consciously, there is a part of me that is VERY aware that we bought this stuff, and she's been waiting for her turn to manifest her projects, too...so that part of me has been stirring up all of this internal anxiety!

How many times do i need to be reminded that I can't do everything that I want to do?!

Oh, my goodness, I am going to feel so liberated when I am finished with this work!.I know it! I can feel the release of burden, which is what THIS anxiety is. It's not really even a "current" anxiety, because it's not about anything that's real in my life right now.This is a release of the anxiety that's become stagnant and binding of my time, my energy, my spirit!

This is anxiety passing through you...just breathe, and let it go....

Life On My Terms

Today I resigned from the last significant responsibility that I had on my plate...and I realize tonight that I have pared my life down so that for the first time in my life, I am finally living life on my terms...completely on my own terms.

But, living life on my terms has its price.

I had to let go of the job that provided financial security. I had to let go of the stable home that kept Sarra and me safe and warm. I had to let go of the academic program that promised to finally make me marketable. I had to let go of the piping society, community piping, and piper's glen. I also had to let go of all of the hopes that I've been carrying around within my heart about how other people might change the way they think and feel about me. But most importantly, I've had to let go of the image of who I thought I was supposed to be.

My world is crumbling to pieces around me...and I am doing nothing to try and stop it or perform CPR to resuscitate it back to life.

I am finally letting go...

On the other side of this process, I am creating a life that I can manage without having to answer to another single person for what I do, or how I do it. (Within lawful social parameters, of course.) And, my life is now pared down to nothing but me and what makes my soul babble.

My life is finally all about me...

I don't mean that in a narcissistic way. What I mean is that my life is finally all about me...MY passion....MY purpose...MY path. And because my life has been whittled down to nothing more than what I choose to do with my own life, other people's thoughts and words about me become nothing more than the  opinions that they have a right to hold in their own mind about me and what I choose to do with my life. BUT, they no longer have any authority over me personally, or how I choose to live and apply my passion and purpose.

No one any longer has a say in how I choose to live my life...as I am now only accountable to God for my choices and actions...so I am finally free to absolutely live life on my terms...

The Company You Keep

Everything has an end. But the past few months have been a long, painful series of letting-go of cherished and meaningful pieces of my life here in Prescott, with this past week resulting in the final loss that makes it absolutely clear that it's time to move on.

There's now nothing left here that holds any meaning for me at all, and the common thread embedded within each of these losses is choice...MY choice...and the inevitable loss that necessarily results when a difficult choice has been made.

I am only recently starting to understand, not only how much of a "bridge between" I have become, but just how damaging the toll exacted upon my spirit by the holding of this tension has been. And I am just beginning to find a connection between the anxiety that wraps itself around and through my chest, and the tension created by bridging between two sides of a difficult choice that I don't want to make.

It is a lovely blessing that I have such a strong capacity to hold the tension between opposite sides...between diametric perspectives. But, just because I can understand both sides, that doesn't mean that I don't have my own thoughts, my own values, my own beliefs that affect my ability to remain neutral,  unbiased, and choice-free.

I have been afraid to choose one side or the other, yet paralyzed by the tension created by having one foot on one side and one on the other.

The losses in my life have occurred because I have been forced by circumstance to support one side or the other...I finally had to make a choice. And once that choice was made, there was then a withdrawal of support both to and from the other side. And in those critical split-second moments when the deepest truth of my personal loyalties were decided, the bridge was burned...and there is, now, no going back.

I was reminded today that we are defined by the company that we keep. And as much as I want to resist this truth, the company that we keep is reflected in these critical choices of loyalty. What is more important? Sobriety? Or our druggie friends? This is only one example, of course, but certainly clarifies the point.

We ARE defined by the company that we choose to keep.

I have more choices to make, of course...choices about what is more important to me...because that's what makes a choice difficult...when we have to make a choice between two things that are both important to us.

Other people have also been making their own choices of loyalty...and it's always enlightening when people choose to disengage from their loyalty to you. Sometimes that process can be subtle and confusing, while other times as swift and shocking as a sword slicing off one's hand.

So, just like the hermit crab, I have outgrown a life shell, and there is great freedom in the letting go of something that has painfully bound and constrained me throughout this past year. I can see, now, that I have resisted letting go of this particular piece because I felt safe and accepted by the inhabitants in that world...even if my growth was limited and stifled by it.

So, we absolutely are defined by the company that we choose to keep, and I have made a choice this week that redefines who I am...a choice that burns a bridge and alters the course and direction of my life. And as painful as this is, I am strangley comforted by the relief that comes with this choice...and the curious wondering of why I did not make this choice sooner.

Right Now Plan

We read these inspirational quotes and Facebook memes every day, and we all agree that these wonderful warm fuzzies are the way life "should" be lived. But the idea of living in the now or living an open-ended life is soooo much easier than actually doing so, because living an open-ended life means that I have to let go of the endless possibilities as contency plans on the other side of this journey to Nova Scotia, which is proving to be much more challenging than at first appeared.

I have borrowed Miranda Bailey's plan for Seattle Grace Hospital, and have adopted it as the best description of what my life plan has become.

My new life management plan is the Right Now Plan.

So, today I am hitting the truth of this new plan head on. Well, actually, it's more accurate to say that this new plan is hitting me head on, because I'm going round and round in my head about the best way to proceed with the "stuff management" part of the plan based on this endless list of possible lives on the OTHER side of the "right now" plan!  But the cold, hard truth is that a right now plan sort of implies that there is no future plan that guides the journey, which is why my brain keeps spinning its wheels...it's having to integrate a new reality into existing thought structures that are resisting the reality update.

There is no "other side" contingency plan of a "right now" life plan.

This is so very difficult for me to let go of the illusion of control...because that's what these contingency plans are...the illusion that I will be able to manage and control the course of events that will take place between now and some intangible point in the future after Nova Scotia, so that I will land in the exact spot in order to manifest this plan of future contingency.

How can I possibly know who I will be after this life changing experience I am about to drop myself into?

I am trying to make plans based on who I am now...what I want now...what I can envision as possibility now. All of this is subject to revision anywhere from mild adjustments to a complete overhaul....and I can not know what that revision is going to be!

In an open-ended life, I'm not in control of the process! Or the outcome!

So my right now plan is not just kicking my ass, it's kicking my ass into a total and complete commitment to this journey. It's like I'm stepping through a Ring Gate, so it's truly an all or nothing venture. I can't keep one foot on both sides (the way I have managed change so far). No. I have to make a 100% commitment to this process, which is not as easy as it seems!

So I will learn how to live my life as it is actually happening by simply doing it...day to day...moment to moment...at each point and juncture that I will need to let go of the need to control both the process and the fore-planned outcome....one illusion of control at a time....one illusion at a time...

