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Doing Unto Others

May 23, 2018 //
0

I was pretty crabby and cross with the world all day yesterday. I felt drained. Frustrated. Fed-the-fuck-up. Just generally not in a great mood. As I left the office, I allowed myself to be more explicitly aware of my state of being, and it occurred to me that just maybe I was about to get into my car, in that state of irritation, and head into commuter traffic less than ideally level-headed. This seemed, in the moment, a pretty shitty trick to play on unsuspecting other humans… What if we’d all had sort of a shitty day? Well, damn…. That didn’t sound good.

I started the car, and gave that some thought. I reminded myself that we’re probably, mostly, all of us doing our best moment-to-moment, more or less. All of us human. What if we really did all leave work feeling cross and frustrated, get in our cars, and head for home in dense commuter traffic? What would I want from my fellow commuters? What did I want from myself?

I pulled out of the parking lot feeling more than usually aware that we are each having our own experience. More willing to assume positive intent. More sensitive to the basic humanity of each of those other drivers.

The commute took the same amount of time as it usually does. There were just as many unskilled drivers showing just as much poor judgement. The same amount of risk appeared to be involved. All the same terrible moments of congestion at particular intersections existed. The experience was much improved, though, and I felt personally less frustrated. I got home feeling calm, contented, and actually somewhat less cross than I might ordinarily. Win!

Only… my shitty mood surged back into life once I was in the house. I was dealing with my own bullshit. (Aren’t we all?) I took a deep breath. I spent some time meditating. I enjoyed a leisurely shower. I made a bite of dinner and a lovely cup of tea. I took the medication I needed. Basic self-care stuff.  I still felt on edge and somewhat aggravated, for no obvious reason. It happens. I knew it would eventually pass.

I took a moment on the deck, in the evening sunshine.

Self-care matters. It’s not always “easy” to take that time for ourselves, but so worth it – and so important! You matter. Take time for the care you need. 🙂

I enjoyed the fading sunlight awhile, filling up my experience with the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves of the Big Leaf Maples beyond the deck.

What you need for you is something you decide for yourself. Definitely don’t take someone else’s word for that. Try things. Practice practices. You are your own cartographer. If that didn’t work, try this. Eventually, you find your way. Life’s menu is vast – don’t just order the cheeseburger every time. 😉

 

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Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, medical marijuana, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Foe, Faux, or Windmill?

May 19, 2018 //
3

My gear is packed. I’m rested. The work week is behind me. The weekend is ahead. My anxiety is through the fucking roof, in spite of there being “nothing wrong” in any literal sense; I am facing my inner demons, today, or at least one small cohort of the mocking hateful little bastards, and I am hoping to come through, if not “victorious”, then at least fairly cognizant just how okay I actually am. That’d actually be a pretty spectacularly big deal.

I survived family violence in my childhood home. I survived domestic violence. I survived the Army, and yes, I survived war. I have, actually, survived all of what life has thrown at me so far – even the good stuff. 🙂 What has lingered are the scars, emotional and physical. The learned limitations. The fears. The background stress of my injured brain insisting something is imminently going to go very very wrong. Scary dangerous wrong. Look out for that hazard right there!! Only… generally? No hazard. PTSD instead.

When things went sideways with my Traveling Partner’s other partner (in poly vernacular, my “metamour”), becoming a mental health crisis of epic proportions, affecting an entire fairly closely associated community, it was also a re-traumatizing event for me. The aftermath was even directly emotionally abusive, specifically targeted to be so, hurtfulness set on “stun”, although the weaponized words and emotions were being launched by a human being fairly obviously not in her right mind at the time, I am human, and I feel. All the feelings. I’ve got my own baggage to carry. Afterward, the easy solution for me has been to just “let all that shit go” and walk on. I do not need (or want) that kind of bullshit in my life, and I have learned to turn away from it.

