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Back to the Lessons

June 25, 2014 //
0

I woke early this morning. It was very late before I fell asleep. A short night; there are potential consequences later in the day, when I start to feel fatigued. These days that is nothing more than something to be mindful of, to account for with kindness and compassion – and patience with myself.  At this early hour, that’s all theory for later. For now, I am quietly enjoying the too-brief tranquility of mornings and studying. This morning I am studying concepts of attachment and ‘clinging’ that undermine growth, development, ‘becoming’, and emotional resilience.

Sure, why not?

Sure, why not?

I spent a few moments, recently, grieving the loss of a particular experience I wholly enjoy. Like so many things, it could be that its time has simply passed; change is.  I experienced the sadness of that, the loss, and generally such moments feel destructive, joyless, and despairing to me. Yesterday I deviated from my norm, some glitch in my programming turned up and… I understood concepts related to attachment that I have been struggling with for some time now.  Change is. Growth happens through change – whether we embrace it or not – but the nature and extent of our growth may be affected by whether we embrace change or struggle with it.

Change is part of life.

Change is part of life.

I’m not saying I like the concept. I’m just saying yesterday I woke up to an important idea, and accepted it; when I can let go of attachment to specific experiences, possessions, or qualities of character I have chosen as ‘my identity’, I can achieve something new, try something, experience more, and move forward on life’s trajectory.  Even the most perfect of lovely mornings, repeated endlessly, could grow stale.  So, okay, I can find contentment in change…loss still hurts. Saying good-bye can still feel sad. Grief and grieving are still honest and heartfelt emotional experiences that are likely for most of us, at some point in life. Nothing unique there… but I grieve a broken porcelain demi-tasse cup with the emotional depth and intensity that some save for losses of life, and it occurs to me that may not be the best way to take care of my heart, or treat myself well.

I see this same scenario play out in other lives, too; at work, having to change schedules unexpectedly, it isn’t unusual for a coworker facing such a change to take it all very personally, to cling to what they know, and to fight change with a ferocity one might find reasonable on a battlefield…and then to see that same coworker happily embracing new opportunities opened by that change in schedule, once they experience it. Change is scariest when I cling tightly to what I have right now, to avoid facing change, itself.  It mattered yesterday because I was contemplating a change in household hours/schedules that can’t help but throw my own routine out of whack, and that sort of thing sometimes takes me weeks to adjust to.  I realized I was not helping myself by holding on to my attachment to what had been.  I still feel sad that I may be letting a delightful emotional butterfly flutter away…but I am also grateful to have enjoyed it so much, for so long.

My garden in summer, a surprisingly fragile 'now'.

My garden in summer, a surprisingly fragile ‘now’.

There are so many experiences I have enjoyed that just aren’t part of my experience now. Every one of them remains part of my experience over time, and my history. Each has value as a treasured memory. Each exists as a sort of random card in an infinite deck of things I enjoy that could reoccur. Many of them won’t. Holding on to them, refusing change, prevents me from embracing new experiences to add to that infinite deck.  Sounds so easy, so obvious…but…

I really like sipping ice-cold root beer and sitting near the fan on the screen porch at Grandmother’s house, eavesdropping on adult conversations on a humid summer afternoon.

I really like playing monopoly or cribbage by the tent stove, with my motor pool colleagues, waiting for my guard duty shift.

I really like running bare footed down the trails in the woods, where I was not supposed to be playing and could generally be found (with some effort) any childhood summer morning.

I really like lazy Sundays with generous brunches, sleeping in, a lot of sex, a great playlist, and a bit of gardening.

I really like late night strolls through park-like old residential neighborhoods on balmy summer nights.

I really like spending the day out on the water on my grandparent’s sail boat.

I really like being out at the range, honing my skills, and competing with myself and feeling like a bad ass.

I really like keeping a few chickens.

I really like slipping away to a nearby swimming hole on a Friday when I could be working, but the broad blue skies of Oklahoma suggest otherwise.

I really like hanging out with a lover, sharing anecdotes about who we each are, growing closer, and laughing together over coffee or lovemaking.

I really like new love and romance.

I really like being between jobs and taking months off for me.

I really like summer vacation.

…And I miss these things. There are a lot of experiences, moments, and relationships that I enjoy right now that I won’t have in some tomorrow down the road. Just like that list of experiences I am not having in my now.  Some of them I may experience again. Some of them I may never experience again.  Hell, some of them I don’t want to experience if to do so I have to return to the life or context in which I had them before. That’s something to consider, there.

