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The Emotional Rug-pull

February 12, 2024 //
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The day got off to a challenging start. Lab work needing to be done had already thrown my routine off more than a little bit, and that seemed fine and accounted for, but real life is not exclusively dependent on my own lived experience of it. Ever. An absolutely reasonable request by my Traveling Partner (more of a wish or hope than a request, actually) that we find somewhere closer to do this sort of thing added a layer of complexity and an opportunity for miscommunication. That didn’t have to be “a thing”, but eventually became one, simply by being one of many details weighing on me.

I rolled with the changes best I could, and even found myself feeling a moment of real satisfaction and delight with a work call that went exceptionally smoothly with great positive outcomes (happy boss, happy customer, happy me)… then… the “rug pull”.

Look, this is a thing probably everyone experiences now and then, I was riding high on a great feeling, and then, suddenly, that was gone in a moment of… something else much less pleasant or satisfying; my partner’s discontent. It happens. There I was feeling good, and then there he was, not feeling so good himself at all. He shared that experience with me, because as it happened, I was the driver of his poor experience (loud conference calls are annoying to have to overhear, successful or not). My mood was immediately wrecked, not because he did anything “wrong” and not because the moment required it, but just because – no bullshit – I’ve got mental health issues, and one of those is that I struggle to maintain perspective, to refrain from fusing with my partner’s emotional experience, and I take shit personally far far too often. Bouncing back is hard for me (the biochemistry of my emotional experience doesn’t resolve quickly) – thus my rather constant harping on resilience and practices associated with it. I need that practice, badly, and even with all the practicing? My results vary.

After the lab work, and getting my Traveling Partner back home, and doing what I could to set him up for comfort for the day, and getting on the road to head to the office to finish work (because rather stupidly I’d also managed to schedule an afternoon doctor’s appointment on this very same f*ing day, with limited room to maneuver or adapt and basically had to go into the city just to get to that appointment later on) – I finally had a chance to get a cup of coffee. It was almost 11:00 by that point, and I was developing a splitting (caffeine) headache, on top of my usual headache. Fuuuuuuuck. Still, 4 shots of espresso shaken with ice goes a long way toward dealing with a caffeine headache. My blood sugar was dipping by the time I reached the office, and I was a seething mess of vague fury and aggravation that extended well beyond any association with the day’s events thus far. I mostly managed to avoid snarling at any hapless humans to cross my path, and got logged in and head-down in the spreadsheets with a quickness. Maybe that’ll be enough?

…It wasn’t, really…

Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Try to remember this shit isn’t personal, it’s just random human bullshit and temper. Let it go. Let it go. Let. It. Go. It’s hard sometimes. I wanted to enjoy that feeling of pride in my work and that sense of accomplishment, and savor a job well done. I didn’t get to do that, even a little bit, and it was less because my Traveling Partner was irked over my loud talking so much as how much it stung to hear about it right then. Like it or not, generally the things my partner has to say just “hit my consciousness harder” – regardless how meaningful, significant, trivial, urgent, heartfelt, or true (or the opposites of any of those things) they may happen to be. The smallest moment of irritation from him is enough to sadden me for at least a moment, and even more so (and for longer) when it’s legit something I’ve done or not done, or something I’ve fucked up for him. That’s a fucking mess right there, I get it. Not super healthy – but refusing to acknowledge my baggage on this doesn’t let me unpack that baggage. The way out is through. So I put myself through the exercise of reflecting on it, asking some hard questions of myself, and weeding out my bullshit from what matters most.

Once I had a minute to think about things more clearly (after some coffee, after some calories), I realized I could not realistically work efficiently and complete the tasks I had in front of me, and also go to that afternoon appointment that was scheduled for a in-office visit (could have maybe made it work for a virtual appointment). So I canceled and requested a reschedule. I tried like hell to pick a date that wasn’t already scheduled for some other appointment (mine or my Traveling Partner’s), and tried to pick a week that wasn’t so overloaded with obvious meetings and calendared workload that it would be a poor fit in general. Once I’d done so, a lot of the stress was gone (although I also miss doing this appointment, which is already overdue).

