Archives for category: Anxiety

I woke rather randomly, feeling cozy and warm and not at all inclined to get up. I got up and dressed and left the house quietly, because it was clear that I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. I’d already “slept in”, for some values of sleeping in; it was 15 minutes later than I commonly wake. I feel rested. It’s fine.

The car was frosted, sparkling under the street lights, and the car door opened with a crackle, and some resistance. The morning air was quite cold. This is only the second hard frost of the season, the last one being weeks ago. Between them, it’s been mild and rainy. I started the car, and waited for it to defrost enough to see, and to warm up the engine. It’s not ridiculously cold, just freezing. I found myself grateful for the warm layers I put on this morning, without thinking much about the weather – it just happened to be what I had laid out last night as “options”. I wasn’t really thinking about options as I dressed, and I just put things on piece by piece, until I was dressed. I’m warm and comfortable. Suits the colder morning.

The trailhead parking is empty. I arrive before daybreak. It’s a little warmer here. Although still cold, it’s not freezing. Gloves, scarf, hoodie over sweater, cane in hand – I’m as ready as I’m going to get, but the cold and darkness are unappealing, and the frosty trail running alongside the marsh pond is more hazardous than it appears in some spots, and likely to be slick with frosty fallen leaves. I decide to wait for daybreak, more light, and maybe a degree or two of additional warmth. I’m in no hurry, it’s Saturday. I can write from the warmth and shelter of the car, sparing myself the experience of writing from the trail with freezing hands. I somehow doubt I will find sitting at my halfway point at all appealing on this wintry morning.

I stretch and yawn, listening to the traffic pass on the nearby highway. There’s not much of that this morning, only enough to keep me aware that this is not wilderness, and I already knew that. 😆

The darkness begins to ease, ever so slightly. I see hints of almost blue sky beyond the clouds, above the eastern horizon. It’s not quite 07:00… I sit quietly considering the lengthening days, noting with some small measure of wonder that the change is already so obvious. I don’t honestly prefer to walk in the darkness, it just happens to be “convenient”, for some values of “convenience”. I’m looking forward to seeing the sun rise as I walk this trail. It won’t be long; Spring is on the way.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation first, walking after, this morning. I’m okay with that. I do find habits, routines, and practices very useful, but being fixated on sequences or timing can create needless anxiety any time I deviate from some pattern that developed over time. That’s not healthy nor ideally flexible, and the day-to-day variance in timing and the order in which I do things prevents me from becoming “stuck” or inflexible. Rather than fight it, I try to embrace it without being bothered by it. Change is. I’ve found tremendous value in accepting impermanence and practicing non-attachment. Another breath, another exhalation, another glance at the horizon.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, reflecting on who I have become over the years. We become what we practice. This is reliably true. If you don’t like some characteristic of who you are, it’s very likely to be entirely within your ability to change that, through your own actions and decisions, with practice. Are your behaviors what you want them to be? Are you “your best self”, living your best life? What will you change today to become more that person you most want to be? What qualities make a person of “good character”? Do you embody those characteristics? You could, with practice. It’s your journey – your path to choose. Choose wisely.

One winter morning

The way ahead is visible. The path is clear.  It’s time to begin again, I suppose. I wrap my scarf around me, button my cardigan, and pull on my knit hat. Every journey begins with a step, and it looks like a great day to practice being the person I most want to be.

…May be an obstacle. Sometimes it’s a matter of perspective and expectations.

I’m sitting quietly in my meditation/studio/office space, which also serves as my “anything specifically me” space, and has a comfortable couch well-suited to sleeping, napping, reading, and meditation along one wall, my work desk on the opposite wall filling the space from the door to the corner. I’ve got the lights dimmed. I’ve got noise-cancelling headsets on, set to “quiet”, and no music playing. Just quiet. All around me, little things my beloved Traveling Partner has made for me, built for me, done for me, suggested to me – that’s a lot of love in this small room. Even the “do not disturb” sign presently hanging from the door knob as a cautionary suggestion was made for me by my Traveling Partner.

…This afternoon, I am “enjoying” a rare hour home alone by “dealing with” my PTSD. Not what I had planned, for sure, but it is the set of circumstances in front of me. Maddening – and thus, I am soothing myself through the madness. So far, so good. (The solitude is helpful for me – well-timed – I am most successful at managing my symptoms and nudging myself back to a grounded emotional place if I am not also having to interact with other people.) The muffled quiet and the heavy embrace of the headphones feels comforting, like a boundary being respected. I breathe, exhale, and relax – well, I make the attempt. It’s going to take some practice. My shallow breathing, tight chest, and trembling begin to diminish a little at a time, breath by breath. Progress. I keep practicing. Meditation works pretty reliably for me.