So. Sure. It makes sense to let go. To accept change. To adapt. What comes next? Something new.

Clinging to what has been can prevent me seeing something new.

Clinging to what has been can prevent me seeing something new.

Today is a good day to embrace change.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Big 5, women

Walk It Off, Soldier

June 21, 2014 //
3

How often have I suffered, or hurt, and faced someone telling me to ‘grow a thicker skin’, ‘shrug it off’, ‘walk away’, ‘move on’, ‘let it go’… How often have you? It’s funny that comes up so often, I think, because it is only in very rare circumstances that such words have had any value, or benefit, in those moments of pain.  I’m not complaining, and I’m not angry.  I’m a bit puzzled, though; where did we – any of us – get the idea that the proper and effective way to soothe, support, or console another suffering human being is to tell them to stop suffering? It’s not particularly effective, and definitely sends a clear message to the suffering person that they are somehow in the wrong to hurt.

I wrote about a thousand more bitter words in that vein this morning, before I realized I had ‘gone off topic’… because this morning I am considering with some interest and amusement that I am actually at a place in life where I am indeed, in some small way, ‘walking it off’, and have been since my journey dog-legged through a crisis and veered hard in the direction of mindfulness, and self-compassion.  I’m not trying to ‘walk it off’ in a dismissive way, devaluing the nature of my experience, or to avoid meeting my needs, or to avoid facing the things that hurt so much…I’m not running away.  I am walking. A lot. I walk every day, and even days when my walking is simply the portions of my commute I handle on foot, I get a few miles of gentle contemplation, and forward momentum.  How is it that it matters so much? (The walking – and the walking with mindfulness, particularly?)

One journey or another; getting from here to there.

One journey or another; getting from here to there.

There’s probably science to it; I haven’t studied it.  I do know that on my most challenging days, when my brain fights any moment of stillness, of awareness, of self-compassion, or contentment, no matter how vicious the ‘brain attacks’ I inflict on myself; once I’m on my feet, and walking, the breathing takes over, and I begin to find peace. Sure, I may indulge in some negative thinking, frustrated rumination, or angry ideations in those first hundreds of yards, but once miles start ticking away, my head clears, my heart feels lighter and my mind is liberated, my thinking productive and lucid. Generally.

This morning I am looking back on the evolution of getting back on my feet. I am observing the steps I took – real and metaphorical – that got my weight down, got me off psych meds that were doing more harm than good,  got me away from the mesmerizing mental junk food offered by the media, the networks, and the cable companies. Got me away from a job that was killing my soul. I took steps – and a lot of them, most of them, were real steps – feet on pavement, feet on earth.

I felt real pride the first time I walked 10 blocks to the nearest grocery store – most of it uphill – after years of being sedentary and sedated.  I felt a sense of accomplishment when I was able to visit the big farmer’s market on Saturdays; for so long I had been so uncomfortably heavy I just couldn’t walk far enough to do it.  I kept at it. No car. Everywhere I could reasonably go on foot, I planned the additional time and didn’t take transportation.  I stopped asking friends for rides places. The weight kept coming off.  The milestones, and achievements of small goals, kept adding up, and the benefits have never stopped being rewarding. Beginning to commute on foot was a really big deal – and choosing to relocate to housing that put that within reach was one of the best things I have ever done to ‘take care of me’.  I’ve been ‘walking off’ the weight for a while now. It’s steady, effective, and gradual.  It requires commitment, consistency, and a hearty application of verbs, and it does work.  It only makes sense that eventually that process would take me further… parks… trails… getaways… sanity… wellness.

One step after another.

One step after another.

I had forgotten how much walking can also free my mind. A camera, some landscape, a journey… and the world becomes a wide open space, a distant horizon, a broad vista, and it’s different when it is more than a trip to the store.  The hiking I have been doing meets a lot of varied needs for me, and practicing mindfulness matters. Storming off angrily and furiously walking an aggressively paced lap or two through residential neighborhoods and retails spaces doesn’t have the same power to bring peace and healing as mindfully walking quiet remote trails, content and aware, and I’m glad I rediscovered that.

Wide-eyed and mindful, there is value in every journey.

Wide-eyed and mindful, there is value in every journey.

