Archives for category: Epsom salts

It’s a quiet evening. I’m sitting with this heating pad on my back, contentedly watching a randomized playlist of favorite South Park episodes, sort of, and checking out tent camping opportunities around the state. Spring will be here soon enough. I’m in pain, but managing to find contentment; I’m not spreading the stress around.

Taking time to hang out with a friend, to pause the clock and enjoy the moment, and to enjoy a well-chosen, healthy brunch...

Taking time to hang out with a friend, to pause the clock and enjoy the moment, and to enjoy a well-chosen, healthy brunch…

...walking urban trails, enjoying a great coffee, getting a massage, lingering in a hot Epsom salt bath, and sharing a favorite show in the evening...

…walking urban trails, enjoying a great coffee, getting a massage, lingering in a hot Epsom salt bath, and sharing a favorite show in the evening…

Today was a good day. It’s enough.

 

I woke early this morning, and I woke gently. I felt good, and simply wasn’t going to back to sleep. It was 3:02 am. Too early, even for coffee. Not too early for meditation. Not too early for yoga. Eventually, it was no longer too early for coffee, either. So far a lovely morning in every sense; it contrasts the strangely emotional weekend, full of powerful lessons, opportunities for growth (some of them passed up, frankly, in favor of less worthy actions), and although it began in difficulty and drama, it finished gently and in love. There’s nothing simple about the life of a human primate in the 21st century; I had a rough weekend, emotionally, and woke this morning realizing I made choices that made it much worse. (Good one, Awareness, way to stay on top of things. lol)

Perspective still matters, even when I'm not looking.

Perspective still matters, even when I’m not looking.

A couple of deeply connected moments yesterday really shifted my perspective on the weekend, and in light of my challenges in the moment, on life and love as well.  It’s pretty awesome when life throws me a freebie in the way of a living metaphor, a teachable moment, or a lifeline…this one wasn’t that, but totally worth it, anyway.

One such moment, I admit I was openly weeping at a train station. Between the PTSD and the vagaries of getting through menopause, I’ve learned to find a certain acceptance of tears, even public ones, though I am not truly comfortable with weeping. I stood there in the sunshine, tears slowly making their way down my face one by one largely unnoticed. A small girl watched me intently, and for one moment we made eye contact, I tried to smile or mold my face into something less scary for a small girl than an older woman crying – that can’t present a very desirable outlook on adulthood, and I don’t want to blow the fun of it for some child. She frowned, more puzzled than distressed, and walked away. Moments later, there was a tug on the hem of my shirt, and I heard an adult woman nearby exclaim “Chelsea! Don’t bother that woman!”. I looked down into Chelsea’s face, her wide open unfrightened gaze met mine and she extended her small hand, in which she had a fairly large flower, drooping from a long stem, no doubt snatched eagerly from some nearby border or bit of landscaping. The bright orange of it pulled a smile through the tears and I accepted her gift and returned her smile. She said to me in a fairly grown up practical tone “It won’t live very long; I picked it for you. You should enjoy it right now, before it’s gone.” She was quite serious, and spoke to me with a tone she probably picked up from her mother, or a teacher, firm and no-nonsense, she was earnest with me and determined that I hear her. I looked at the flower as I held it, and courteously thanked her. “I will enjoy this very much right now, thank you, Chelsea. This is very kind; I needed a moment with a flower to brighten my day.” She beamed at me and affirmed confidently “They’re growing right there” she points to the border along the edge of the parking lot, where there were indeed a number of bright flowers swaying and bobbing in the summer breeze. “I won’t be here next time, you’ll have to do it yourself” she said, almost sternly, but with honest affection for another human being. A lovely moment. A lesson. Thank you, Chelsea, I hope you show the world a thing or two along your journey.

Enjoy now; too soon the moment will be gone.

Enjoy now; too soon the moment will be gone.

A contrasting moment, later the same morning, occurred when I chanced to have a conversation in passing with a woman running an adult foster home. She cares mostly for brain injured adults; injuries so severe that a lifetime of full-time care is what remains of an injured human. We chatted briefly, curbside, about her operation, the community, the neighborhood… I asked her what kind of people she provides support to, what sorts of injuries and conditions. She told me she works primarily with folks with severe TBIs who have limited mobility, impaired life skills – in short, people who need full-time care because their TBI was just that devastating, and their prognosis for recovery is that grim. Wow. Then she said something that took my breath away… “…except frontal lobe injuries. I’m just not equipped to deal with that.” She went on a few words more that I half-heard through the sudden ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart. What I heard in my heart was ‘not your kind’. I found a quick polite end to the conversation and departed. I found a quiet shady parking lot and broke down in heart-felt sobbing; real crying, no bullshit. I wept without reservations. I’m not sure, now, quite why.

