Archives for posts with tag: CBT

My walk this morning was short, local, and drizzly. It is a drizzly morning. I walked with my thoughts, and headed home to begin the day. The drive back to the house felt peculiarly nostalgic – something about the drizzle, and the way the sheen of water on the road reflected the light of the gray skies over head – and I found myself thinking about sick days on rainy Spring mornings as a kid. How is it that all my recollections of missing school due to being sick seem to be rainy days? I guess with the average number of rainy days where I grew up being about 111 days per year, falling primarily in the months between March and November, it would be better than a 1 in 3 chance of any given sick day being a rainy one. Maybe they really all were? lol

When I started down the trail, it wasn’t raining. Change is.

I arrived home to find my Traveling Partner awake, and it was lovely to see him. I made coffee for us both, and headed to my office to begin the day. All so very ordinary, so routine that the days sometimes seem to blur together except that the precious loving moments we share stand out, each unique and worth appreciating. It’s strange that when I look back on my childhood, there are really only a small handful of recollections I can count on as “my own”, and many of those are rather archetypical – conflations of many similar events becoming just one “memory”. When I look back on the past 15 years with my Traveling Partner, it’s not that way. There are many many memories, each built on small details that linger in my recollection. I don’t know whether this is a sort of before/after contrasting what remains of my memory after my head injury with how my memory works now, but there it is; I have relatively few childhood memories, and some of those are rather suspiciously recalled “in the third person”, as though I am remembering something I was told, not really remembering something I experienced.

I think about memory awhile, and rainy sick days. I remember those almost fondly. The rainy gray drive to the doctor’s office. Bundled up at home with chicken soup, saltine crackers, and a book to read. Sitting at the dining room table playing with Play-Doh, or coloring in a favorite coloring book. Napping. Waking. Reading. Before my head injury, my sick-day recollections are mostly to do with headcolds or the flu. After my head injury they are more often about headaches. I missed quite a bit of school, even through high school, over headaches. I don’t miss much work over headaches as an adult; I’ve learned to live with them. It’s an uneasy truce, some days, and I’d for sure prefer not to have a headache at all, but since I generally do (of one sort or another), it’s probably best that I don’t just give in and quit, eh?

You’re not alone with your pain. Not really. We’ve all got some kind of pain – well, most of us, I feel fairly certain. There are no doubt those rare few individuals with charmed lives of such good fortune that pain hasn’t become a thing to endure day after day after day after day after… You know? I’m not even sure those people are to be envied; they may lack some useful perspective on endurance, and what they are truly capable of, perhaps. (I don’t know; I’ve never lived that life.) I sip my coffee and notice that my mind has wandered on to other things. The garden. The roses. Pain management. Nutrition, diet, and exercise. The shit I’ve got to get done today. The things I’m eager to do for myself once the needful tasks of the day are behind me. My garden. Work. Life. Love. I let my mind wander on for a few minutes of self-reflection before I get started on work in earnest. Sometimes self-reflection feels a little self-indulgent, but it is actually an important bit of self-care (at least for me); it tends to keep me “on my path”.

…What are you doing to care for yourself? What are you practicing?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The clock ticks on. The rain continues to fall. I notice that it is time to begin again.

This morning I got to the trailhead in full daylight. I slept in a bit, though my dreams were almost entirely about being awake, bringing a certain sense of “having done all this” to a brand new day. Doesn’t really matter; it actually is a new day, full of potential and opportunities to grow and change.

Not quite summer.

I could have spent time in the garden yesterday; it needs weeding. I chose instead to enjoy my Traveling Partner’s company after the work day ended and played a few hands of cribbage. He made our beautiful cribbage board himself, it was one of the first projects to come out of his shop (from a time when nearly all the tools and focus were on woodworking). As is reliably the case with me, I have to relearn the game, even though I used to play cribbage with my Grandfather, and later nearly every evening while I was deployed to the Middle East to fight a war that seemed just at the time.

Brain damage is a peculiar thing; everyone’s experience is just a little different, depending on the specific details of their injury. I definitely have some odd “thinking holes” into which some kinds of information get lost, and I struggle with even long-standing habits suddenly extinguishing themselves for no obvious reason. So… I cut myself some slack about my limitations, and I keep practicing the practices that are most likely to result in emotional resilience, good quality of life, strong healthy relationships, and the likelihood of maintaining order in an experience full of chaos. There’s no end to it, no report card, no final win, just more practice.