I’m spending this year, 51, walking Oregon trails. I’m making an effort to ‘walk away’ from my chaos and damage, and taking a gentler pace through my experience. I’m learning to treat myself kindly walking challenging trails; taking a walking staff or trekking poles, instead of risking injury by ignoring injuries I’ve already got, planning, being prepared, being aware.  I’m shrugging off drama, and ‘moving on’ from my trauma… by moving on; setting goals, trying new trails, exploring the unknown in real places as well as within.  I’m taking progress, growth, and  healing ‘a step at a time’ – literally.

Every path leads precisely where it takes me.

Every path leads precisely where it takes me.

I’m not sure when I really started down this path, as a thing all its own… was it the 5k last fall, on that dreadful rainy, stormy day?  That was certainly an achievement, and it encouraged me to walk farther, more, and more often.  It was a good next step from commuting on foot.  Trips to the beach and my partner’s recent camping/rafting trip definitely got me excited to take yet another step… and unexpectedly it has become a weekend practice to grab my gear and head for the trees, somewhere, for a few hours, quietly walking. Since that first hike with my partners – Cooper Mountain – I’ve also hiked Tualatin Hills Nature Park (through which was my original commute on foot, and a very emotionally safe feeling solo hike), and some of the trails of the Audubon Society Park. I’ve got Sunday hikes planned ahead for most of the summer, and two solo camping trips over weekends.  Friends and family already recognize my enthusiasm and commitment to this new activity; they recommend places they have been and enjoyed, and places they think I would enjoy, myself. It’s a point of connection between many coworkers, and I. I feel engaged, and involved in my life, and enthusiastic about each new adventure.

Life's curriculum isn't always about 'the hard stuff'.

Life’s curriculum isn’t always about ‘the hard stuff’.

Meditation. Walking. Healing. It sounds too easy, and if someone would have suggested it decades ago, I don’t know that I would have been sufficiently open to take it seriously, or to give it a fair try.  Still… I’m taking steps.  I’m moving on.  I’m… walking it off.

One possible future... and one beautiful now.

One possible future… and one beautiful now.

Today is a good day to plan tomorrow’s hike, and to smile and remember other hikes, and other good days.  Today is a good day to embrace what has value. Today is a good day to take another step. Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Summer, The Big 5, women

Bread and Circuses

June 20, 2014 //
0

It’s a quiet morning, following gently on the heels of a pleasant and lovely yesterday. My mood isn’t as steady or reliable as I anticipate the day to come being; I am considering things.  When I find myself stuck on some detail, forcing it into context, molding it into part of the narrative of the day, of the week, of my life, I remind myself of the recent readings on ‘narrative bias’ and cognitive errors, in general.  I give myself a moment of understanding and compassion; it’s damned hard to let go of explaining everything, and to pursue questions instead.  It’s so easy to be pulled  into drama and bullshit – mine, someone else’s, the world’s.

The loveliness of the day is only a distraction from suffering if we choose to be aware of it.

The loveliness of the day is only a distraction from suffering if we choose to be aware of it.

I saw a meme in my Facebook feed recently, and it was the sort of catchy slogan, delivered at just the right moment for the words to easily slide into the context of my experience, that it has stuck with me.  Of course, after the fact it turns out to be neither new nor recent. “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”  Still… I find myself delighted by the simple way it conveys meaning.  I like it. I’ll keep it. lol  I’ve found it pretty easily delivers a powerful reminder of the suffering of attachment, of judgement, and of taking ownership of what isn’t my own. Handy.

I am feeling uneasy, this morning. Struggling to find real balance again after rocking my emotional boat in therapy this week, and after a powerful conversation – honest, real, open, and utterly frank – with a lover that changes…something.  For the better? I don’t know. Is it a big deal? I don’t know. Does it really change any possible outcomes? I don’t know. What does it mean? I don’t know. Hell, I don’t even have great questions to consider, yet.  The step forward in therapy is by far the bigger deal, I suspect, but the heart speaks its own language and sets its own priorities, and even there… my step forward in therapy still matters, and remains suggestive of change to come.

What was the big deal with therapy? Well, simply that I am finally able to express my experience as a trauma survivor fairly simply, in a sentence, using words, without collapsing in tears, or being reduced to an animal state of panic, or wordless terror. I used my words. It isn’t more than that, and it is every bit of that, and I’m proud of myself for taking another step forward.  It isn’t time yet to share such a thing with the world.  It’s not ‘for you’, not yet. Maybe we’ll get there, together, one day? Having never just said it, out loud, so simply, to another real human being, I didn’t know what that experience would be like. Hearing the words said, hearing them hang in the silence and safety of a pleasantly calm office, isn’t really describable, either. I cried – healthy tears, honest sadness, regret, hurt, suffering…and more confused and astonished than angry or terrified. Confused that human beings can be so cruel. Astonished that I said words aloud that I had once been assured would result in my immediate subjection to a long, painful, lingering consequence – and nothing happened to me, aside from feeling all those hot tears slide quietly down my cheeks.  Well. Not ‘nothing’. Something did ‘happen to me’. I know – because I made the choice to make it happen. I don’t have words for the happening, and it is a very subjective thing. Worthy of my attention and consideration, and so, this morning, I consider it.