It was a turning point on the day. I spent the rest of it trying to ‘get things right in my head’ on a number of things I suddenly felt pretty sure I didn’t actually understand well at all. It was a good afternoon to stare into the face of my fears about my injury and realize how much worse it really could be. Perspective. I contemplated how practical life can force us to be, however kindly and well-intentioned we are when we begin. Perspective. I wondered if the woman running the adult foster care home understood, when I admitted I, myself, have a frontal lobe injury, how incredibly patronizing her forced attempt to make it right actually sounded (“Well, and look at you! How good you are doing!”). I wondered why it really mattered, any of it, in a world where small girls are savvy enough to hand out flowers to people who need them.  Perspective.

I wondered, too, why my day was so…difficult. As I stood again at the train station, preparing to head home, I recalled something said to me quite some time ago about the physical side of emotional wellness. Something about the necessity of addressing physical things with physical remedies. I recalled the morning, the first moment of the day… and realized I’d put myself at a profound disadvantage; I failed to recognize the physical outcome of being startled awake, and had been living all morning with my PTSD just raging in the background, and wandering around loose in the world wondering why I felt so disordered and shitty. lol. No. Way. Seriously? Oh yeah, still human. I went home, took care of calories, connected with a partner, took medication to address symptoms, meditated, enjoyed a long soak in Epsom salts, did some yoga, and spent the afternoon reading. When evening came, my partners and I enjoyed it; it was lovely.

Like a lighthouse on a rocky shore.

Like a lighthouse on a rocky shore.

Perspective matters. There’s no overdoing that one, and no ‘down side’ I’ve yet found. Today is a good day for perspective. Actually…today is generally a good day, so far, with amazing potential. Today is a day someone will change the world.

Yesterday was productive, in spite of lingering dizziness, arthritis and headache pain, and a significant shortage of sleep. It was also quite a nice day, with one bit of emotional difficulty in the evening, which didn’t last long and which I wisely followed with an early bed time. Although I only managed about 6 1/2 hours of sleep, it was an improvement over the 4 hours the night before. 🙂

The emotional challenge du jour wasn’t any great mystery, either, it was simple a matter of humanity. In pain, tired from lack of sleep, tired from a long busy workday, excited to see the traveler returned home, I was more volatile that I realized, and took a partner’s irritation and hurt very personally in a moment that was handled poorly. There is a reason so many of the things I am learning to do to support and care for me are referred to as ‘practices’; mastery is not the point. The opportunities to practice are decision-making points. Will I choose wisely? Will I practice? I did last night, and the evening ended well, after I took a time out and took care of my needs (a long soak in Epsom salts, meditation, yoga, nutritional support).

No dizziness this morning, and I feel a tad foolish. I may have given myself two days of vertigo by making a poor choice to try out my partner’s exercise hoop… I had a hoola hoop when I was  kid, and it seemed a fun moment to give it a try as an adult. I just didn’t stop to consider that my fused spine, held together with confidence and surgical wire, might rule this activity out for me. At no point did my brain helpfully point out that perhaps a leisure activity that applies a lot of twisting motion to the very location of my spinal fusion might be a poor choice. I paid for that oversight, but find myself fairly appreciative if that is all it turns out to be.  It could be much worse. 

Things nearly always ‘could be much worse’. When I’m having a shitty day it can be hard to hang on to that thought, but it’s a great observation for perspective. There are people smarter than I am, by far. There are people who are funnier. There are wiser beings and people with much greater ambition. There are some moments in life that blow me away with how awesome and moving they are. There are good days and bad days. Generally, regardless how else any given moment is defined by any one human being – including me – things could be ‘much worse’.

Perspective matters; life looks very different to the wee spider on this rose, than it does to me.

Perspective matters; life looks very different to the wee spider on this rose, than it does to me.