Soul Babbling

I just had one of the most fascinating conversations with an artist friend of mine. She made an off the cuff comment about not being able to change the past, and a jolt of truth reverberated through me that she is absolutely right, because we can only change the course and direction of where we're headed. Even in the small, local geography of our lives, we only have control over where we choose to direct our lives each day!

I seriously felt a jolt through my whole being to feel the truth of these words.

So we continued with this conversation, about directions of our lives, and she said she would love to spend time in Utah. For me, I have no spiritual connection to Utah whatsoever, so I asked, Why Utah? And, she told me that Utah makes her soul babble...

Utah makes my soul babble, she said.

Wow! This is exactly what my life transition is all about...why I've let go of an apartment that I've outgrown...why I've quit a job that stresses me and doesn't support my brain's healing... and why I'm engaged in a sort and purge process to free up my physical and psychological freedom....because I want the course and direction of my life to be all about moving from experience to experience that makes my soul babble.

I am shedding the me that I think I'm supposed to be, falling in love with the truth of who I am...and, I am absolutely changing the course and direction of my life so that my soul can babble every single day.

And life doesn't get any deeper or more profound than this.

Paradox

I just finished watching I am Legend, and while I've seen this film many times before, something very poignant stands out for me tonight...and that's about the basic human need for connection with other human beings.

I had a conversation earlier with a friend of mine (who also blogs) about this inner pressure that I experience when I post...an internal pressure created by the perceived outer pressure to just "shut up" about whatever I am writing. We both understand that writing about our experience is what we need to heal, yet we are healing in an environment that doesn't always value the public sharing of one's inner process.

For me, it's about survival...and just like Robert Nevill who talks to mannequins in order to feel human, we all have a need to speak and be heard...even me, the queen of solitude and isolation.

But what I'm realizing is that I am a bit of a paradox, because I'm so socially impaired that my trauma therapist is recommending occupational therapy for social repair work, yet I blog publicly about an inner vulnerability that seems uncharacteristic for a person who avoids people because she feels so threatened by and painfully vulnerable in their presence.

But I think this is precisely why blogging is so deeply important to me. My brain may interpret social interaction as a dangerous threat (and so it responds in ways that helps to promote and sustain social isolation), yet there remains a kind and sensitive "me" inside who still needs to feel valued and appreciated and connected with others (which is, of course, something to be achieved through the kind of social interaction that freaks out my brain).

Like I said...paradox.

Living with PTSD isn't easy, but it is what it is...and so I continue to journey on with my life doing the very best that I can to connect with people through this invisible war zone that separates me from my self.

50%

As I eagerly await the arrival of my very first set of bagpipes, there is a lot of information that I still need to sort through and make sense of, because just like a real baby, these bagpipes are going to require a great deal of care and maintenance...and if I don't know what I'm doing, then it's an investment worth nothing.

Yesterday's investigation involved proper humidification of the wood. I could have bought plastic pipes, but I wanted the wood, so I'm researching ways to achieve the optimal 50% humidification. And this morning I awaken with the nagging question, Why do I not invest the same kind of care and maintenance of my body that I am investing in my bagpipes?

High maintenance is what it is, and if I want my pipes to survive this harsh, humidity deficient desert environment, then I will need to wipe and swab no matter how tired I am at the end of the day. So I need to start applying the same dedication to supporting what I need as I am supporting the needs of my bagpipes...because I can always buy another set of bagpipes, but I can't buy a new body.

Walking Alone...

I'm sure I will look back upon where I am now from a future vantage point that offers a fresh perspective and feel grateful for the journey, but there is no gratitude in my heart on this day. This day is just filled by a cold, dark void, and I can't imagine ever feeling the warmth of joy.

I have never felt more alone, ever in my life. There are no hopeful horizons offering false senses of a better tomorrow, only this heavy resignation to the fact that this is my life, whether I like it or chose it, this difficult walk alone has become my life.

It's a choice, of course, because there are ways of walking with others, but the only path where I find integrity with my personal values is to walk alone. Yet even as I write this, I am aware that it's not really a walking alone...but, rather a walking my path with God...and that truth is the only comfort in the dark void.

I don't know why God created me so utterly clear on what a life of integrity with God means...but this is who I am, and not even I can change that truth. And, so I walk alone in this world...yet, at one within myself...finding gratitude that I walk with God...even if there isn't a single other person who understands the journey that is me...

The Tree Has Leaves!

I attended an early childhood conference this weekend, and something amazing has happened. During one of the workshops we were supposed to doodle something nature related, and I doodled a sketch of the tree that I've been sketching for twenty years, and this was the first tree in twenty years that has ever had leaves. The very first tree in twenty years that has ever had leaves. And not only leaves, but tiny purple buds of flowers!

Do not fear the dark stories. . . .

At first I thought the tree had a look of horror about it, but by the time I got home the tree was speaking to me, and it told me, "Do not fear The Dark Stories...for the beauty remains ever alive and vibrant, lying patiently in wait for the light to gently awaken the restless shadow of silent joy."

The restless shadow of silent joy is awakening!

I love what this tree has to say, with its first signs of life making clear that something is changing. And I will embrace this change, for this new tree has life vibrating all around it, with insects flittering around the branches and ants crawling up the stock of the trunk. . . and the music and love that flutters all around.

Let the awakening begin!

Lost Love, Found

Today is St. Valentine's Day, a day of celebrating love, so I have posted one of the many hearts that I have found along my path over these past three years. I honestly don't know why the heart rocks (and shapes) started to appear in my life, but they have become such a wonderfully expected piece of unexpected joy, so I honor these wonderful reminders that we are surrounded by love every day.

My life is a journey of love and healing.

I'm going through a lot right now, most of which no one person (except for me, and God, of course) really knows the full brunt of it. I don't need the world to know every detail of my life, but there are those moments when the behind the scenes process "leaks out" from behind the public persona, and I become all too human in ways that make me cringe and laugh at myself at the same time.

Abandonment issues are but only one of my Achilles heels.

Recent events in my world have caused a disturbance in the force. Someone who was in charge of something very important to me departed hastily, leaving the rest of us scrambling to figure out what we were going to do in response to being leaderless and potentially divided. And the night before last I read that he was forming a new group (rather than just taking an indefinite leave of absence publicly stated), which felt like a mule had kicked me in the stomach, leaving me nauseous and filled with uncertainty.

So I spent the day locked in the land of anxious thoughts, obsessed and fixated on the question, Why did he leave?

Well, last night, as I was tossing and turning in my normal routine of sleepless wall-gazing, I tried to find the source of my obsessive anxiety. And that's when it hit me: the roots to my obsessive anxiety about why he left go all the way back to when I was five years old and my Daddy walked out of my world. At five years old, my Dad was everything in my world, and when he walk away, it left a huge gaping hole in my heart that never found the answer to the burning question, Why did he leave?

And not only just, Why did he leave? But the deeper and more painful question, Why did he leave me?