I’m not too interested in feeling sad this morning, which is a bit irksome since I clearly do, now and again. I find myself rather idly wondering how long this feeling of unease will last, and what it will take to drive it away…then notice with amusement that the idle wondering is much more low-key than the one-time state of panic and dread that would have saturated such a morning, as little as a year ago. Progress. Small steps. Good choices. Good practices.  Focused on what nourishes me, and keeps me headed down my own path, toward my own goals, and meets my own needs over time… Today is a good day to be.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Big 5, women, Words

You, Again?

June 13, 2014 //
0

Oh, hello… Please excuse my lack of enthusiasm for your visit. I admit, I was hoping we were really over and done with, you and I. Admit it, it’s been a troubled and troubling experience for years, unhappy, unpredictable, messy… I’d have made plans for your visit, you know, even though – or perhaps especially because – I enjoy you so little.  You wear me out, and wear me down, almost as soon as you arrive on the scene. Headaches, confusion, the way you play with my emotions and lie to me – it’s not okay, and I resent the way you make me out a fool or worse, again and again, but I’ve found some small amount of relief in being prepared. Of course, now you take even that from me.

So often, just as I’m finding a way to get along with you more easily, you slip away. I’m left with cleaning up the mess and making all the apologies. I can only imagine how lame those sound after all these years.  Once you’re finally gone, I still find myself putting distance between me, and everyone, over lingering fears about whether you are really gone, and because the insecurity I feel after even a few hours with you hangs around screwing with my ability to feel emotionally safe long after you are gone.

You rarely move right in these days, and while I do appreciate that, I am still incredibly annoyed, and feeling imposed upon, each and every time you peak around a corner into my space unexpectedly.

Today I’m incredibly angry with you for being here, now. It’s just not right. You were not invited to my birthday and I don’t want you around.  I’m hurt and frustrated that I don’t have the choice of saying ‘just go and don’t come back’; you are an unreasonable and unreasoning pain in my ass (metaphorically speaking) and I’m also frankly bored with you.  Still, you return again and again with no ability to understand what you are doing to me, and clearly no concern or compassion.

344 days since I’ve had to live shoulder to shoulder with your bullshit, your mess, and your drama – and still you hassle me and mess with my good times.  You know what? You can fuck right off. I’m done with you – if not now, then very very soon, and eventually even you will not be able to deny me that.  Maybe for another little while more, but it won’t be long now; eventually I will reach your border, Hormone Hell, and I will walk on through to the other side.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Logic & Reason, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, women

So…No.

June 11, 2014 //
2

Wow. Not a very positive start to a post, at all. Is it a difficult morning? Did I wake in pain, or feeling poorly? Am I sad, hurt, or angry? No, not really any of those things, and it is a lovely, simple morning.  I am thinking, almost happily, about yesterday’s challenges – well met, and behind me. What remains is mostly the recollection of a mostly lovely day.

A lovely summer afternoon in this city I love.

A lovely summer afternoon in this city I love.

It isn’t a perfect picture; life itself isn’t about ‘perfect’ unless we choose to make it so. That’s rarely a good choice, in my experience.  I knew as I headed downtown for appointments at the VA that it was likely to be, like many experiences, less than perfect. It’s the VA. The news articles do not greatly exaggerate the issues, and may in fact present a rosier picture than exists in fact. Just saying.

First things first – any possible calm in the waiting room was entirely disrupted by loud administrators and ‘auditors’ of a variety of sorts. Business is business, work has to be done, and it isn’t all medicine…but when a disruptive crowd of noisy people fill up the waiting room of the Women’s Health Center, and some significant portion are rather disrespectful dudes with no apparent sense that people are waiting, and possibly not feeling well, its super annoying. Distracting, too, and as a veteran with a TBI, I’d like to be able to calmly focus on my appointment and my care needs. Yep – all about me, and every other patient there. Keep the freakin’ noise down!