…But I do like playing cribbage…

This morning I’m writing from a sunny spot at the edge of the marsh. It’s pleasant and quiet, robins singing nearby and small brown birds hopping here and there. The geese are gone (at least I don’t see any this morning), but there are still ducks on the ponds, and signs of nutria.

When I looked at my device to begin taking some notes, I noticed the app suggesting that many thousands more people had read my blog in the past 24 hours than is common. I’m not imagining the numbers, but I don’t accept them as true either. It seems quite unlikely that a >1000% quantity of views resulted from anything I’ve written lately, and I don’t recall any particularly trend-worthy tags, either. lol Platform decay and unmanaged bot activity seems far more likely (with app reporting errors following closely) as a potential root cause, but if you’re an actual human being who recently began reading my blog, welcome. I hope you find something worthwhile in my humble musings.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m not overly excited about things like readership metrics, any more than I am stressed by my persistent inability to remember the rules of card games. There is a middle ground between excitement and despair, and it’s in this middle ground where contentment, peace, and lasting joy are to be found. (It’s at least where I have found them, myself). This middle ground is easy enough to find by practicing mindfulness, building emotional resilience over time, gaining and nurturing perspective, and learning to embrace sufficiency. (I didn’t mean to say anything suggesting it is actually easy; it takes quite a bit of practice, and I fail now and then and have to begin again. There are verbs involved.)

This path has taken me so far. I’m grateful that I gave myself another chance and learned some fundamentals of self-care, and stuck with the practices I learned in therapy. I’m glad I chose to seek help. I’m glad I ended unhealthy relationships and left toxic jobs that were destroying my quality of life. This here and now moment is quite delightful. I’ve done some work to get here and I’m fortunate to have this beautiful moment to enjoy. I look out over marsh and meadow, feeling contentment and quiet joy.

I’ve got a long weekend. The Spring meadow is lush and green. The wild roses are blooming (so are the roses in my garden). There are things to do, choices to make, and practices to practice. I smile and think about my Traveling Partner fondly; he’s so patient about my “issues” generally. Maybe another game of cribbage later today?

I smile at the little birds near my feet as I write. Soon enough it’ll be time to begin again. I look back up the trail and at the stormy clouds gathering overhead, thinking about paths and storms as metaphors, the day ahead, and my partner’s love feeling fortunate and grateful.

I overlooked writing at all yesterday. I mean, to be clear, I “wrote” quite a lot, as a function of the work I do for a paycheck. A lot. What I failed to do was any other sort of writing: introspective, meditative, creative, nothing of that sort. I arrived home from work wholly exhausted, brain fatigued, dragging myself along on pure willpower alone, and the awareness that if I didn’t do this or that task, no one else would either.

… I managed to hold enough in reserve to make dinner…

I’m still tired this morning. My last several nights have been restless and my sleep interrupted and full of nightmares and stressful dreams of failure, futility, and pointlessly chasing unachievable goals. Hell, Elon-fucking-Musk even made an appearance in one of my unpleasant dreams and he was just as big a clueless out-of-touch douchebag in my dream as he is reported to be in life. Bleh. G’damn I hope I sleep better tonight.

I’m in a ferocious amount of pain and filled with resentment at insurers who don’t want to cover long-term services that maintain better quality of life and reduce pain, but without “fixing” anything. My occipital neuralgia flared up some days ago after quite a long time of only dealing with it occasionally; it’s clear that the additional care I had been receiving was actually reducing my pain. “Fuckers,” I snarl quietly, but I don’t know who I am most angry with – my insurance company or the rich assholes who built this stupid entirely profit-focused system. This is a fucking dumb way to approach medicine.

I sigh quietly. Let it go. I’m paying out of pocket for the care I need, today. It’s not a sustainable choice. I can’t do it often, but I definitely need some help managing the pain right now, after three exhausting work weeks that I am happy to put behind me.

Dawn on the marsh

It’s a new day. Boots on, cane in hand, this trail isn’t going to walk itself. For now I’ve got the place all to myself, a treat for my fatigued consciousness. Solitude. No people. No need to speak or hear words. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Today, self-care first. Then, I’ll begin again.