This morning’s meditation and yoga were a gentle opener for what will likely be another lovely day. I’ll do what I can to refrain from setting myself up for failure by building up my expectations; expectations have proven time and again to be a detour off my path that rarely leads anywhere I want to go. Still, as with most mornings, there’s no particular reason to expect the day will turn out poorly, either. It is a day, like so many, that begins with a pleasant morning.

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Does a wee spider have expectations?

Today is a good day for love – and for listening. Today is a good day for compassion – and for following through on commitments. Today is a good day to appreciate the efforts of others, and to recognize that most of the time, most people, are doing their best. Today is a good day to be kind, and to be patient. Today is a good day to change the world. 

However small we may feel, our choices matter.

However small we may feel, our choices matter.

Tulips and the weight of yesterday's rain.

Tulips and the weight of yesterday’s rain.

I’m having a lovely morning. I hope you are as well. Life is difficult in spots, complicated, rich in experience, emotion, and change.  Friends are performing heroic acts of compassion, distant family members reach out to share personal tragedies and joys, everyone living their ‘now’ the best that they can in the moment they make their choices, generally, and the flow of events around us contributes to the fun, to the novelty, to the stress, to the joy, to the immutable truth of change, itself. I watch, feel, and experience my life.  PMS joins the party this week, and so far I’m ok and still feeling pretty balanced generally, a little irritated with small stuff now and again, but in a far more manageable way than even a few months ago.

New strong rose canes reaching for the sun.

New strong rose canes reaching for the sun.

…But I don’t want to mislead anyone. Genuineness and openness are very important to me.  I know other people struggle, and one or two people struggling with their own things may read my enthusiasm for the value of pursuing mindfulness and find themselves disappointed to get a different result.  I’m not an expert, nor am I ‘right’ about the hows or whys of managing PTSD, anxiety, my hormones, my life, love… no, seriously. Meditation is serving me well on a number of levels. I want to rave about it, and how extraordinary it is in my own experience… I woke this morning wondering if that’s ‘fair’ without ‘full disclosure’? Then I saw a meme on Facebook this morning, posted by a friend… a caution against being too open, a reminder that only a few of our nearest and dearest actually care, and pointing out that most people just want something to gossip about…the message is ‘protect yourself’, the sentiment is suspicion and fear.  My reaction was self-doubt…

The vinca waits for her moment, doubt is unnecessary.

The vinca waits for her moment, doubt is unnecessary.

I like candor. I like being genuine. I like sharing the reality of the journey I am on, and my own significant truth about where my potholes on life’s highway  have turned up.  I don’t actually want to contribute to creating a culture of suspicion and fear, of secrets, of secret police, of guilt, of doubt, of insecurity…of fraud.

My imperfect garden; Just Joey struggling.

My imperfect garden; Just Joey struggling.

I figure some disclosure about other details on my journey may be due, because it isn’t just a book or two, some meditation, and some mindfulness practices picked up at a cocktail party that find me in the place I am.  It isn’t fair to have you think so.  I’m actually also in therapy (again), and my therapist bases our work on ACT  (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy).  I’m finding huge value in a book  I’m reading at his recommendation, and I do a considerable amount of additional reading on my own on mindfulness, in general, and cultural practices in that area, relevant to a number of cultures and religions.  Yes, I’m in a lot of physical pain most days, and yes, the mindfulness practices and meditation really help in that area, inasmuch as my experience of enduring pain seems less challenging or difficult, and the pain medication I do take feels more effective.  Yes, I do take some pain medication, and yes, of the Rx sort, although I am able to keep the dosage low, and also stay away from the really hard core varieties.  Yes, my hormones give me major grief, and it’s gotten quite unpredictable.  I manage those pretty well lately with mindfulness practices, regular leisurely soaks in epsom salt baths, and herbal teas (my favorite being a blend of valerian,  chamomile, st John’s wort, and lemon balm, that my grandmother taught me many years ago, and soon they will all come from my garden, which ‘feels right’ to me).  I don’t know why things are getting better.  Some of the things I am doing are not new for me…resulting in my strong inclination to attribute my recent progress and quality of life improvements to the things that are new – the mindfulness practices, and the more consistent meditation practice.

Things I am doing now; reading, like listening, does require an open mind.;

Things I am doing now; reading, like listening, requires an open mind.