…You know what wasn’t gone? My shitty mood. I keep finding myself on the edge of tears, and it’s 100% fragility and bullshit and I’m as annoyed with myself over that as over any other detail of the day so far. I think what gets me most about the “emotional rug-pull” as an experience, is how poorly I’m able to bounce back from one of these, and how fucking common they are for me personally. Like… my implicit sense of things is that “the better I am feeling in a given moment, the more likely an emotional rug-pull from some source will be”. The common factor isn’t at all where that might come from, and 100% is simply “me”. I feel relatively confident that both the high likelihood of an emotional rug-pull developing, and how hard it is to bounce back, are “me things”. This stings. Like, a lot. I mean, on the one hand, if it’s me – surely I can work on that, yeah? …My results vary. I keep practicing practices. I keep working on building emotional resilience – and counting on it. I keep failing in this very specific peculiar way (that is not at all unique to me). Frustrating. I stay angry because I’m angry at myself as much as anything else. Angry that it matters enough to fuck with me like this. Angry that “my results vary” as I work to sort this out, over time. Angry, even, that “people” don’t bother to just reality check the likely outcome of sharing negative feedback with others to maybe, just maybe, avoid wrecking a lovely moment. (Note: that’s definitely too much to ask of human beings generally; we are centered in our own experience much of the time, and how the hell would a person even determine reliably how someone else is feeling without asking first, which would become a completely different conversation?)

A lot of people with trauma histories struggle with the “emotional rug-pull” and with a sense of “waiting for the other shoe to drop” any time things seem to be going well. That’s a thing to work on… it’s not easy, and it takes a ton of practice (and many practices). It gets better. It’s not as bad as it once was (for me), I just still deal with it, and when I do it still reliably sucks, and I definitely don’t like the experience at all, nor do I find any value in it. It’s just a shard of chaos and damage – a metaphorical splinter in my paw that I’d like to figure out how to remove.

I take another breath and refrain from having still more coffee (there’d be comfort in that, but also caffeine, and I’ve had mine for the day). I open a bottle of water. I make an effort to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, winter, women

See You Next Tuesday

January 18, 2024 //
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I find one of the most difficult (and worthwhile) practices to be refraining from taking things personally. It’s so easy to bask in the glow of a lovely compliment and take that to heart… but… the same person telling you that you’re awesome yesterday could very well be calling you a fucking bitch when they see you next week. That’s about them.

If I let myself become invested in some other person’s opinion of me to the point that it becomes self-defining, I’m likely to end up constantly spun up every time they change their opinion in some moment of joy – or anger. That doesn’t sound particularly healthy, at all. Using another example; if taken personally, shit talk from another room could be a huge mood wrecker and potentially a source of conflict. Avoid taking that personally, and it’s simply that other person dealing with their own emotions (however well or poorly, which is a separate concern). I’m not saying it’s easy to avoid taking shit personally, at all, I’m just saying its a worthwhile practice. So – I keep practicing.

…An insult is like any poison; it only affects you if it gets into your system. Don’t drink the poison.

Human primates are messy and sometimes unpleasant to deal with. Doesn’t matter if it’s that guy over there, or the person in the mirror – we’ve all got “issues”. Making a point of letting that other person’s issues be their own (and not letting them also become yours) is a good step toward feeling centered and calm, even when there’s a bit of chaos about. It’s also easier to focus on and deal with your own issues if you’re not all wound up in someone else’s moment. It’s one useful thing about being individuals; you can let that person be who they are, let them have their moment, and go right ahead and work on you while they do. Non-attachment is another useful-but-also-difficult practice. I take a deep breath and let it out.

