Archives for category: Post Traumatic Stress

Yesterday had a pace and intensity I don’t generally prefer, but a lot got done, and what got done is behind me now. Some details in our living spaces are being refreshed and updated, partially triggered by the arrival of the Anxious Adventurer, but some of it simply completion of long-planned projects that had been delayed too long (life happens).

The dark somewhat monolithic secretary that has sometimes been a computer desk, sometimes a “mini office in a box”, and sometimes a cabinet to hold stray things is finally out. All the way out. It has served its time and I am grateful for all of that, but it didn’t really fit the aesthetic of any room it stood in. Glad to see it replaced with beautiful natural birch bookcases, into which the books have been unpacked. We had planned for this for four years. Overdue.

A finished project.

Other things got done, bathroom cabinets added, and things moved out of the way ahead of changes to come. It was a labor intensive day for everyone, each of us doing our best at maximum capacity. By the end of the day we were all exhausted, but also feeling quite satisfied with the outcomes.

Growth works that way, too. It’s sometimes necessary to dig deep, do more in a moment than we think we can, and push through the things holding us back. It’s often necessary to discard things that don’t work and begin doing something quite different. Growth can be incredibly uncomfortable, in spite of satisfying outcomes. It’s quite a bit of actual work and there are no guarantees of immediate success.

Another perspective on growth.

…It can be so hard to let go of things to which we have become attached over time…

Reassuringly, I find, incremental change over time is generally “the way”, and we definitely become what we practice. (What are you practicing? Will it get you where you want to go?)

… Let go of what does not work…

It is pleasantly cool on the trail this morning. I feel lighthearted and at ease. It’s Friday. It’s payday. The heat has substantially abated. Almost all of the work involved in getting the Anxious Adventurer moved in and settled has been done, now. He’s here. He’s unpacked. Now things can truly begin to settle into a new normal.

… There are still a handful of details, but my to-do list no longer scrolls for several seconds. Progress.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely morning to begin again.

Life is beginning to develop a “new normal”. Change is, and it won’t be argued with. We adapt. Shift gears. Adjust routines. Change our habits. Resisting change, generally, is fairly pointless (especially if we chose it). How we cope with it says a lot about who we are.

My Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer seem to be enjoying the new arrangement generally speaking. I’m okay with it, too. It’s pretty nice having some help while my partner is injured. I can now see a time on the horizon of my future when I won’t be chronically exhausted and on the edge of hitting some emotional or physical limitation that shuts me down and reduces my capacity to be helpful. It’s encouraging.

Having still less time to myself and less space of my own to retreat into takes getting used to. This is offset, though, by how much better things can be for my Traveling Partner, how much more skillfully his needs can be met by the two of us splitting up the work of caregiving, and how this makes it so much easier (for me) to also focus on my partner romantically and emotionally (because I am not completely run down by physical labor). Caregiving is more difficult than it may appear to someone not involved in caregiving, themselves. I’ve certainly got a newfound depth of understanding about it, personally!

I sigh quietly to myself, sitting alone on a bench along the trail, watching the sun rise. Pretty morning. Maybe less hot than it has been? I’m grateful for these quiet solitary moments.

As often happens with me, changes in my environment (and living situation) have disrupted my sleep. I wake briefly at odd times, responding to a new noise, or turning over and somehow noticing my orientation in the room is different than it had been previously, or just different than I expect. Sometimes I actually wake, maybe sit up for a moment, or read for a little while. It’s fine. It’ll pass. Annoyingly, one of these new “wake points” is at 03:00, too close to my typical time to wake up such that I can’t easily get back to sleep. lol It’ll pass. Change is, and I do adapt.

Another work day. Soon the weekend. 16 days to my coastal getaway. It’s nice having that to look forward to. There’s quite a bit of work and change to manage between now and then, but… It’s fine. Truly fine. I feel pretty good this morning, in spite of arthritis and headache pain. Pleasant morning.

I find myself missing my Traveling Partner, though we’re separated only by a handful of miles and the few minutes of travel time from finishing my walk to returning home. Humans are strange creatures prone to attachment. lol

The sun continues to rise. It’s time to finish my walk and get on with the day. It’s a good time to begin again.

It’s going to be another hot summer day. I remind myself unnecessarily to drink enough water (meaning, specifically, more than usual). Seems likely that the remaining summers ahead for human kind will continue to be hot and then hotter, unless something changes. Stay cool. Take care of yourself. Avoid punishing manual labor in the heat of the day. Be alert for signs of heat-related illness and take steps sooner than later.