I had tried a number of treatment modalities since I was 18, and have seen several therapists of several sorts from several disciplines.  I’ve spent much of my adult life pleading for someone to ‘please help me!’, largely without finding success, or even lasting peace and balance. I’ve also given Big Pharm their turn with my poor broken brain, and they also applied their recipe for fail sauce, and again I found no balance, no peace.  Religion had it’s innings.  ‘Counseling’ had a turn.  The self-help industry also had its way with me a time or two…or several.  Friends, and loved ones, got to give amateur hour a go at it, with no greater or lesser success.  I long ago reached the ‘I’ll do anything to stop hurting’ place, frankly.

Mindfulness...something so simple...so profound.

Mindfulness…something so simple…so profound.

So, here I am making jokes about ‘the hippies being right all along’, because it’s hard not to laugh to see that I am finding peace and balance exactly where so many hippie-sort of friends suggested gently that it might be found – within myself – if only I would take a few deep breaths, and be ‘in the moment’ to experience it.  😀   It’s hard, too, to have read so much, to have traveled, to have experienced some of the world, and not be just a tad frustrated with myself for disregarding knowledge and practices that have provided balance and peace for thousands of years to uncountable people, until I was finally so deep in despair that I was able to let go of my baggage – and my pride – and be open to something new, that is actually something quite old.  It’s tempting to say ‘nothing else has worked, so this must be it’, but I am rational, and understand that perhaps it is more about many things I am doing, how I am doing them, or perhaps that I am simply ready now and wasn’t ready sooner.

I’m sure not discouraging anyone from being mindful, from practicing meditation, or from treating themselves and their loved ones truly well – I think those are all wonderful, necessary, things for a good quality of life.  I am saying, there is more to me than meets the eye, and I’m not uncomfortable sharing that. 😀

It’s a quiet morning, a beautiful day, and if you need me…I’ll be in the garden. 😀

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It was bound to happen, right? Hormones. [insert utterly offensive string of favorite swear words here] Yay! [detect sarcasm] I get to practice mindfulness – with hormones! 😦  So far, so… good? Not good, exactly, but not exactly bad, either. I’m less wrapped in misery, but I feel some of this more, or… something.  I ache. I feel irritable – which comes and goes erratically and does not seem at all correlated to events in my experience or the household emotional environment, and that’s pretty typical of my PMS experiences in the past.  Voices distract and annoy me – and then I feel irritated with myself because these are voices of people I love. [more swearing fits nicely here] Did I mention that I ache? I’m also sentimental and emotional about weird things… like…I drove past a huge construction site – a factory being built – and started weeping because I really wanted to check it out in person, on foot, really see it…and was moved to tears to feel pretty sure I wouldn’t be allowed to do that if I walked over there. lol. I just don’t understand how to share that in a way that gives you a real window into my visceral experience, and it feels so alienating to know that I lack that ability. Freakin’ hormones…the worst bit is the lies that hormones trick my brain into reading into my experience; I have generally made very different assumptions about people, their motives, and intentions, when I’m PMS-y, and it sucks to be chronically concerned that I’m ‘not being rational’.

The mindfulness practices, though, put me in a very ‘it is what it is’ sort of place.   It feels easier to understand that ‘it may not be what it seems’ when I take a moment to relax, breathe, and treat myself compassionately.  It’s still pretty suck-y to feel ‘off’; fatigued, vaguely unwell, sort of ‘disturbed’ and generally aggravated – but they are just feelings and like any other feelings, they are transitory. I’ve been making different choices today with the mindfulness doing its thing; choosing to enjoy an activity that takes me away from home for a little while, then wrapping up some tasks on my To Do list that both need doing, and occupy my attention with productive things that result in a sense of satisfaction and achievement. I find myself really relaxed in spite of the hormones and feeling like the day is not only not ‘wasted’ with distress and internal torment, but quite enjoyable so far. It’s nice.

How well can I treat myself today? If pampering myself and meeting some personal needs results in me feeling balanced and nurtured and serene, will my partners also feel they are ‘being treated well’?  That doesn’t sound like it would be a definite outcome, when I see it in text, so I will take some time to consider whether there is a ‘missing link’ that I also need to understand more clearly. It’s a quiet Sunday. It’ll be Shepard’s Pie for dinner tonight, maybe with some biscuits, or perhaps maple-walnut bars for dessert, and most of the tasks I committed to for the weekend are already behind me. It’s a lovely day for a walk, some  yoga, a leisurely bath, some reading…a nice way to wrap up a weekend.

This all feels very much like progress and improvement. 😀