I went to the usual trailhead of my favorite weekend morning hike. Pretty morning, but… the trailhead is busier than usual. A parked vehicle (vacant but with hazard lights left on), an especially disreputable looking old van (windows covered by foil), and an old RV with signs of being someone’s long-term dwelling, are in the parking lot. My skin crawls, and I experience a sense of “stranger danger”. I could be overreacting, but by the time I could be certain that I am or am not, it could easily be too late, eh? I move on, and go to the western trailhead of the park, on the far side, nearer to my usual “halfway point”. I’ll walk the trail in a different direction, approaching the views from the other side, and I’ll take a route that doesn’t approach the other trailhead at all (skirting the marsh instead of crossing it).

A calm sentinel.

It’s a lovely morning, and I’ve no regrets over the change of direction. I walk the trail contentedly. I see geese, and nutria, robins and squirrels. I walk along the river for a while. I look across a different bit of meadow, at a different stand of trees on the other side.

A change of perspective.

The morning is chilly but not cold, and I am warm from walking. I feel relaxed and rested, and my (quite minor) seasonal allergies are not vexing me; I remembered to add allergy meds to my morning medication. I feel comfortable in my skin and merry as I walk. I am supported by my cane (it’s actually a very strong, lightweight Leki trekking pole with some shock absorbtion), and my ankle does not yet ache from the walking, nor do my feet hurt. I would be walking in spite of those things, but it’s nice not having to fight that pain, this morning.

I think about the day ahead, but my thoughts are scattered, fractured by distractions: birds, flowers, movement in the underbrush. I walk on, enjoying the scents of Spring. I try, briefly, to recall whether I have errands to run, but I fail, and for the moment I don’t actually care. I’m wrapped in this moment, now, and it’s quite enough.

I walk, thinking about my beloved Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. He’ll likely be quite sore today after physical therapy yesterday. I resolve to keep myself occupied until he alerts me that he’s up and about for the day, to do what little I can to ensure he gets the rest he also needs. I smile. My heart is filled with love and my thoughts with fond memories. He is so much part of my life and experience after 15 years together. May 1st is our anniversary, but “that moment” that he truly became part of my life and my future was actually on his birthday, in December, at the end of 2009. By February we were the best of friends, by June he had moved in with me. Even then, I don’t think either of us anticipated marriage being part of our journey (less than a year later), we were both pretty sour on the notion from our past experiences. Still, here we are. Feels almost as if we’ve “always” been together. It’s easy to forget what a short time it has been. I grin to myself as I walk. He could not be more dear to me, nor further entangled in my heart. I am wrapped in his love every moment of every day. I sigh happily, and keep walking.

An enormous flock of Canada geese pass overhead. I think about my Granny, and wish that she could have met my Traveling Partner. I think she would have liked him. I know my Dad would have. I chuckle over the ways of men, and wonder what it might have been like had my Dad and my partner had a chance to enjoy each other’s company? I walk on wondering when I stopped being angry at my father? When had I truly forgiven him? It’s clear that I have… How strange. I once thought I never could.

Time passes, and the passage of time heals a lot of hurts, given a chance. Forgiveness isn’t for those who have hurt or wronged us, my Traveling Partner was right about that; forgiveness benefits most the one who forgives. Forgiveness is a letting go of the terrible weight of lasting pain and lingering rage. Forgiveness is another way to begin again.

My footsteps on the path are regular and even, steady like the tick of a clock. The clock is ticking. I walk on, with new perspective, toward the next curve on the path, the next opportunity to begin again. It’s time. It’s always time. I’m okay with that.

I’m sipping my coffee and ignoring (as much as I can) the chronic pain of my osteo-arthritis, which radiates upward from my spinal fusion, which was done years ago, when the state of the art was quite different than it is today. I knew then that my surgery was a new approach to the problem, and that some outcomes were unknown. The goal was to prevent me from ending up in a wheelchair partially paralyzed, and to allow me to continue to serve on active duty (Army). I guess for most values of success, my surgeries were a great success. I’m still walking. I did continue to serve (was even deployed to war in the 90s’), after a period of convalescent “retirement”, although I got “RIF’d” after that war (which broke my heart, but is an altogether unrelated story). So, generally, I’ve nothing to regret about that surgery if I’m just thinking about those details. But…

…There were consequences – of both the injury itself, and the surgeries that followed. The arthritis started to develop in my spine about 3 years after my surgeries. I didn’t understand why I was in so much pain all the time, and it took a rather stupid amount of time for that to be appropriately diagnosed; I was young. Medical bias being a real thing, many doctors were persistently just as “mystified” as I was. What could be causing my pain? How could I have arthritis at my young age? I still feel frustration and annoyance by that lack of curiosity, and lack of diagnostic skill (or persistance). Pain they could not feel themselves did not matter to them.