Another hot summer day ahead.

I woke early and slipped away into the earliest hint of dawn. The morning air was still and felt somehow warmer than the 67°F than it was. Yesterday the morning felt warm at 60°F. Tomorrow it’ll no doubt feel warmer still at some higher temperature. The nights are not cooling off completely and the days are getting warmer, too. Summer.

The sun rose an irritable looking orange at the edge of a hazy pink horizon, as I drove to the trailhead. It was vivid and beautiful, particularly the view as I came around a bend in the road, with Mt Hood silhouetted a deep smudgy lavender against the vibrant colors of the dawn. I love that particular view, and I am forced to enjoy it in the moment; there’s no place to stop, there, so no opportunity to get a picture, and I never know ahead of time what beauty may appear – and quickly disappear – as I come around that bend in the road.

So here it is another day. Another hot one. I walked my walk, taking note of the increasingly warm temperatures as I walked. Drinking water. At my halfway point, I sit awhile watching and listening. I update my list of things to get done today. I drink more water. I write these few words. The warm humid morning and sense of sharing the trail (though I don’t see anyone else) push me to maintain a brisk pace, and I am eager to get home and have a shower. I’m unpleasantly sticky with sweat.

I walk on, thinking thoughts of balance, perspective, moderation, and sufficiency. I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful to have remembered to take allergy medication this morning. I watch the sun rise as I walk, and now I am distracted by having to pee. Still drinking water.

I approached the parking lot (and the restrooms), unsurprised to see it nearly full. It’s clearly time to begin again.

… Stay cool. Be safe. Drink water. Know your physical limits. Wear sunscreen if you’re going outside. Take care of yourself; you matter. Be careful with those spoons…

An update, some time later, same day…

My Traveling Partner woke shortly after I arrived home, and not in a good mood. His sleep was interrupted and less than ideally restful. He’s had a change of medication, too, and it’s causing considerable irritability. He’s aware of it, and alerts me (and the Anxious Adventurer) of the situation, asks for our patience, and suggests we keep our distance as much as possible. Practical advice, and I plan to take it. There’s little about my to-do list that requires participation or even input from anyone, so I figure I can keep myself productively occupied for much of the day.

…First things first, a healthy breakfast salad, and a nice cup of tea…

I queue up my art video playlist for some study time over a bite of breakfast. A good beginning, suited to the day ahead, beating the heat. Next, after breakfast, I’ll tackle the housekeeping chores while the day is still cool… I may even paint with these new pastels, today! 😀 I sip my tea and hope that my partner’s experience of the day improves once he is fully awake, and has had his coffee. If not then, I hope he finds a suitable opportunity to begin again, and finds his success there.

Lovely morning for walking, it is cool and there’s a mist clinging in low places. My thoughts wander here and there, and my musings are guided a bit by pain, which I mostly treat as “inconsequential noise”, trying to keep it in the background.

I find myself thinking about pain as a warning light on my “dashboard” in a driving metaphor for life. When we’re children, in a sense we aren’t even driving our own car, or managing the maintenance of it, at all. We’re dependent on the knowledge and care of the adults around us. Ideally, once we’re “old enough to drive”, we’ve also been taught what we need to know to be a “skillful driver” in life. We need to know when to refuel, what to use for that purpose, and what our vehicle requires for maintenance. Before we ever get on the highway, it’s helpful to ensure the vehicle is safe to operate.

… There’s no owner’s manual in the glove box…

On life’s journey, as the driver of our physical “vehicle”, we do well to pay attention to those dashboard lights… Do we have a full tank (enough energy and stamina)? Is our “check engine light” on?(Seems a suitable metaphor for mental health.) Is there some sort of warning chime pinging away to alert us that some physical detail is amiss? (Thinking about the seatbelt warning, or open door warning as metaphors for pain, perhaps.) I think you get what I am going for at this point, probably. There’s a lot involved in skillful driving before we ever get on the road… And it’s similar in life; before I can even begin again with a next step on life’s journey, it’s a good idea to make a point to check out the “vehicle” for readiness.

…It can be as simple as noticing my tank is on empty before setting off on a long drive far from the nearest gas station. Fuel up! Get enough rest. Eat healthy, nutritionally dense meals with an appropriate balance of macro nutrients. Drink enough water. Take medications on time.

…It could be more complicated… Is that check engine light on? Flickering mysteriously? Maybe it’s time to consider emotional health, stressors, and “work: life balance”? Maybe it’s a good time to see a therapist or spend quality time with a close friend?