(Before I begin writing, I split my display into two windows, and keep messages open in case someone needs to reach me, this only works because I’m in an environment where boundaries are generally respected with care. I’m not trying to be hurtful by stepping away, just taking care of myself.)

In 2013, a similar situation might have resulted in a major emotional meltdown, yelling, tears, hysterical rage, finishing with some sort of physical collapse, often followed by succumbing to illness and not being able to bounce back emotionally for days or weeks. I lacked emotional resilience (that’s putting it very gently!). My PTSD and my anxiety were out of control. I teetered on a precipice and got a lucky break when one more attempt at seeking therapy finally paid off in new tools, and real improvements. That’s not the point though, the point is – I’m still me. I’ve got some “issues”. I manage them better than I’ve ever done before, and it has been a worthy journey. Therapy, treatment, for some mental or emotional issues (or even for some physical ailments or injuries) isn’t going to be 100% a “cure”, or fix that fixes everything in some permanent way. Results vary. Years of trauma often don’t have a reliable permanent “fix”, at all; those experiences change the way we’re wired. For some people, that’s exceedingly hard to change for the better, in adulthood. We do become what we practice, though, and given better tools and more effective practices, it has been possible to get pretty fucking close to “fixed”, and that’s amazing. It’s also something I recognize as feeling like it “isn’t enough”, now and then, when I find myself fighting my demons in the darkness, again, or fall through some thinking hole when I’m fatigued beyond my capacity to reason, or get triggered by a circumstance (or someone dear to me who would never do me an intentional injury). That’s hard. It’s also only an emotion, and potentially unreliable. Today? Today I’m just dealing with my bullshit. I’m okay for most values of “okay”, just super irritable and doing my best not to let that reach beyond this room.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m okay. Moments are fleeting. Perhaps the next will be much better, filled with joy and laughter and love? I’m open to that. It’s time to begin again.

I woke too early, but there was no going back to sleep. I’m feeling generally some better, after being ill almost a week now. By afternoon I’m likely to be thinking I feel much better, but another morning will come around, and I’ll be feeling much worse… again. That’s how it’s been so far with this sickness. I feel worse first thing, better later with considerable self-care. I sigh to myself which sets off a coughing fit.

I am better, enough to walk a mile or so of this trail on this chilly, damp morning, if slowly. It is winter now, and a mild one so far, which seems fortunate. I welcome the rain. I’m glad the days aren’t freezing cold. I sip hot coffee and wait for daybreak. It is a work day, but I’m on half days this week, if I can keep up with the workload on those minimal hours. I’ll be off on Wednesday and Thursday for the Giftmas holiday.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The weekend was restful, mostly focused on whatever housekeeping essentials I could do, and on getting well. At this point,  I definitely have some regrets about traveling for work in December. It seems like a pretty stupid idea looking back, but at the time it seemed… fine. The plan is not the experience. I remind myself of errands I’ve agreed to run today, later. My thoughts are fragmented and chaotic, each cough or sneeze becoming a distraction. I will do my best with the day ahead of me.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, waiting for the sun. There is no hurry. There is only this moment. I let that be enough.

My stuffy sinuses and foggy head distract me from noticing an actual fog developing over minutes, seeming to well up from the nearby creek bed, and gathering in the vineyard, before beginning to obscure the trail. It happens quickly, and now it is quite a foggy winter morning, though not a particularly cold one, just foggy and damp. Low hanging storm clouds on the western horizon are a luminous pale faintly orange-y glow, lit by the lights of neighborhoods below, with nearby trees silhouetted darkly against that strangely bright sky. I sip my still-hot coffee, contentedly. Sure, I’m sick, but it could be worse.

Above the clouds, the sky is clear and starry. I sit gazing on one particular bright star in the northern sky, wondering what it is. A quick lookup suggests it may be Capella, which is not ideally useful information; I know nothing about any star by that name. Having a name for it, then, barely amounts to knowledge at all! I chuckle to myself. One human being human, nothing to see here. I sigh and get ready to begin again; this trail isn’t going to walk itself, and this is as good a time to begin (again) as any.