Not all of life’s decisions are mine to make. Funny how that works. I get to make mine, and I have learned to respect, value, and insist upon my agency. It’s precious to me. On the other hand, I’m not strolling through life utterly alone, here; other people have their lives, too, and their own decisions to make, and they so do make them. I live with those decisions, as well as my own, because we’re all in this together. lol One such decision is to have a birthday party at the very location where “all the bad shit went down”, some weeks after the fact, and almost-but-not-quite as if nothing untoward or unpleasant had even been a thing. Weird. I have trouble wrapping my head around that. Inviting me into that environment seems a tad disrespectful, or even callous, although more likely it is merely ignorant of the potential impact to me, or even more likely still, I am highly regarded, desired good company – which may matter more to all of the non-me people involved. lol I got invited.  …And… I’m an adult, right? My friends are adults, too. We are each having our own experience. Mine says ‘do not walk, run, get as fucking far away from that shit, as far as possible, because you do not want to be there when that mad bitch burns her fucking house down’… but… really? Well. I don’t know, do I? Mental health challenges being what they are, and love being what it is, people do make a fairly wide range of choices when loved ones lose their shit in one flavor of mental health crisis or another. People don’t always turn entirely away. I still don’t get it, myself, at this point in life; I’ve stopped taking abuse. Protestations of love are not enough to keep me in an abusive relationship. That’s non-negotiable…but…

…What’s a “safe distance”? In this instance, specifically, when there is no clear certain threat to me personally of any notable sort, what then? So… I’m doing something occasionally suggested in therapy, and utterly resisted by me. Exposure. Facing my fears, in real life. Making the choice to visit friends, and have a good time, in a physical location that causes me a fuck ton of anxiety and stress… for no obvious reason in this moment (the stress I mean; hanging out with friends does not need reasons, and every moment is a good one for hanging out with friends). This could be a very healing thing for me. It’s fucking hard as hell, though, and I find myself dithering a bit as I prepare to leave for the weekend away. It’s just an overnight, down and back, and a chance to look over some real estate on the way back. This? This is an experience to have.

There are verbs involved. Self-soothing. Taking time out to regain perspective. Practices to practice. This? It’s a test. 🙂 I’m content if I get a “C”… I would like to pass it, though. lol I take a deep breath and relax. I’m aware of the physical pain I am in – and the potential that some measure of that pain is directly related to my emotional well-being in some way. Another breath. I let my shoulders slide back down where they belong. I am okay, right now. The road beyond the driveway is quiet. It’s a good time to get started on this journey.

I am my own cartographer. My choices are my own. I walk my own hard mile. My results may vary; and I have choices. I become what I practice. The woman in the mirror smiles back at me. We’re in this together.

It’s time to begin again.

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

We Become What We Practice

May 17, 2018 //
0

It’s a true thing that we become what we practice – and it’s true whether our practices are willful, carefully chosen, and positive, or whether our “practices” are merely a matter of habit, reactivity, and part of endless destructive cycles we’ve long forgotten were chosen, in the first place. Repeat specific thinking or behavior often enough and it becomes a defining characteristic of “who we are”, everything from how we tend to our living space, to whether we are violent with loved ones; we practiced who we are. We worked hard to get here.

This is quite good news, really… It means we can choose change. 😀

What will you practice differently today? Will you stick with a chosen change long enough for that more desirable behavior, thinking, or way of using language to become truly part of you? Are you wholly the person you most want to be? 🙂

There are verbs involved.

…You can do better. (I can, too.)

I woke this morning feeling rested, but pulled from a sound sleep. It was hard to yield sleep to waking, today, but so much less so than yesterday, and I don’t recall waking during the night. My sleep was of better quality (far better) than recent nights. I feel both relieved and appreciative. I’m ready to start the work day, although I’m a bit ahead of schedule on that; it’s not yet time.