It only gets better. Somehow, by mistake, although I specifically phoned and specifically scheduled an appointment with my primary care provider at her specific request, I was scheduled to see an entirely different doctor, who doesn’t know me, and has not had (or taken) an opportunity to actually review the entirety of my 20+ years of medical care for service connected injuries. She was personable enough, and educated, even fairly skilled on the VA computer system – a nice change of pace in recent years, to see doctors who can also navigate a windows OS – and I figured I’d relax and value what her perspective may have to offer. Seems fair.  My hopeful curiosity quickly fell behind my irritation.  She was quick to hand me the usual commonplace saccharine reassurances about menopause, not a glance at my records. I quickly and firmly objected to her suggestion that I may want to consider antidepressants for some of my menopause symptoms, and pointed her to the portion of my records that documents what a miserable failure that was – years ago.  She started to bring up atypical antipsychotics. I pointed her to that section of my records. Again. Again. Again. We finally get to a recommendation I hadn’t had offered before. She had piqued my interest – something that might ease the hot flashes? (They’re on/off nearly continuously these last few weeks, it’s very uncomfortable.)  No, I had no interest in spending even one moment in hospital purgatory (the pharmacy), yes mail the Rx to my home… and I made my escape.  While I waited for the bus to return me to downtown to connect with light rail, I read up on her suggestion… Um… wait, what? It’s associated with an increased risk of suicide. Not ‘a rare side effect’, nope, it has a white box warning label. Oh. Hell. No. Seriously? Why would a doctor recommend a drug with a high risk of suicide to a veteran with PTSD, and MST – who is also over 50? (Are the VA doctors unaware that veterans over 50 are, themselves, at increased risk of suicide?)

I walked away from the VA the way I often do – angry. To be fair, the state of women’s medicine isn’t fantastic, even in the civilian community.  Currently, the best medical test for menopause is… wait for it… No, seriously, that’s the test. Wait. 365 days, to be exact. Once one successfully completes 365 days of her adult life without bleeding from her vagina, it’s menopause! Very scientific, guys, very reliable… oh…what? You mean I might still have a period, or some spotting, or obvious hormone fluctuations after that? So… um… go medical precision? I think my irritation is understandable. The VA just pours salt in that wound by being more interested in Rx solutions than in practicing medicine and healing people, by rushing patient care in a very industrial and profit-oriented way (and still failing to actually be profitable), and being grossly understaffed in all roles just makes it very unlikely that anything will change – regardless who is at the top. The bottom line is still about the bottom line; no one really wants to pay the bill on all those broken people.  That shit is expensive.

It wasn’t unexpected. I headed for home, hopeful that I could just let it go and enjoy the evening.

Sometimes I have to take care of me.

Sometimes I have to take care of me.

The train was crowded. That’s a simple enough sentence. It doesn’t go nearly far enough. Wedged between a very large man who was drenched in sweat and smelled strongly of eau de unwashed humanity, and a very thin angular woman with children, strollers, and shopping bags, unable to move, pressed in on all sides to the point of being in very close contact – actually touching – I only managed one stop. I forced my way off the crowded train, gasping for breath, near tears, heart pounding – and still that residual anger. I was having a panic attack. Shit. I backed up against the building at the stop, in the shade, and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and another. The rush of commuters dissipated between trains. A handful of people were milling around, panhandling, chatting. My pounding heart and the rushing in my ears began to ease. A man approached me slowly, cautiously. “You okay, Sister?” He eyed me with wary sympathy. “Yes, thanks,” I replied. I made eye-contact. A homeless veteran? A veteran. Sometimes it is obvious. “I just couldn’t handle the crowd on the train, today.” He looked me over appraisingly, but without hostility or resentment, just that continued calm sympathy. “Yeah… you’re okay, though?” “Yes, thanks.” As he moved away, I contemplated his kindness. I wonder what he would have said or done if I hadn’t said I was okay? I wondered if his simple human kindness, consideration, and sympathy actually have more value than all the pills the VA has ever offered me. I sure felt better… I got on the next train and headed home.

Taking care of me still feels new.  A simple decision in favor of self-compassion, getting off an over-crowded train and waiting for the next one, really matters.  I ended up enjoying a lovely evening at home, as a byproduct of self-care.  Small changes. Good choices. So worth it.

Today is a new day, a fresh start, a different adventure. Today is a good day to be kind to strangers, and a good day to be kind to myself. Today is a good day to appreciate that we are each having our own experience, and we’re all in this together. Today is a good day to change the world.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Menopause, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Big 5, women
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