To some, my need to understand the roots of my obsessive anxiety has no meaning for them. They think I am fixated on "the past" and should just "move on." The problem (for me) is that I grew up in a family system where there was no place for me to process what was happening in my life. So when my Dad walked away, there was no one there to help me process and make sense of that experience, because my job was to help my mom to stay emotionally grounded well enough to take care of us. So I had to tuck away all of those feelings so that I could focus on helping my mom, which has then left all of the feelings locked up inside of me. . .until now.

Yes, I have abandonment issues. . . lol. . . but I didn't get them all on my own.

What I find interesting is how this early childhood program is so perfectly timed in my life progression. Back when I was starting my master's grad school program, the family therapy program was all about family dynamics and family systems. That's where I started to process the drama of my very dysfunctional early life, but the focus then was on the family as a system, and not really the individual players. It was a good place for me to start, as I needed to sort through all of that drama first, to break the pieces down into "bite sized" chunks of emotional experience.

But now I am in the early childhood program where the focus is solely on the child. So what's happening now is that I am able to reflect on my own personal experiences as a young child as projected through the readings and class projects. Not everyone will process through this program the way that I do, but it is my way. I am using this program as a vehicle to search through my own childhood so that I can grow and develop my whole self, and not just the adult me who is engaged in this program.

I love the psychology of human growth and development, and I live my life as an in-progress work of art.

I think it's a wonderful sign that I am able to start accessing my feelings--MY feelings--from when I was a young child, instead of viewing my world as a character in the drama of my family. To feel the pain last night of the five year old me feeling lost and confused about why her daddy had left her is just such a gift, because now I can finally process through that very confusing and emotionally intense experience that's been locked up inside of my heart for nearly 45 years.

So my five year old self may have lost the love of her daddy all of those many years ago, but we are reminded each day of the love that surrounds us every time I find one of these endearing heart shapes along my path, the symbols of love found along the way. And I may still be "flying solo" on this most auspicious day of love, but I remain hopeful that someone will one day be able to love me for who I am, to love all of me, even the parts that still react to the dark stories that I carry within my heart and soul.

But in the mean time, I will continue to learn how to love myself in spite of my many limitations and liabilities. So Happy Valentine's Day to my little broken-hearted five year old self. . . .you are well loved and never alone <3

The Language of God

I have started to read and compare Bible passages from two different sources, which is giving different interpretations of the "same" pieces of scripture. This morning's reading was the story of Genesis, how God created the earth out of the empty void, and I've been thinking all day about the language of God.

God may (or may not) have actually given voice to creation in actual language, I don't know. But what I do know about the language that God uses to create is that it is studied every single day here on earth. . . only the academicians don't refer to it as studying the language of God. . . .in academia it's called Math, Biology, Physics, Astronomy, Chemistry, etc.

The language of God that creates all living beings is DNA. . . .the encoded "language" that creates a whole living and breathing human being. It's amazing, actually...to really think about how a human being is able to walk and talk, live and breath as a developed outcome of the unique and specific DNA written just for each person.

And the language of  God that creates the elements of earth is found in the laws of Physics, the protons and electrons, top quarks and bottom quarks, and the special forces that create all of the specific and unique elements found on earth. These laws are the language of God, and we don't even really give honor to the deepest truth of this fact. Every object that moves and interacts with anything else is governed by these laws. . .the language of God.

I was driving to school this morning thinking about how invisible the language of God is, yet so blatently in our faces everywhere if we just look at the truth of what creates everything. At first when I saw the cars I thought, well they're clearly not made by God, but I was wrong. We humans may mix and shape various elements in ways that allow for the structure and function of a car to emerge, and we feel smug in the glory of that accomplishment, but we haven't created anything. It's all still governed by the laws of Chemistry and Physics, so we haven't created anything.

Reforming and reshaping isn't creating.

It makes me think about free will in a very different way, because cars are not something that God created, yet they are allowed to exist because the language of God that creates the elements allows for the mixing and reshaping to happen, even if it ends up harming people and the earth. We're like mad scientists running around playing with a language we can't comprehend in any meaningful way. . . .but we play with it anyway. . . .which is such a terrifying thought, really.

I so very much want to put God first, in the ways talked about from the reading this morning, but it's not easy. I tried to hold my attention all day long today on just how beautiful the language of God is, and it's amazing how easily distracted I was by the language of the inconsequential and unimportant.

Well, I may not have listened to the language of God very well today, but I will try again tomorrow. . . .I will definitely try again tomorrow. . .

The Ugly, The Bad, and The Good

The band had a gig last week, the first one that I've been involved with since I joined the band back in October, and I learned something very interesting about my crazy PTSD brain.

I had decided that I was perfectly content to not play anything (especially since I'm only on the chanter, and not the pipes like the rest of the guys), but I was called out to play, and so I did.

My anxiety was more about having a panic attack or passing out than what anyone thought about me or my playing, but when my reed clamped up my anxiety rose even higher.

So I stepped away to change reeds, which I did, and then I have no memory of going back to play. I know that I did. . .and I remember (in fragments) the rest of the evening, but I have no memory of playing Chanty once I returned with the replacement reed. I was in such a heightened stated of anxiety by that point that my brain interpretted that level of stress as a trauma event, and completely blocked out the memory, even though it was actually a "good" event.

My brain is not differentiating between "positive" and "life threatening" events. . . .all it knows is heightened anxiety = trauma.

The up-side to this very disturbing fact is that it helps me to understand (and accept) why I have such a hard time focusing and concentrating when I am stressed. I don't know what to do with this information yet, but I think it's another very important piece to the PTSD puzzle I am (unfortunately) tasked with solving.

It's funny how the reed clamping up is such a beautiful symbolic reflection of exactly what's happening in my brain. And the irony is that the reed that I apprently did use to play hasn't worked since that night. . . .another symbol of the work that remains for me to do. . . .to fix the broken reeds in my brain so that I can play without having the excitement interpretted as trauma. Good grief!

So I will play (in public) again, and again, and again, because now that I know how my brain is processing a heightened anxiety expiences, I will use them to my advantage by re-teaching my brain that a heightened anxiety experience can also mean that I am doing something exhillerating that I enjoy, (so that it doesn't just automatically respond as if I'm being assaulted again).

It will take time and effort, of course, to fix the broken reeds in my brain, as the PTSD brain is no quick or easy fix. . .but I will grind whatever grist the mill requires, because it's really very important that I be able to remember the ugly, the bad, and the good.

The Best of All Possible Worlds

One of the very first college classes I took was an introductory philosophy class. It wasn't so much a general survey class, as it was an introduction to Descartes, but one of the concepts from that class that has bothered me very deeply for all of these years is the theory that we live in the best of all possible worlds.

This is the best of all possible worlds?

How can we be living in the best of all possible worlds when all I have to do is look around at all of the wars, famine, violence, child abuse, earth abuse. . . .the list could literally go on for days. So I've never been able to get on board with this philosophical theory, because it's very clear to me that this world is anything but the best of all possible worlds.