…Has “routine maintenance” been handled properly? Good quality sleep, healthy exercise, and good self-care really improve the longevity of the “vehicle” we’re driving down life’s highway.

Once we’re no longer children, it’s a bit like being handed the keys to our first car. There’s a lot to learn and a lot of good practices to build. It’s more important to take good care of our vehicle than most of us understand when we first get behind the wheel. No owner’s manual. No map. For some drivers, not even a sense of where to go, until long after the journey is underway, and we’re many miles beyond and away from where we eventually decide we’d like to be.

Drive carefully. Pay attention to the road ahead. Check your fluid levels. And for fucks sake, do something about those dashboard lights! lol It’s a long drive, and you’ll want to be able to count on your car.

I sip my coffee in the morning sunshine, parked at the trailhead after my walk. I mostly got the rest I needed, but this broken down hoopty I have to rely on these days needs a bit of care. My “check engine light” flickers now and then, and there’s nearly always some warning indicator pinging at me to take care of something. It’s mostly pain and pain management, and I mostly treat it as though it’s the warning light that’s broken, rather than deal with the potential there’s some more serious shit going wrong. Putting it in those words, I find myself concerned that I am being stupidly short-sighted about something potentially serious that could eventually “leave me stranded by the side of the road”.

… I love metaphors…

I sigh quietly and sit with my thoughts, before making a note to communicate with my doctor about my pain and my persistent headache (again). I don’t want to waste time on detours, but I do want to count on this vehicle for a good long time. Self-care matters, but sometimes we need more.

… It’s already time to begin again…

Sometimes change is hard. Sometimes change arrives rather quickly, and instead of evolving gradually over time, it pulls up out front in a moving van and unpacks over a weekend. 😂

…We managed to get most of the necessary move-in basics handled and the truck returned on time…

Getting the Anxious Adventurer moved in was the priority for the weekend, other than caring for my Traveling Partner, who was effective and handy, supporting various tasks with thoughtful guidance. The whole chaotic endeavor was considerably improved by how we each embraced the circumstances (no doubt each for our own reasons). We’re all in it together and it was obvious.

I’m definitely feeling the strain of the aggressive pace of the weekend’s activity in sore muscles and lingering fatigue. “A new normal” begins with this quiet, pleasant Monday morning. I’ll work from home with much more freedom to focus on work with my Traveling Partner’s son now available to help out, too. Hell, I might have enough left in me at the end of the day to cook a proper meal! There’s more to do, but now it can be handled within the context of the day-to-day living of life, which feels pretty good. I even got to spend some time reading last night!

There’s more to do. The work of adjusting to the changes required is not yet completed. There are boxes to go into storage. Things to change or “fix” about how the household is set up, to be better suited to three people, where there had been only two, before. The living room, though, is no longer filled with the contents of a moving van, and no one is sleeping on the floor. Progress. Today will be my first day working from my completely rearranged office-studio-creative space, which still needs a bit more fine-tuning. I chuckle to myself, still amused and astonished that I managed to move a full-sized couch into such a small room (with the help of the Anxious Adventurer and the guidance of my Traveling Partner giving instructions from down the hall). Funnier still, it manages to be more “cozy” than crowded. It will force me to be quite mindful of the space and keep it very neat, though; there is no room to tolerate clutter. Not one spare square inch of space is left for being careless or messy.

I while away a few minutes thinking about change and wondering when my Traveling Partner’s surgery will be? Scheduling that should happen today. Once we’ve got the date settled, I’ll also schedule some away-time for myself, for a date maybe a couple weeks after the surgery. Damn, it’s good to have the help of the Anxious Adventurer! I feel incredibly grateful and very fortunate. I finally have the emotional “room” to breathe and reflect and consider and exist outside the constraints of holding myself constantly at the ready to handle any/every task, every moment, all of every day… That was a lot of pressure, but I didn’t know how else to handle things.

… I’m so tired…

It’s a new day. A new opportunity to begin again. There’s more to do (nearly always is), but life has “less weight to it” somehow and I feel pretty good, generally. I woke at my usual early time, and I’ve had the trail to myself this morning. I watched the sun rise as I walked, and these quiet minutes to write and reflect don’t feel snatched from the limited time available for everything else that needs doing. It’s nice.

I don’t yet know what the new normal looks like, but I’m on this path and I’ll know soon enough. I stretch and yawn and smile. It’s time to begin again.