The sky begins to lighten above the trees beyond my studio window. I consider the day ahead with a smile. I’m ready to begin again.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Spring, The Art of Being

Well This Sucks

May 15, 2018 //
1

I’m home for the day. The poor quality of my sleep continued to affect my experience much of the day. I arrived home feeling… sad. Drained. Sorrowful. Mortal. Contemplating such fun topics on the commute home as “do any of us really deserve to live?” and “would I spend my life this way if I knew I would be dead in 2 years?”. It was a grim and unsatisfying drive.

Now, home with my thoughts, armed with almost 5 years of better practices to fall back on, and still I pick at the open wound that is the recollection of last night’s nightmares. I continue to fuss quietly, seething, alone, and feeling disrupted. “It’s all in my head”, I remind myself. In this moment, right here, I am unconvinced, and my solitude is less than ideal. Words and phrases, lacking in context or purpose in the moment, bring me to the brink of tears, when they reach my consciousness. It’s foolishness of the first order, nonetheless it is difficult to dismiss it when I am tired, and feeling rather sad. It feeds itself. I even know this.

I stew in it awhile. The traffic beyond my windows aggravates me. I am sound sensitive, and easily irritated. I am sleepy – but also restless. My nightmares left me feeling averse, at this point, to falling asleep again; I don’t want to return to The Nightmare City. Not tonight. Not right now. Not when it is obvious that the current denizens of my darkest dreams really get what terrifies me most at this time in my life. I don’t want to be the grown up in the room… I want someone else to do that for me. I want to be held. Told “everything will be okay” – in spite of there being very little actually “wrong”, at all. I want someone to check for monsters under the bed, and in the closets, and care for me as though these concerns are “real”. I want someone to promise me things, and assure me that there is a happily ever after if only I am “a good girl” or “work hard enough”… or some other bullshit combination of magic words intended to soothe the savage bitch.

Being tired isn’t a good state of being for me, generally speaking. A wave of anger washes over me as I wonder how the hell I survived my 20s at all…? The anger is no more (or less) “real” than the other emotions that crash upon my cognitive shore, wave upon wave, disconnected from circumstances. There is more to come. I guess I’m fortunate, in general. This bullshit? It is bullshit.

This bullshit, though? It’s hard, yeah. This part, here? This doesn’t seem to get any easier over time. Mired in my own bullshit, for the moment, aware I could do more differently, could begin again, could move the fuck on from this… I know, I know. Choices. Verbs. Ennui overtakes good sense. Anhedonia steps in for will. There are, at least, these words. I can see them, as I write. I hear my voice – finally, I am heard, even in this dark moment. I’m here for me, at least that far. I’m not yet despairing… that’s something. I hold onto that. I breathe. I have a big glass of water, and marvel at how refreshing that can actually be. I take a couple Tylenol for this chronic headache (an exception, almost on the order of “a treat”), knowing that even a few hours of relief, in this state I’m in now, will make a difference – enough to be worth accepting the risks and contraindications. My temper flares up, and cools, again and again, disconnected from anything going on around me. “This too shall pass”, a calmer inner voice observes gently, kindly, full of love and understanding.

I breathe. I relax. I let go one notion, then another. Breathe. Exhale. Let the stray thoughts that plague me fall away like wisps of mist on a summer morning, before the heat of the day develops. Another breath, another moment. One by one. My seething fury begins to ease. I’m just tired. I put my ear plugs in, and add noise-canceling headphones. There is quiet now, except for my tinnitus. It’s enough. It’s enough to endure. It’s enough to survive. It’s enough to have choices and to attempt, in some small way, to choose. It’s enough to recognize agency, even if I fail to make use of it. Right now? “Enough” is plenty – I can hold on to that, perhaps long enough to get some rest.

Eventually, I will understand to begin again. Eventually, I can walk on from this moment. It’ll pass.

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Categories anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Frustration, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, loneliness, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, Washington Trails, Words

Outcomes

May 13, 2018 //
0

Every choice we make has a result. An outcome. A consequence. The things we seek in life come at a cost, even when the cost is “only” time.