About ten years ago I received a book as a gift (The Four Agreements). I read the book when I first received it, thought it was a wonderful idea, but then it sat on my shelves collecting dust ever since. Then several weeks ago the trauma counselor mentioned the book in passing, and when she couldn't recall all four agreements I pulled the book off of the dusty shelf to find the name of the missing agreement. And after I had left a message on her voicemail with the agreement's name, I nearly tossed the book into the thrift store box collecting the sorted and purged pieces of my life, but something nudged me to reread the book instead.

And there it was: Do your best.

The fourth agreement is simply to "Do your best" in all things. Good enough advise, but in the book the author talks about how our best changes from day to day, and sometimes even from minute to minute because our best isn't going to be the same when we're exhausted or sick as when we're healthy and rested. Very profound. Well, profound for me, because this truth (at this point in my journey) is helping me to let go of the need to continually beat myself up for having done less than what I think I "should" have done either here in the present, but mostly about choices that were made in the past.

I contain multitudes.

I have always loved this quote from Walt Whitman, as I contain multitudes, too. I'm not a single entity, as there are all kinds of different "parts" to me (e.g., the concept of inner child , internalized parent, or inner critic are but a few examples of parts). The author also talks about how these different parts actually access and use a specific and unique part of the brain, which is absolutely fascinating to consider.

So, what I experience as my best on any given day is more the sum collection of the best of all of the different parts of me and how well they are able to work together (and clearly some parts are more limited than others. . . .lol). But I'm really doing the absolute best that is possible for me, given all of the limitations that exist within my life, whether that limitation is based on my genetic code, behavioral choices, cognitive belief structure, or damage to the brain from the PTSD. I'm doing the best that I can possibly do.

I live in the best of all possible worlds that exist within my self.

It's the all that catches my eye. Since I contain multitudes, then I also contain a multitude of worlds, because each part has its own specific and unique possible world (if it could function separately from all other parts of me, which isn't possible, of course, but this is the concept). Which means, then, that what I call "me" is actually a collection of all of these possible worlds that are contained within my self. And this is more than just an exercise in philosophy for me, because this truth changes the way that I comprehend the world that I co-create with every other part of God's creations.

Because, if I'm doing the best that I possibly can, then so is everyone else.

This truth is not very easy for me to accept, as I can be just as harsh in my judgment of other people's best as I am with my own. But at the end of the day, what this means is nothing more than this crazy mixed up world that we all co-create together (as the sum collection of each and everyone's best) really is the best of all possible worlds. Not because everyone is making the best choice for the world in each and every choice, because quite honestly we're all running around with our own ideas of what this "best" is supposed to look like. But mostly because everyone is just doing the best that is possible given each person's specific and unique limitations.

So we live in the best of all possible worlds, as the sum collection of everyone's individual best.

And while I still don't understand why some people's "best" includes not-so-random acts of violence against other people, I do have more compassion for the lot of the human race, and particularly for myself because I am harder on myself than anyone else will ever be. But that is changing. . . .slowly. . . .because I am beginning to see that I really am doing the absolute best that I can do.

Perhaps if I can remind myself of this truth often enough, I might actually start to believe it. . . lol.

Want -vs- Don't Want

At my last session, the readjustment counselor asked me the magical question of how I would "want" my life to be. She was trying to get me to look beyond the panic and insomnia, but her question did not have the desired outcome. I immediately shook my head because to ask that kind of question tells me two things: (1) she doesn't have a clue what to do to really help me, and (2) she doesn't have a clue what it's like to live exhausted with panic attacks every day! How would I want my life to be? I would want my life to be panic free and to be able to get a good night's sleep, that's how I would want my life to be.

But I can't have what I want. . . .and therein lies the problem.

So for someone who doesn't have them, I guess they just can't understand what a panic attack is (or understand why that kind of question would be such a slap in my face). Because I can tell you with great certainty that the panic attacks and insomnia aren't behavioral choices that I make. And while I may be able to change the way that I relate to them in my every day life, the panic attacks have hijacked my life. . . .and I certainly can't force myself to sleep. So please don't invalidate the truth of my life by posing a magical fantasy question that I would never be able to bring about. Grrrrr....

However, having said that, something wonderful has happened on the other side of her question.

I have been thinking about my life in terms of what I want, and what I don't want. The cancer I don't want. The panic attacks I don't want. The nightmares I don't want. The insomnia I don't want. But since these parts of my life are not choices that I make in the first place, all that's left is for me to either fight them (or not). . . to accept them (or not). . . .and to do what I can to improve my quality of life in spite of them (or not).  I have no control over these pieces. Period.

If I can't control it, I can't change it.

Powerful words. Especially when I look at how every single part of my life that I don't want boils down to these two categories: (1) the parts of my life that I don't want but do NOT have no power to control or change, and (2) the parts of my life that I don't want and i DO have the power to control and change. And it is this second list that has now sparked my keen interest and motivation, because there is actually a lot of things in my life that I don't want, but I absolutely do have have control over, which also gives me the power to make the choices that will bring about the desired change.

If I can control the choice, then I have the power to change what I don't want into what I do want.

So this is where I am with my very challenging life: it IS a challenging life. Which now means that anything I can do that will help to make my life more enjoyable, to bring about a higher quality of life, then I'm going to do just that. If this is really going to just be what my life is, then I'm not going to make compromises in any other part of my life where I have the ability to change what I don't want into what I DO want.

Which is why I am moving to New England as soon as I have completed this program.

I don't really want to live in Prescott Valley. I chose to move here because it's close to the VA resources that I need, it's close to the community college where I'll be completing this academic program, and it's where this amazingly affordable housing is located. Beyond that there is a very long list of things about this part of the world that I do not want, but I have compromised and have tried to learn to live with them because of the other positives this area offers for me. However. . .the only part of these factors that necessitates that I stay here (temporarily) is the community college piece.

So once I am finished with this program, I will relocate to some place where I want to live, because I'm just no longer willing to compromise on what I really want, especially when there are so many challenging pieces that I do not want, but have to learn how to accept them. Maybe if I had fewer difficult pieces it might be easier to settle for less than I want and compromise, but no more.

No more compromise!

So this is the year where I start transferring as much of my energy away from fighting against what I don't want, and chanelling it into what I do want. Oh, my. . . .it's going to be a very busy year!

A Tumble Weed's Life

Tumble weeds are amazing. They are the only plant that I know of that can disconnect its roots and roll around until they find an environment with enough water to support their life and growth. That's what tumble weeds are doing when they're out rolling around. . . . they're still alive in a state of hibernation,  searching for a better part of the world filled with the utopian hope of a better life once they have found what they're looking for.

I can just imagine what the planter box flowers think of the tumble weeds....lol.