I sip my coffee. The day started early, and less than ideally well. I got up, dressed, and went directly to work. I’m not in a good mood, and just dealing with that is taking quite a lot of my focus and effort. I had my day planned differently, but circumstances often don’t check my calendar. lol Later this morning, I’ll attempt to make the drive to a town nearby to get some lab work done that has been delayed by the inclement weather. I’ll return movie rentals on my way back. Maybe take a package to the post office. All of this is dependent on the condition the road is in, later in the morning. I admit – I’d very much like to get out of the house for awhile. I’m feeling a bit cooped up, and it’s exhausting trying to keep up on work, the housekeeping I usually do, and handle the tasks and chores my partner typically handles, while also doing things to support and care for him while he recovers from being injured. It’s a lot. I’m fucking tired. I’m tired enough that it limits my ability to graciously deal with stress or moments of temper, and since we’re both human primates, there’s reliably a bit of that now and then. I could do better. I keep practicing.

…There’s a lot of practicing going on this morning…

I sigh. Continue to drink my coffee. I could use some real “down time”. My last “coastal getaway” was mostly spent working, and was done primarily with the intention of giving my Traveling Partner time alone to work on a project – neither of us anticipated that he’d get hurt and be both unable to work on that project at that time, but also have to shelve it for weeks while he recovered. I came home from a getaway that provided little down time at all, to increased workload and increased stress with few opportunities to get away from either because I was needed right here at home to provide my partner with care because he just couldn’t get around to do basic tasks for himself. I’m exhausted, and I’m very much yearning for some time to myself to just exist on my own terms for some brief period of time without being constantly aware of the fairly long list of things I still haven’t gotten to that need doing. It’s called “self-care” for a reason; you’ve got to do it yourself, for yourself. I’m betting my Traveling Partner would enjoy a couple days without my constant presence, himself… I remind myself to ask, and to check-in on whether he thinks he is in sufficiently good shape to take care of himself without me for a couple days.

In the wintry months, camping is not an ideal option for me, personally. I don’t care for sleeping on the ground in cold weather, and it worsens my arthritis significantly to do so. Instead, I count on an inexpensive room on the coast, near trails and beaches I enjoy walking. I check to see what the availability is like over the next couple of weekends, and spot a potential opportunity. Just taking the steps to check out my options reduces my stress some little bit; I “feel heard” by the person I reliably need to be listening to me (me). I breathe. Exhale. Relax. Sip my coffee. Repeat. I think about other things I can do to ease my stress and restore my energy and plan my day with those things in mind. The weather seems to be improving somewhat, and the ice is melting… handy. I could use a walk. 😀

I make a short list of the more urgent items to attend to today, so I don’t forget them… I immediately feel overwhelmed when I add “put away your laundry” to the list; I’ve been putting off actually completing that task for literally weeks. It’s one task I can shrug off without really affecting anyone else, but… it does add to the chaos in my living space, and that increases my stress. There’s an obvious cycle to that, and breaking it requires me to hang up a bunch of shirts and tops, which is physically painful and also tedious. That’s it. That’s the “big deal” and I keep dodging it. Fucking hell. And the dishes need doing, which vexes me endlessly because as soon as they’re done, I cook something or fetch my Traveling Partner a snack and there are more fucking dishes. Cycles upon cycles.

…One task at a time…

I look at the time, and my inbox. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Frustration, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words

Long-Term Consequences

January 15, 2024 //
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Many many years ago, in what now feels like an altogether different life, lived as if by an entirely different person, I made a choice to “save my own life” through extreme means (in that moment). My ex-husband was coming after me with a very large knife, in a small apartment in Germany. The front door was locked from the inside, and I could not open that door to escape down the stairwell. I dashed to the patio, barely ahead of him, and rolled over the balcony rail. He reached me as I dangled there in that moment between actions, and his face wore a look of astonishment and alarm, “Don’t!” he demanded urgently. “I have to,” I said quietly, and then I let go.

I hit the slick paved patio below quite hard. My ears rang, I felt something snap. I “saw” an explosion of lights behind closed eyes. I felt nauseatingly dizzy. I saw him looking down, then retreating from the balcony rail quickly – I knew he was on his way and I panicked. I jumped up from the pavement, disregarding all sensations, and climbed a fence and a hedge to get to the nearest neighbor whose lights were on. I couldn’t remember a word of German in that moment other than “polizei”, and so that’s who they called. The police arrived, locked and loaded, and told the neighbors (whose English was better than my German) that an ambulance from the American hospital had been called. The police went after my ex husband, and once they found him he was arrested.