I am drinking a lot of water today. Tap water. Canned scented fizzy water. Iced tea. It is a warm day, and staying hydrated makes sense as basic good self-care. I definitely don’t want to let myself become “dried out” on a warm summery day immediately after getting tattooed; it’s not ideal for healing skin to become dehydrated.

I’ve spent much of the day, rather unexpectedly, sleeping. Sure, last night was a late night (for me), and I didn’t get to bed until sometime shortly past 2 am, but today is Sunday and I could sleep as long as I needed to… and somehow still woke up at 6:30 am. I went back to bed. Got up at 8:30. By 10:30 I was feeling like I could nap… and I “laid down for a minute”, which resulted in waking up sometime past noon. So the day has gone. Between naps, I have meditated. Showered. Tended the container garden on my patio. Done dishes. Read. It’s been a full day, and I am content, but there is nothing to argue with when I say I have spent most of the day napping. lol

The tattoo is gorgeous, although not yet finished. I feel more me, when I see it in my reflection. It builds on a much older tattoo, adding context, size, and a suggestion of greater-than-obvious depth of meaning. The colors are vibrant. The work is a collaboration of visions; mine, and that of the tattoo artist doing the work. There are unexpected moments of discovery for me, as I examine the color work more closely over time. Here, too, self-care matters (for all I know, I’m sleeping so much today because my body wants that for healing time after being tattooed for more than 4 hours). Drinking more water, getting more rest – those are only part of the basic self-care involved in this tattoo being gorgeous a really long time. I keep it clean, cool the modest amount of inflammation with ice packs now and then, and keep it moistened gently (and hygienically). I never ever touch it with unwashed hands while it is healing. I keep it covered from the sun. Small things that all matter. My shoulder is a bit stiff from the small amount of inflammation caused by being artistically “attacked” with a tiny needle for hours, and that’s to be expected. The surface of my skin stings a bit, but mostly only immediately after I’ve cleaned it and re-moisturized; like any abrasion sort of injury, it doesn’t like being touched. The price I pay for this beautiful art is a small amount of discomfort, and some time spent caring for it. (And money; an artist’s time is worth paying for!) Seems worth it.

Hilariously, the big driver of getting this particular work done was primarily to balance the considerably larger tattoo on the other shoulder. Fail sauce is liberally poured over that notion at this point, as the new work is quite a bit larger than the piece I sought to balance. LOL I’m not even bothered by that; I already know what is needed to make that right. (Yes, for me, the balance and hint at symmetry do matter. 🙂 Other things may matter to you.) 😀 The other reason to get this tattoo is simply the experience of being tattooed, which I have notice tends to provide me with some fairly profound pain relief for a couple days – no Rx required. 🙂 Feels good, today, to feel good.

The day has been entirely spent on self-care. I notice at some point it is also Mother’s Day. If you’re a mother, well happy day to you, then. 🙂 I’m not, and the awareness of the day comes and goes.

I notice I am already feeling rather inclined to nap, again, but it is past 7 pm, and tomorrow is a work day. I make the necessary mental adjustment in my approach, and hold onto the awareness that what is needful, now, is to stay up until it is properly bedtime, based on my own needs, and then call it a night at that time, to get the best shot at a good night’s sleep before work. My sleep has been disturbed since the last party weekend down south. I yawn and laugh at myself – it’s only taken a week, but it looks like I’ll be back on track tonight… unless of course, I wake up at 2 am. LOL

I see the new ink reflected back at me in a mirror, coming back from getting yet another delicious cold water-y beverage. Grapefruit scented fizzy water tastes very much like summer, somehow. It’s gone quickly. The tattoo, of course, is still there. It reminds me of new beginnings, and longer journeys. It reminds me that beginning again is largely a matter of will (my own) and choice – and there are verbs involved. It reminds me that the journey itself is the destination.

I smile contentedly, unconcerned with whether this post is sufficiently meaningful, insightful, or “worthy” by any measure but my own. The evening sun through the window warms me gently. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin again. There is time tonight to take care of me. 🙂

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, inspiration, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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