…I wrap my scarf around my neck and step out of the car…

I’m sipping my coffee (hot, black) grateful to have it. The hot liquid feels soothing on my still-raw feeling throat, although the discomfort is no longer up high near my uvula, and is definitely showing indications of having moved into my chest instead of lingering in my sinuses. I’m still unwell, but I’m working today; there is much to do as the year winds down, and giving up on it is not an effective strategy for making more money at some future point. (I don’t much like that this matters more to me right now than my fucking health, but this is America.) The box of tissues on my desk, alongside the hand sanitizer, and me wearing a mask, gives adequate caution to others that keeping their distance is a good choice.

My Traveling Partner woke me this morning, early, checking whether I was okay. I mumbled something about being okay, because for most values of “okay” I surely was. I was dead asleep when his voice roused me, but having wakened and seeing it was nearly time to begin a normal work day, I went ahead and got up, dressed, and left for the co-work space I typically use when the university library is not open. There was no traffic at all, but it was also too early to get coffee on the way. It was fine. I was awake, and the rainy drive was much improved by how little traffic there was.

None of this really “matters“, it’s just the set up for the punchline to a joke that isn’t actually funny. I let that go. I’m grateful that I feel well enough to face a work day, honestly. I’m grateful for the hot coffee that was available when I got to the office. I’m grateful for the instant chicken soup which proves to be far more satisfying than the coffee. I’m grateful for a few quiet minutes alone with my thoughts before this co-work space fills with other co-working professionals, and grateful for a desk that puts considerable distance between me and others. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, who does so much to care for me when I’m not well. I’m okay for most values of “okay” now, and I definitely feel better than I did yesterday, in spite of the cough I’ve now developed, that will likely linger for days or even weeks after I’m fully over whatever ick took me down in the first place.

…I can’t say I feel much like working, there’s just a lot to do…

I savor the hot too-salty flavorful instant chicken soup. There’s an intense comfort to it when I feel this way. It’s enough to satisfy what limited appetite I’ve got, and enough to genuinely “make me feel better”, every bit as much as the cold remedies I also took. Funny how “enough” changes with the circumstances, eh? On a beautiful summer morning, on some beach or forested trail, there’s little chance this off-brand cheap poor quality instant chicken soup would be at all satisfying, but here, now? It’s definitely enough and I’m grateful to have it. That brings my thoughts to the Giftmas holiday ahead. I think over the unwrapped gifts stacked in an out of the way spot needing to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Are they “enough”? G’damn, I sure hope so. They seem less than I’d like to be putting under the tree this year, but… this is what we had to work with for resources, and anyway, it’s more about presence than presents. I do like presents, no need to be coy about it, but it’s not “the big deal” it felt like in some years past.

I sigh to myself, eager to see the other side of the day, though it should be quite manageable and pretty chill, generally. Pain and illness color my subjective experience of work and even this one moment of quiet, solitude, and peace. It would be ease to slide into anger, frustration, or despair – I’m one bit of bad news or moment of Other People’s Drama away from it almost all the time, these days. Frankly, I’m appalled by the state of American governance, and it lurks in the background of my consciousness however often I attempt to resolve it, somehow. That is one of the “secrets” of human suffering; how often we choose it. I don’t bother with looking at the news today; the president gave another one of his rambling ill-informed misleading fatuous self-serving narcissistic vile and cruel speeches yesterday, and the news feeds will echo that slop for days to come. Fuck that shit; I’d be stupider for every word of his bullshit I allow into my consciousness. I’ll wait for any rationally fact-checked breakdown of that nonsense that may surface, but I certainly don’t want to expose my mind directly to that fuckwit’s voice. (If I’ve offended you, dear reader, my apologies. If you voted for that grifter and his corrupt clown car of cronies, I can’t say I understand your choice at all, but this is a democracy – for now – and it is your right to cast your vote as you will and endure the consequences of your choices, however ridiculous or hateful those look to me. It’s a shame so many other people get hurt along the way.)

I correct my posture, and breathe more deeply. Breathe, exhale, relax. I meditate. I make a point of crafting detailed mental imagery of myself as a woman standing in an airport, setting down baggage and walking away. I feel lighter for doing so, even though it is only an imagined moment. This is a practice that can bring real change of perspective and subjective experience. “Visualization” works as a practice, but indulged without consideration and care, it can drag one into a nasty negative spiral, too. Still a good practice, but associated (as many things are) with an inherent risk. Visualizing trauma and negative experiences or feelings can bring those much closer, rendering them in a very immediate and visceral way that can cause further damage. Visualizing positive experiences and moments (real or pure imagination) similarly renders those in a more immediate and visceral way, seeming to make them “more real”, and incorporating those feelings into our implicit “sense of being” in a truly useful way. Choose wisely.