When the ambulance arrived, the medics quickly determined I’d likely broken my back (and there I was sitting upright in a lawn chair, flexing my spine uncomfortably and commenting that I could not figure out why I was so “uncomfortable” – I didn’t understand that I was in shock). They insisted I be still. They put me on a back board, and on a stretcher, and rushed me to the ER. I wasn’t there long, barely long enough for X-rays, and for the Military Police investigators to arrive to interview me, while the doctor reminded them that I was heavily medicated and badly injured, and to keep their questions to a minimum. A helicopter arrived, and I was medevacked to the big regional Army hospital to the north, where there was a larger team more capable of treating spinal injuries. That was when I realized I was actually badly injured. The flight was short, and the strange air mattress they had me on was more comfortable than the back board or the hospital bed. When we arrived at the big hospital ER, they went to take me off that air mattress (I guess it belonged with the helicopter) and I cried and pleaded that they please let me stay on it. I still didn’t know “how bad it was” (or wasn’t) and I was starting to feel pain, again.

…It was pretty bad. My back was broken in two places, a spinous process from one smashed vertebrae had gotten shoved into my spinal canal, and I had a concussion and a broken wrist. I’d be in that hospital for a couple of months after 16+ continuous hours of surgery to fuse the damaged vertebrae and install bizarre and uncomfortable hardware to hold those surgical sites still while healing happened. (A year later, that hardware would all come out… except for a ferrous surgical wire that to this day prevents me having an MRI; the wire was woven through the fusion to hold things together.) I’ve got a long scar down my spine, a visible reminder, and an uglier, shorter one on my left hip where the bone grafts were taken to build my fusion. I don’t care about the scars; I lived. I’m still walking.

Funny thing about all of this; the longer term consequences were not within view. I had no idea that I would struggle to form healthy attachments or build trust with lovers, possibly ever again. I didn’t know that the nightmares would plague me for decades to come – some to do with the domestic violence, some to do with the medical terror of the surgery itself, during which the medical team had to wake me up to verify that I was responding to stimuli. There have been few things more openly terrifying in my life than being awake during spinal surgery, intubated, on life support, surgical incisions open, and being asked questions that required answers. There have been other consequences… the pain of my arthritis reminds me regularly of the choice I made. A choice to live, sure, but also… a choice that came with profound consequences. I paid a high price for this life of mine.

I pause for a moment to reflect on the value of a life. This life. My life. The choice I made to keep it, to trudge on, to try again, reaches so far back beyond that despairing moment in 2013 when I thought to abandon it. It has been a worthy journey, consequences and all. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s easy.

…Some nights I still have nightmares. Some mornings I still wake up in pain. When I look back, though, I don’t regret that terrible lonely desperate choice to let go of a balcony rail and fall to my… freedom. Some choices just extract a big price. It’s a question I think few of us ask or answer before we choose; will the price be worth it? It’s hard to know, isn’t it? It’s probably worth wondering, for at least a moment… but there’s no map on this journey. We’re each walking our own hard mile.

Choose your adventure. Pay your price. Begin again. The journey is the destination.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, winter, women

Pain & Bullshit

January 10, 2024 //
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Pro-tip: don’t add to your physical pain with your bullshit and baggage. I mean, if you can avoid it, it’s a good choice. This morning, my Traveling Partner offered me a master class in how to refrain from adding additional bullshit to a pain-filled morning. Reflecting on it, I’m pretty impressed.

I woke from a fairly shitty night’s sleep in a lot of pain. He was already up, and also in pain. I wasn’t much in the mood for conversation. That was clearly also the case with him. I got up. I dressed. I got ready to leave (early) for work. We exchanged few words, and a brief kiss, and I was on my way. A short while later, he sent me a message checking in on me, wishing me well, and making a point to alert me he was in pain, and doing his best. I felt pretty cared for, honestly. Neither of us was feeling our best, and the morning got off to a pretty good start without either of us “starting shit” or creating chaos or unpleasantness out of our shitty moment individually, in spite of that.