Humans have people who are tumble weeds, too (only they're known by different names, such as gypsy, free spirit, wanderer, irresponsible flake. . .lol). I relate, of course, to the spirit of the tumble weed. And one of the most horrific sights for me is when I find a tumble weed stuck in a fence along side of a road, having been haphazardly blown there with no way of moving on the promised land. . . .stuck and oppressed by the fence of thwarted paths. My heart wrenches and wants to scream out the window, "Cry Freedom!" to the spirit of the stuck little tumble weed.

I guess it's more accurate to say that I over identify with the tumble weed's life. . . .lol.

I have always loved this part of me, the me who can uproot when needed and move on to greener fields on vast and distant shores. I've done it so many times that I don't very much think about it, really. I've uprooted myself with or without a job waiting for me on the other side, with or without knowing even a single person. Sometimes I think my life makes other people around me nervous, but it's my life, and I am mostly OK with it.

Tumble weeds don't have the same needs as planter box flowers.

Planter box flowers are afraid of the lack of a secure structure and uncertain sources of water. But these are not the fears of the tumble weed, as they uproot themselves with great ease to go off in search of the water. No, tumble weeds aren't afraid of uncertain water sources. Tumble weeds are afraid of fences and a civilized progress that boxes up the wide open spaces. And tumble weeds don't really care much about how scruffy other people think they look as they're out rolling around, either.

But there is a dark side to the life of a human tumble weed, and that has to do with the attachments we make with people we find in the environments where we have temporarily rooted ourselves.

I received a letter today from a woman I was friends with about ten years ago, and it was not an easy letter for me to read, as she was quite straight forward and honest about what she thinks about the way that I treated our friendship during a quick series of uprooted searches by my tumble weed spirit. It's no easy thing to read the hard, direct truth of another person when that truth is in response to the me on the other side of her anger and resentment that clearly remains powerful and present in her world.

And even though I know that the choices that I made had to do with me, what I needed to do for me, and had nothing at all to do with her or with any intention on my part of hurting her, the fact remains that she was hurt by the thoughtless and careless way that I treated the friendship. My friendship with this woman became collateral damge on the other side of my need to uproot and roll off in search of what I needed at the time, and that is not an easy truth for me to own. It's even harder for me to feel the truth that this friendship is not the only collateral damage created from a lifestyle of uprooting and searching for a better life.

So, tumble weeds may uproot themselves because they will eventually die if they remain where they are, but this is apparently no comfort for the planter box flowers who get casually left behind. I may have been doing the best that I could do at the time--and I was--but my best wasn't anywhere near as kind or considerate as I wish it had been. Other tumble weeds understand the lifestyle of "uproot and roll," but the planter box flowers do not always understand.

Yes, I have much to learn about how to nurture and maintain my friendships with the planter box flowers I find along my journey.

Grateful -vs- Gratitude

It always amazes me how I can know a word for my whole life, but then one day it just seems wrong somehow, or changed in a way that my brain no longer recognizes. That happened once with the word "tree," and no matter how many times I looked that word up in the dictionary, it just did not look like it was spelled right! Which also reminds me of the Friends episode when Phoebe's client/friend Steve smoked a joint and kept repeating the word "tartlets" because the word had lost all meaning. . . .lol.

The word that changed today was Grateful.

I bought a crappy little boombox yesterday because it was in the pricerange that I could afford, even though it wasn't what I wanted. But as it turned out, it wasn't just a crappy little boombox, it was a HUGE crappy little boombox, so there wasn't even a place where that monstrosity would fit! And as I was driving up the hill this morning to return it, I heard myself say, "Well, you should be grateful that you can afford anything at all!" Which is the exact moment when I became aware of just how much I use the word grateful when I have actually settled for something less than I really want (or deserve).

I should be grateful that I can afford to buy a crappy little boombox?

Maybe I can't afford (right now) to buy the CD player that I would really want, but does that mean that all that remains is for me to be grateful for crap? I don't think so. I would rather go without than try to force myself to feel grateful for settling for something that I even don't want in the first place. It's almost as if telling myself to be grateful for crap is an indirect form of punishment somehow. Or perhaps it's more the reminder that I don't really deserve what I want in the first place. But instead of being allowed to feel disappointed, I force myself into submission by reminding myself that I should be grateful.

I think there's a difference between this form of being grateful and what I believe is the true meaning of the word gratitude.

I know what it feels like to have an "attitude of gratitude," and it's an absolutely wonderful feeling, a feeling that makes my spirit laugh and dance in spite of crappy circumstances. But this other way that I use the word "grateful" has nothing at all to do with this kind of gratitude, because it feels very much more like a backhanded compliment from a "friend" who isn't really a very nice friend at all. I don't like that I force myself to feel grateful for something when it isn't really what I want. And I'm also aware of how very tired I am of settling for things that I don't really want because of some veiled belief that I don't really deserve what I want in the first place.

"I should be grateful" is really code for "beggers can't be choosers."

Well, I'm tired of feeling like a begger, because I deserve better than living a life in gratitude of crap. And I am just realizing that I've had this belief through my whole life. I am remembering how all through high school the boy I liked would call and talk with me for hours almost every night (even when he had a girl friend). . . .but he would ignore me at school because I wasn't one of the "cool" kids, so he couldn't afford to risk his reputation on being seen with the likes of me. I let that happen. I allowed him to treat me like a second rate piece of crap by telling myself that I should be grateful that this "cool and popular" kid gave me any attention at all. And not just him, either. It's not a pretty picture to look at my life through the eyes of a woman who no longer believes that she should be grateful for crap.

It's one thing to be grateful for the things that we have, especially when it could be a whole lot worse than what it is. But it is quite a different thing to force myself to be grateful when I have settled for far less than I deserve.

Well, I'm feeling very grateful for the lessons of the crappy little boombox now. . . .lol.

Going through the Motions

I love Chanty. I may not ever evolve to the playing of bagpipes, but I love playing Chanty. And I am discovering another unexpected lesson from Chanty, and that is the lesson of "going through the motions."

I've only been playing Chanty for just over two months, yet there are numerous times when I have either growled or snarled or loudly whimpered and whined because I felt so frustrated that I was never going to be able to learn  whatever it is that I am trying to learn. And it honestly feels like I'm never going to learn it, whatever the "it" of the moment happens to be.

But Don warned me. He told me that I would say, "There's no way I can do this!" a hundred times before I was done, but he also told me to keep going, even when it feels like there's no point. The tutorial book reinforces this idea, telling me to do the fingering correctly, even if it's out of timing, because the important thing to do is the fingering with clean notes, as that's how the fingers will learn how to do it correctly.

The important thing to do is to play clean notes, and the fingers will learn how to play it correctly.

The most recent frustration has been the "throws on D" that no matter how much I practice them, there is just no way that my fingers are ever going to move that quickly. But I keep going through the motions, just like Don and this tutorial book have been telling me to do. And one day last week my fingers quite unexpectedly started throwing on D, much to my great shock and awe. . .lol.