I read an article recently that touched on the concepts of positive visualization for dealing with anger. If you’re someone who struggles with managing your temper in relationships, flaring up over small things that likely don’t rate that sort of escalated reaction, this one may be worth a read. Useful and practical, the basic idea is that imagining positive interactions, and reinforcing positive feelings about an individual, will tend to improve the relationship with the real person in real life interactions. That seems worth knowing, doesn’t it? Worth practicing? We become what we practice. It may be a poor choice to practice being angry and hateful… It seems unlikely that any of us would actually want to become angry hateful people. I sit with my thoughts awhile.

I stretch and refill my coffee. There’s an entire work day ahead to get through and much to do. It’s already time to begin again.

I’m at a local trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain to walk this trail. It’s dark, not yet daybreak, and a Monday morning. The rain is falling hard, and the wind is blowing hard enough for the strongest gusts to create the appearance of waves on puddles reflecting the lights of the parking lot. If I were to walk now, I’d be soaked almost immediately, and having to fight my rain poncho every step as it whips about. No thanks. I’ll wait. 😆

The weekend was lovely. I sit thinking about the upcoming Giftmas holiday. It is shaping up to be a merry one, if modest in scale (appropriate to these peculiarly dark times here in the US).

My mind wanders to work. I pull it back to this quiet moment, here. Now is mine. At least, this “now”, right here is mine. I make a point to be present, here, listening to the wind and the rain. I think of other rainy moments that left lasting memories for one reason or another. In the distance, I see holiday lights shining through the trees along the creek beyond the vineyard, most likely decorating some otherwise hidden apartment balcony. Seeing the lights makes me smile. Seeing communities “dressed up” for the holidays in colorful lights is one of the best parts of the winter holiday season (to me).

Things on my to-do list for today continue to intrude on my consciousness – or try to. I continue to set a boundary with myself; this is not that time.

The rain stops, starts, and stops again. It’ll be daybreak soon. Can I get down the trail and back to the car before the rain starts up again? I decide to chance it, and grab my cane and pull on my poncho.

I’m most of the way along the trail before the rain begins to fall again, softly. I’m almost back to the car before the intensity increases from a soft sprinkle to a seasonally typical downpour. The heavy rain catches up with me just as I reach the car. I feel fortunate. I’m not soaked to the skin, missed the worst of the rain, got a good walk, and managed to avoid tromping through any deep puddles. I’m chilly and damp, but otherwise fine. I get comfortable in the car and start drying off with a microfiber towel from my gear bin, grateful for the gear I keep in the back for whatever emergencies might arise (and for hiking and camping).

The gear bin in my car sometimes gives a sort of “Mary Poppins” vibe; I often surprise myself with what is in there, and how prepared for what sorts of things I actually am. This delights me every time I open the bin with some need to address and find that I’ve got just the thing, although I often don’t recall that I put it there. 😆

The wind is blowing ferociously again. It almost drowns out the sounds of my tinnitus. I close my eyes and am fascinated by how much I am reminded of the seashore.

There’s really nothing particularly noteworthy about the morning. As is so often the case, it’s an ordinary weekday morning. The pain I’m in makes me aware of my fragile mortality for a moment, but as bad as it is, it’s not the worst I’ve known. Far from it. I’m grateful to experience the morning aware that things could be much worse; it is reliably useful perspective. I continue to sit with my thoughts awhile longer. I’ve got a little while left for myself before the desk in the library I’ll be working from today will be available. It’s still too early. I think about coffee.

I think about holiday cards (we haven’t done them this year and probably won’t; at some point I had to admit I don’t have the energy, or the will). I think about the last bit of gift shopping yet to do. I think about Giftmas morning and brunch. Biscuits and gravy this year? I find myself wanting to pair that with Bloody Marys, as my Dad would have done most Giftmas mornings. I rarely drink, and the thought makes me smile; it’s an idea built purely on nostalgia, and maybe some desire to celebrate a certain gratitude for the holiday magic my parents achieved in spite of hardship. I’ve carried that holiday spirit into the rest of my life, year after year, and I’m grateful that it continues to last.

Curtains of dense rain continue to sweep over the car. The wind rocks it with the firmest gusts. I am warm and dry, and grateful that I am not forced to be outdoors in this. There’s privilege implied in being free to choose to walk on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the choices I have in life. I may never be wealthy (nor have any notable affluence), but I do get to choose whether (and when) I walk in the rain. That’s more good fortune than many folks have. I sit thinking about that for a few minutes longer.

In spite of the darkness of the stormy morning sky, eventually daybreak comes, and it’s time to begin again. I sigh to myself, and get the day started.