Then, there were the other things… the persistent chronic itch below my left shoulder blade, that I couldn’t quite reach and that scratching didn’t ease. A “phantom itch” that still bothers me occasionally (CBT really helped with that). A chronically cramped muscle down low on my back, on the left side of my body, most likely a result of the disturbed section of musculature attaching to my spine being put back “not quite in the right place” during my surgery (to make room for the hardware that was there for a year) and which healed into a new, less than ideal, location. This, too, still bothers me, often. Most of it I had to “figure out” in pieces, with limited help from too many doctors, and a lot of study. Sexual challenges (both neurological, and also to do with practical matters like lubrication) that were awkward to discuss were another thing; I was past 60 before a physician finally said, with some surprise, “of course that’s related to your spinal injury” after looking at my records, surgical reports, and images, and listening to me with great care. She seemed so matter-of-fact about it, I ended up enraged for days that no one else had said as much. I went through some shit over that issue with more than one lover, I can tell you. Turned out it wasn’t “my fault” or “a lack of desire”, or anything I could actually do much about; I have a spinal injury. Duh. I spent a few days moping around pretty pissed off about it.

What I thought I understood.

Why am I on about this, today? It’s to do with perspective and knowledge, and how those create our understanding (or don’t). I knew coming out of my surgery all those years ago that I had a permanent “30% stenosis”, and I felt that I understood what that meant. I mean, words having meaning, and I knew the meanings of the words…so… I understand? Don’t I? I thought I “got it”. My lack of real understanding was stunning, and it would be decades before that changed. It wasn’t actually a doctor that changed my understanding. It was math – and a moment at the dining room table with my Traveling Partner; a “lightbulb moment” to do with circles, that was completely unrelated to my spine, my injury, or my pain. lol (Pay attention in school, kids – math matters, and it’s useful stuff.) Something clicked.

What I hadn’t understood, in spite of seeing the images, reading the reports, and discussing with doctors, was what my stenosis meant in my case, specifically. For many years, I imagined 30% percent stenosis as a uniform 30% reduction in a circular area. (I felt pretty stupid when my understanding changed.) Firstly, the spinal canal as a “tubular structure” is not a beautifully perfect mathematical cylinder wherein a slice would appear circular. Not at all. It’s quite different than that. Also, and more importantly, my injury (which crushed two vertebrae, and broke off a spinous process which was then forced into my spinal canal by the impact and subsequently could not be removed) and the repair of that injury did not result in anything like a uniform reduction in area all the way around. Not even close.

Geometry for the win. lol

Reality doesn’t care what we believe. Our pain doesn’t care what we think we understand about our body. Reality is. Pain is. Conditions are what they are regardless of our understanding. So, for years I had struggled with symptoms that made no sense to me – because I so poorly understood my condition – and which I could then not clearly articulate to doctors, who may also not have understood my condition, because (let’s just be real about this, eh) doctors are also human and also have limitations to their own knowledge (and limitations on the amount of time they can spend reading patient histories with the care needed). I understand more/better now, but… I’m still limited by all the things I do not know. I still live within a reality that I perhaps only partially understand because of those limits.

…And reality doesn’t care at all what I understand…

Our perspective and our knowledge limit our understanding – but reality goes on being real, regardless of what we think we know or how we think we understand the world around us.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Living with the pain is pretty much a requirement. There is no option to live without it, at least not now, not really. I do my best. Maybe that reality will change at some point in the future? Technology changes. Medical progress is made. I’ve learned to practice fairly skillful pain management in the meantime. I’m not complaining, not really. Good self-care and skillful pain management may not add up to a “cure for pain” – but it does help.

I sip my coffee thinking about my Traveling Partner, his injury, his surgery, his progress… he’s come so far, so fast, relatively speaking (although I know it doesn’t feel that way to him). We both deal with pain, and I don’t personally see a future where that’s not a thing we deal with, each having our own experience, each doing our best. I feel fortunate to have a better understanding of my injury than I once did. I’m grateful for a conversation at the dining room table about math and circles and ratios and areas, and grateful for a partnership that understands pain and makes room for love anyway. Grateful for love. Things could be worse.

I look out the window. My mind wanders away from the pain I’m in – probably a change for the better. It doesn’t do to dwell on the pain. Don’t get me started about this fucking headache. I sigh quietly and glance at my calendar, and the clock. It’s time to begin again.