There's still much work to be done to play them well, of course. But I can't play or do something well until I have learned how to play or do the something in the first place. So I've become the queen of playing poorly, with the hope of one day playing well. Which sounds like a sad state of affairs, but I am feeling so much joy with even just the playing of Chanty poorly that the hope of one day playing her well is just the icing on the chanter cake.

So do my fingers have a mind and will of their own?

It's been a very odd experience to have to shift my thinking from "I am in control my fingers" to "just go through the motions and the fingers will learn what to do all by themselves." It seems like I'm in control of my fingers. . . .lol. I can consciously move them seemingly the way that I want them to move. But I am slowly beginning to understand that there is a process of learning that must become automatic, invisible, and outside of my ability to consciously control, in order for the playing (in the case the throws on D) with true precision and musical pride.

Who knew that my fingers would play best only when I get myself out of the way and just let them play all on their own.

On a completely different layer of my life, I am also being told to go through the motions. The theory of exposure therapy is telling me that since the lifestyle of avoidance behaviors has become such an entrenched part of the PTSD, the only way to undo these habits is to "go through the motions" of different behaviors, even if they feel fake or stupid or whatever else they feel, and eventually they will become the new habits I desire.

This is not at all what it feels like, of course. . . .just like with Chanty.

Well, in all honesty, I'm not enjoying the going-through-the-motions of Exposure Therapy as much as I'm enjoying the going-through-the-motions with Chanty. But Chanty is definitely helping me to trust the process on the one hand, because I can definitely see the fruits of the labor on the other. And while I'm not trying to learn "throws on D" in my personal life, Chanty is very much teaching me how to walk in faith that the going-through-the-motions with uncomfortable behaviors will eventually bring about the healing and change that I desire.

Who knew that Chanty would become not only a wonderful friend with whom I could joyfully dance and sing, but also a wise teacher who would become my beacon of light for a better life. . .

Beliefs

I have noticed a lot lately how I feel when I post certain blogs. Not the blog itself, really, but the content of certain blogs. And that's because I am very aware that what I believe is absolutely not what many of the people around me believe.

This is also a time of year that I see as a "battle of beliefs." Some people get highly offended if the word "holiday" is used in place of what they believe to be true. Yet other people get offended if you do offer them a specific greeting, especially if it's a greeting they don't personally believe in.

It's just a damned if you do, and damned if you don't time of year.

My personal pet peeve during this time of year is the pervasive belief that Christmas is a season. It's not. Christmas is one day, and one day only. There are lots of other days to be celebrated, other holidays during the season of Gratitude, Miracles, and Hope (which is what I believe this season to be). So I am not bothered that there are other holidays in the months of November and December that I do not personally celebrate.

Beliefs have great power to shape the course of reality.

My understanding of and relationship with God is changing, and it has been absolutely lovely to walk around feeling precious and special knowing that I was created for a unique and special purpose that I have yet to discover. And this new belief has also brought to the surface another outdated belief, the belief that I am inherently unloved and unwanted.

Believing one's self to be unloved and unwanted doesn't develop in a vacuum.

For my whole life I have grown up believing that I am inherently unlovable and unwanted. I've blogged previously about the context of being born to an unwed mother and a father who was married to another woman with two children who unknowingly became my half-brothers. It was also during an evolutionary period within a family system shaped by deeply held traditional Baptist beliefs, so the birth of an illigitimate daughter was anything but wanted and loved. And I invisibly held on to this belief as I journeyed through many other series of unfortunate events as they unfolded across time and space of my life.

But this is the season of Gratitude, Miracles, and Hope, and so it is possible for beliefs to change in an instant.

I never thought I would be able to move beyond the feeling unloved and unwanted, but I have. This new belief that God created me specifically and uniquely and with a specific and unique purpose really does change everything for me. And perhaps the story of my birth that focuses on the crises created in each of the two families I was born into is rooted in the belief that the illigitimate daughter born to an unwed mother and adulterous father is inherently unloved and unwanted. But there is more to this story than meets the eye.

Contrary to popular belief, I was not created by my parents. . .I was created by God.

So my birth isn't just about the human drama, because there's another story to be told. . .the story of how God created me specifically and uniquely with a purpose that I have yet to discover. And I'm honestly sorry that my newborn presence created so much pain and distress for everyone around me when I was born, but I didn't cause this distress, even if my illigitimate birth was the apparent and obvious cause.

God created this distressing event, not me. . . .so take it up with God.

Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Jesus, regardless of when his actual birthday might be. Which I look forward to celebrating with great joy and gratitude this year, because I find an unexpected appreciation of being born under circumstances that are less than normal. Although, in the case of Jesus I would have to rephrase that to greater than normal, as I'm not equating my own birth on the level of the birth of Jesus. But I do feel a sense of tangible connection with his birth in a way that I have not ever felt before.

And now I can see that Christmas isn't really about celebrating the birth of Jesus. Christmas is really about celebrating what many believe to be the purpose of the birth of Jesus, a purpose created uniquely and specifically for Jesus by God.

What a glorious day of celebration Christmas is going to be this year!

And wouldn't it be lovely if what was "normal" in this world was the belief that each and every person is created by God with a specific and unique purpose that make us all precious and special. . . .even if we don't always understand what that purpose is. . . .

Lord & Master

It's not an easy thing for me to openly admit that I've never really understood what it means to turn my life over to God. Some people refer to this as serving God's will, yet there are many different ways of giving language to this same concept. But I've never really understood what that meant in concrete terms.

What does it mean to turn my life over to God?

This past week I was made aware that I have a relationship with God the Creator, but I have no internal concept of God the Father or God the Lord & Master. Again, this is no easy admission for me, not to myself, and certainly not publicly in my blog. But it's true, nonetheless, and so I have been seeking to understand why.

Whose life is this?

I started from the most basic of all beginnings, and that is of my physical form. I did not create my body, yet I call it "my" body as if it belongs to me somehow. And this intrigues me how I call this body mine, when it clearly was created by God. And once I could release attachment to my physical form, I realized that the only part of my existence that really constitutes "me" is my thoughts, my feelings, my memories, my choices. In essence, it is only my will that fundamentally constitutes the "me" of my existence. . . .not my body. . . .definitely not my spirit. . . .and maybe not even my mind. . . .just my will.

My will is the only gift from God that truly belongs to me.

So if my body and my spirit essentially belong to God the Creator, then God is the rightful Lord & Master of both this body and this spirit, not me. And if this life that I am living doesn't really belong to me at all, then this is a truth that changes everything. I have always believed that God created me specifically and uniquely through my DNA, but now it is possible for me to also believe that there is also a specific and unique purpose for which both my body and my spirit were created by God, even if I do not now (or ever) know what this purpose is.