Sometimes adulting is hard. It’s super easy to take dumb shit personally, or to lash out at someone else over a purely subjective bit of unpleasantness going on for us that doesn’t have to affect anyone else at all, if only we acted with sufficient care. I sit here sipping my coffee, appreciating my Traveling Partner for the effort he makes every day to show me the love he feels… even when he’s “not feeling it”, because all he really feels is physical pain. For sure, he’s as human as anyone. We both are. It’s not always a perfect effort for either of us, and sometimes things go awry in a vexing way, but… not this morning. I enjoyed an easy commute, partly because my heart felt light and I felt loved in spite of being in pain. Hopefully, he does, too. The day begins well.

I got to the office, made coffee, and tackled the payday stuff with a smile. I just went from being a contractor, to being full-time (with the same company) and I’m enjoying the feeling of security, and a sense of being “back on track”. I sit with that awhile, feeling grateful for the “here and now” and grateful for a good partnership to rely on in tough times. It’s enough. More than enough – it’s pretty exceptional (based on my own limited experience).

I sit quietly for a few minutes. It’s awhile yet before daybreak. Still quite early. There’s time to reflect, to meditate, to sip coffee, and watch the night slowly become day. There’s time to begin again. 🙂

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Sour Milk

January 8, 2024 //
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I sat down with my coffee to write a few words, after a restless, interrupted night’s sleep (I woke several times, though I only got up twice, quite briefly), and a somewhat tense commute. Humans being human. I started with “No Good-Guys” as my working title, because I started my day already disappointed in humanity. Mine. Everyone else’s. Just… yeah. All kinds of annoyance with the fundamentals of people doing the things people do. I mean, ffs, even children don’t get a pass (a six year old shoots a teacher?! a 10-year old shoots a friend over a bicycle race?? what the hell?) – the world feels very messy, chaotic, and whether I view the world through the lens of the media reporting, or simply my own day-to-day experience of self and others… it’s not looking good. I’m disappointed and vexed by both the circumstances that find me feeling this way, and the feeling itself.

…Emotions are not reality, I remind myself, the map is not the world…

I breathe, exhale, relax – and sip my coffee. What can I do better, myself? Probably a fucking lot. I could do more to communicate more clearly and more gently. I could work harder/more attentively at being a good listener. Good places to start. Probably for 100% of everyone out there, it would at least be a worthy starting point.

I sigh out loud. It breaks the stillness in this quiet morning place. I haven’t lost my interest in living – that’s something, anyway. I sit with my thoughts awhile. I think mostly about love, and how irksome it is that loving well and deeply over time isn’t easier than it seems to be (at least for me, with my hearty helping of chaos and damage, and a lifetime of baggage to deal with). The work involved in being the human being I most want to be, reliably, consistently, skillfully… fucking hell, it’s a lot of work. Sisyphean just about covers it. Every step forward on this path seems followed by some irritating detour or setback, and I find myself harshly judgmental of my efforts and deeply critical of my failures. I could do better there, too.

In a moment of harsh words, my Traveling Partner asked me to “set a better example”, to “model the behavior” I’m asking for, and to “show what that looks like”… which, strangely, caught me by surprise with A) its utter reasonableness and B) how truly difficult that looked in my head when I gave it a moment of thought, later. Yeesh. Fucking human primates – we think we know what we want, but again and again we set ourselves up for failure. We’re not actually all that good at being wise, or being kind, or being consistent, or being nurturing, or being positive, or being supportive, or being open, or… I guess what I’m saying is that this is a difficult journey in spots.

…I find myself asking “am I the bad guy?”, and having to admit that at least sometimes, yeah, I totally am. Well, shit. Okay, then. I guess I’ve got to work on that…

My coffee manages to go cold between the start and end of this fairly brief bit of writing, today. It’s a reflection of how often I stopped to ponder some point at length, and how deeply I am thinking some of this over, although I don’t think I’m really “getting anywhere” – at least not yet. There are more thoughts to think, more practices to practice, more work to be done – the journey is long, and there is no map. I guess I’ve just got to begin again.

Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, Words
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