But does this mean that I am supposed to relinquish my own will and serve the Will of the true Lord & Master of this body and this spirit?

This is no simple question to answer, because at the deepest root of this question lies the issue of trust. I may be able to accept that God is the Creator of all things (including me), but to open up the possibility that even my life ultimitely belongs to God, and my job is nothing more than to live this life in service to this deepest purpose, then that means that I would need to trust that this deeper purpose will not contradict with the values and beliefs that I have come to know as that which defines me.

How do I recognize God's purpose for this life that I have been created to live?

I think none of this would even be an issue for me had I grown up with my self concept shaped as an instrument of God's purpose, but I didn't. So after nearly fifty years, to contemplate the possibility that my life may not actually be mine is a huge leap of faith and trust that this treasure map that lies dormant within my heart will not lead me into even deeper depths of darkness. And while God may, in fact, be the true Lord & Master of this body and spirit that I call me, can I really trust this map?

Can I trust this inner map of God's purpose for this life I have been created to live?

As selfish as this sounds, I don't know what it would mean for me to trust this deeper purpose for this life God created me to journey through. What if I hate the purpose that God created me to fulfil? Seriously, what if the purpose for which I was created is a hideous, boring, absolutely innane purpose? Even my asking of this question feels obnoxious, but it's the truth of what I feel right now!

Yet on another layer of this, it also feels like a huge burden of responsibility would be lifted from my shoulders. To let go of my need to figure everything out on my own would also mean that I could simply wake up each day trusting that I would be guided and supported along the journey of fulfilling the purpose for which God created me, which feels like a huge relief, actually. I had no idea how exhausting my life has been, this life shaped by the core belief that if I didn't do it, it wasn't going to happen. But to lay that belief down feels like a death of sorts, yet also like a renewed source of energy for my spirit at the same time.

Wow! It's just so clear how this core belief created a life map where I was responsible for everything, but had the power to control nothing. No wonder I am so exhausted!

It's also clear that both my body and my spirit have been created by God and encoded with the deepest purpose of my life. And whether I trust this inner treasure map or not, what I do know is that I will never find the treasure (the purpose for which God created me specifically and uniquely) if I do not trust it enough to allow it to unfold and speak its hidden language to me in a way that I can see and hear in my everyday life.

Knock, knock.

Now I'm feeling a little bit like Bilbo with my own unexpected journey knocking upon the door to my life, a journey that beckons me out into the vast unknown. Do I choose the illusion of safety and comfort of my warm and cozy home? Or do I seek to unravel the mystery that is already written upon my heart, a mystery that has invisibly shaped my journey all along?

It is funny how the curiosity of what this mystery might unfold really is greater than the fear or desire to remain warm and cozy. . . .because I really do want to know what this purpose is, a purpose that was important enough for God to create this amazing life that I am blessed to live in order to have this purpose fulfilled. A purpose that makes me feel precious and special in a way that I have never felt when I was living by the map of illusion of responsibility and control.

So I'm not the Lord & Master of "my" life--there are certainly far worse things that could happen to me. And it's not about a battle of wills, either (i.e., God's Will versus my own will). It's about making a choice between the life map created by a distorted belief that perpetually makes me feel responsible for everything (yet in control of nothing) and all alone in the world, and the life map created by God that makes me feel precious and special and supported along the way.

This is the moment, right here. I have travelled my entire life to reach this very moment. No one could have told me or shown me how to get here, as it is a moment that must be discovered all on one's own. Not even God could have brought me to this moment, because it is a choice that my will has to make, a choice to relinquish the map created by distorted beliefs in exchange for the treasure map that God has created for me (which, ironically, also makes it the only true moment of my life where if I didn't do it, it really wasn't going to happen).

It's funny how the irony of paradox works, but I think I'm finally ready to serve God. . . .

Finding God

My life has finally hit a turning point. Finding this PTSD Forum has helped me to learn what PTSD is, and also what it's not. I no longer hate the panic attacks. . . .which means that I am no longer fighting against them. . . .which ultimately means that I no longer hate or fight against myself.

Yes, I have definitely hit a turning point.

One of my uncles called me last night. . . .out of the blue. . . .in the middle of the dark night. He told me that he had read some of my blog and felt compelled to call me to tell me how precious I am, that he loves me very much, and that he has loved me for my whole life.

What a gracious and unexpected gift :)

He also told me that he completely understands what I'm going through with the panic attacks, and he shared with me how God had helped him through some of his own trials and tribulations. He told me to turn to God, that God alone holds the power to help me through this place where I am struggling.

The problem is that I don't turn to God for help, so I don't really know how to do so.

That may sound "weird" to some, but I didn't grow up with God. My mom, in her own way, thought she was helping us by letting us kids make our own choice about God and whatever church we wanted to attend. That may have worked had she given us language about and understanding of God at home, but she didn't. So I didn't grow up with God. And I especially didn't grow up with a God that I could turn to for help or protection.

On the contrary, I grew up in a world where I felt abandoned by those who were supposed to keep us safe and protected. That's not meant as a pitiful statement, but as a statement of fact. For many dark and twisted reasons, I absolutely grew up in a world where the people who were supposed to love and protect the little children didn't. And there was no God for me to turn to for help, comfort, or protection. So I learned very quickly that I was on my own, and if I didn't take care of whatever "it" was, it wasn't going to happen.

If I don't do it, it's not going to happen.

To grow up with this core belief meant that I was the only one capable of holding the chaos in my world at bay. Which also meant that I was in charge, that I was in control (which is exactly what a "parentied child" grows up to believe). I'm not "blaming" my limited parents or the observers who turned a blind eye to the fragments of our chaotic world that slipped through the cracks of family privacy. I'm just stating my personal truth, the historical fact that in my chaotic little world, if I didn't take care of it, whatever that "it" was, it really wasn't going to happen.

I grew up in a world that did not include God.

Well, I may not have grown up with God, but I did find God along the way, although I think the God I found is not quite complete and whole. Because in response to the conversation with my uncle last night, what I am beginning to realize is that while I absolutely believe in and have a wonderfully rich relationship with God the Creator, I do not know God the Father or God the Lord and Master. And that is precisely because I grew up in a world where I was the parent, and with a world view core belief that if I didn't do it, it wasn't going to happen. When there was chaos, I didn't ask God for help because I didn't grow up with this God. I did what needed to be done to protect my brothers and take care of my mom. That's what I did, becasue if I didn't do it, it didn't get done.

But I think I am outgrowing the world of illusion where I am my own Lord and Master.

Letting go of the illusion of control when you perceive the world as a terrifying, chaotic place is no easy task. But I think it's what I need to learn how to do. Accepting the truth that the panic attacks are something that I can't control is forcing me to look for help outside of my ability to take care of them, but I just don't have a lot of experience with this concept. And as condescending as it feels to me when other people tell me that I need to "Let go, and let God," I am seeing clearly that if I don't find a way to do just that, I will die alone and under the worst possible of deaths. And that's not at all what I want for myself. . . .not now. . . .not ever.

Let go, and let God?

To openly admit that I'm not in control is not about admitting weakness. . . .it's about admitting and naming the choas itself, because that's what I'm trying to control. It's not about the control itself, it's about the chaos that "needs" to be controlled. So to admit that I can't control something, is to admit that there is "something" that needs to be controlled, and that something is a wall of chaos that completely surrounds me, that utterly terrifies me, that leaves me feeling frightened and alone in the middle of what I've spent my entire life trying to control by deny it existed at all. So to let go of this illusion of control means that the wall of chaos is going to collapse in on me and flood my world with 50 years of truth never spoken.

So, right now, "Let go, and let God" feels like certain death, or worse. . . .

And while I may very well be outgrowing the world of illusion where I am in control, I don't yet know if I can believe in, let alone trust a world that includes a God the Father or God the Lord and Master who can deliver me from the chaos of this truth.

So I will continue on this journey. . . .in search of a world where God is in control. . . . one day at a time. . . .one turning point at a time. . . .

Avoidance & Exposure

Leaps of faith are not always what they seem to be, but they are leaps of faith, nonetheless.

I read an article last night on the PTSD forum about how the simple act of just reading information posted in the forum WILL increase PTSD symptoms, but that is exactly what needs to happen in order to help the PTSD brain to heal.

What?!

One of the hallmarks of PTSD, in fact it's one of the pieces of diagnostic criteria, is Avoidance with a capital A. Yet I have been highly defensive when my trauma counselor has repeatedly told me that my "life style of avoidance" is part of my PTSD. I have a life style of avoidance? Is she nuts?! But after reading that article last night I finally understand what she's been trying to tell me for this past year and a half.

I have developed a life style of avoidance.

After 27 years of panic attacks, I absolutely avoid identified situations that have triggered off panic attacks in the past. And, these areas of avoidance have generalized into an avoidance of activities where I am alone and isolated from quick resources for help, which has greatly limited my ability to do things that I enjoy, since most things I enjoy involve activities of solitude.

Avoiding what I enjoy also avoids the joy.

But, more importantly, I avoid people, people who I feel don't understand me or the way I choose to live my life, especially people by whom I feel harshly judged. When I was living at the canyon in that tiny microcosm of a closed community, I felt so exposed and vulnerable when I returned from my nearly 3 month leave of absence last year that I removed almost every single canyon-related friend from my Facebok account. Why? Because when I was standing in line at the general store, a fellow employee in the lane next to mine was whispering into the ear of his friend, very clearly talking about me, then they both looked over at me and started laughing. I know that shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. And not just on the surface, but very deep beneath all thicknesses of skin.

And so I deleted everyone from the canyon off of my Facebook.

I feel hideous enough all on my own. . . .so I certainly don't need the open ridicule of cruel and insensitive people heaping salt on top of the open wounds I work so hard to heal. And I'm starting to feel that "dump and purge" reaction rising up again, but that's not how I want to manage the anxiety I feel when I perceive other people not understanding me or judging me harshly. All I want is to feel like I am on equal footing, rather than the hideously damaged, broken, inferior person in the room. So I avoid people. And I avoid doing things I enjoy alone because I'm isolated from resources of help. And I avoid doing things I enjoy with other people because I avoid the people.

Vicious cycle. Catch-22. No win situation. It's no wonder I feel so isolated and alone.

Ultimately it's me who needs to change, not anyone else. Ultimately it's my perceptions about how other people think about me that needs to change, not how anyone actually thinks or feels about me. And I can be angry with other people all day long for not understanding or accepting me, but I'm only angry because underneath the heat of that layer of resentment and disgust I am really just utterly terrified of how they will respond to the truth of who I am. So I avoid people. . . .or I avoid the truth of who I am. . . . .a double edged sword of avoidance that only feeds and fuels the PTSD.

The solution, of course, is found in the theory of exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy tells the person with PTSD that they avoid what they are afraid of. Well, every single human being does that. But. . . .the person with PTSD does this to such an extreme degree that their life and relationships become dysfunctional (painful functioning) and/or afunctional (lack of ability to function). And exposure therapy further tells the person with PTSD that in order to heal their brain, they need to increase their symptoms, to flood their mind and body with a heightened stress and anxiety. Well, I can say with absolute certaintly that these are the exact opposite beliefs of someone who is living with PTSD. . . .lol. But exposure therapy reassures the person with PTSD that the increase in symptoms and heightened stress and anxiety are exactly what allow the mind and the body to finally process the stuck points, the thoughts and feelings that cause a person to avoid the persons, places, things, or ideas that are perceived as the source of the anxeity in the first place.

Holy crap, Batman!

It's interesting how I avoid the nouns in my world when the verbs are percieved as a threat in some way. And what I realize this morning is that this blog is such a very important part of my exposure therapy. This blog is where I battle with all of the nouns and verbs that I perceive as threat in some way to me and my personal integrity. This blog is where I confront the fear of what other people will think about me for having written nothing more than the truth of who I really am. And every single blog post I make, I challenge and hold accountable the thoughts and fears within my own mind that try to force me back down inside of this tiny little box where some tiny little frightened part of me believes that people in her world won't understand or accept her exactly as she is, even if it's exactly the way God created her to be.

Thank you, God, for creating my spirit larger than this frightened little part of me.

Very often there is great emotional intensity for me in the writing and (especially) the posting of my blog, but I post it anyway, because it's what I need to do. Then I sit back waiting for the fallout (which never really comes, but I anticipate it anyway). And now I understand that this heightened intensity is exactly what I need to help heal my brain, to help heal the damage caused by the PTSD poison. If I needed surgery to heal from a physical disease, I think people are more inclined to understand what's needed for recovery and healing. But healing all of these internal and invisible wounds? Not so easy for people (even myself) to understand.

The more I understand about my self, the less I care about what anyone else thinks.

My blog is literally saving my life, with no less importance as antibiotics can save the life of a body attacked by infection. Because this blog, as part of my exposure therapy, is helping me find the courage and strength to write about the truth of all the nouns and the verbs that create the story of me and the journey to my self. . . .even when the fear of doing so feels like it will crush me like a slow moving glacier across the landscape of my life.

After reading the lives of many other people living with PTSD who continue to choose avoidance over speaking their truth and risk of being hurt, I choose the risk of making myself vulnerable so that I can expand my world and bloom where ever I am planted. And as inconsequential as this blog may seem, each post of my blog is like a tiny little dose of antibiotics that fights the virus of Avoidance and heals my brain. . . .like a tiny leap of faith that I will survive no matter what anyone else thinks about what I write, no matter how anyone else responds to the truth that is me.

And, so, my healing journey continues . . . .one noun and verb at a time. . . .one post at a time. . . .one tiny leap of faith at a time.