Archives for posts with tag: ptsd

I’m sipping a relatively dreadful cup of coffee this morning, and watching the sky slowly change from the dark of night to the deep blue-gray of the earliest moments of daybreak, and anticipating the new day ahead. It’s a Friday. I’m looking forward to the weekend. I am thinking about “forgiveness”.

I frankly find forgiveness difficult. Hurts hurt, and the damage done can be quite lasting. So often, at least for me, the lack of any indication of regret, contrition, and likely lack of any sort of apology, can make it super difficult just to let go of some transgression (major or minor), forget about “forgiveness“!

For a long time, I thought of forgiveness as something one gives to the person who caused hurt or damage, or delivered some insult. That felt… unbearable. Unjustifiable. It felt like a bullshit band-aid for an injury that would not heal any better for having provided it. Somewhere along the way I read something, or perhaps my Traveling Partner said it, to the effect that forgiveness isn’t for the person who has done us wrong, so much as it is for us, ourselves – a means of truly letting something go, and moving on in our own experience. It was expressed as a way to limit the amount of time someone who has hurt us gets to live in our heart or our mind rent free, continuing to hurt us again. Understanding forgiveness differently, as something I would do for myself, to ease the burden my own pain is for me, certainly makes me more willing to consider it – but I still find it a difficult practice.

The sun rise, this morning, begins with a streak of vibrant pink low on the horizon. The sky above has turned a steely silver-gray, bluer in places where clouds gather. I make a second coffee, and return to my desk to see the sunrise beginning to be reflected in building windows opposite the rising sun, deep blood red and orange. It’s a beautiful sunrise this morning. Another new day.

…Another opportunity to forgive…

Forgiveness is a practice. It does require practicing. We become what we practice.

My Traveling Partner suggested often that I would do well to forgive a particular ex. I found it hard to do so, in part because I did not feel at all understood by my Traveling Partner; he had his own experiences and baggage with that particular human primate, and these made it quite difficult to discuss mine with him. That feeling of “not being heard” by my partner, on a circumstance that we shared (in a somewhat superficial way, since we were each still having our own experience), made it incredibly hard for me to forgive my ex, even after my partner seemed willing to forgive her, himself.

My Traveling Partner is far more grown up and emotionally mature in this particular area than I am myself. He’s a definite fan of forgiveness. I can still hear myself, at 20-something, snarling to a friend “there are some sins even your God does not forgive,” discussing my bitterness and seething rage at horrors I had endured that I could not yet find myself ready to forgive, at all, and could barely discuss. I’ve grown since then, and it’s unlikely that I share much of who I am now with that wounded creature who was once me. I recognize the value in forgiveness, and the purpose it serves, I just still sometimes find it quite a difficult practice, in practice.

My Traveling Partner made mention of this particularly toxic ex recently. I don’t recall why, or what the context actually was, but I found myself curious and took at look at her web page. She doesn’t write much anymore, and I guess that’s no surprise; she once cautioned me discouragingly that maintaining a daily writing practice was “very hard to keep up” (which still amuses me, as a woman who has written more or less every day of my entire adult life, either pen & ink, or online, mostly without any particular effort required, and had done so since long before ever making her acquaintance). Her most recent entry was largely positive, expressing gratitude for being in a better place than she was some years ago. I found it interesting that I had no particular emotional reaction beyond “well that’s good see”, before moving on to things that were of far greater interest in the here and now.

She did a lot of harm. She did the harm she did by intent, and said as much at the time. I walked away from all that, but I carried some baggage for a long while and I stayed angry until… I don’t know when, actually. Some time ago, she – and the damage she had done – stopped being something that mattered to me at all. I no longer had the time or inclination to let her “live rent free in my head”, and I let all that go. In the process, I forgave her. I forgave the damage, the toxic bullshit and game-playing, the ugliness, the meanness, the lies, the violence, the narcissistic entitlement… all of it. Like a troll in a fairytale, she had no power over me, in life. I had turned the page on that story. Not gonna lie – I definitely don’t ever want to deal with her again (and hopefully I’ve learned enough to avoid similar people in the future), but forgiveness isn’t about forgetting, or excusing, or condoning, or permitting new hurts. Forgiveness is understanding with some measure of compassion that we’re each human, and each capable of some really shitty behavior – and letting it go, accepting the truth of what was, and moving on to something new and better. I wouldn’t want any part of having her in my experience now, but I also don’t grudge her finding her own peace or joy. Forgiveness lets me let her go, completely.

The sun is up. The sky is a soft blue. My coffee is warm and comforting. My heart is light. Forgiveness is still a difficult practice for me, but over time I’ve come to embrace it. I’ve forgiven those who have wronged me along the way. It’s been worthwhile to do so, although it doesn’t heal the damage done all by itself. There are still verbs involved in healing a wounded heart. It still takes time. It still takes work. It still takes a commitment to myself – and that’s where the forgiveness lies; I don’t benefit from continuing to use energy on hate and resentment and seething rage that could be more effectively used for healing myself, so at some point, it’s utterly necessary to “let shit go” and forgive those who have hurt me. They’re human, too, each having their own experience, wading through their own chaos and damage, and struggling with their own challenges. The damage they’ve done to me is a whole lot more about them than it ever was about me. Accepting that is an important step towards forgiveness.

…Forgiveness is an important step toward healing…

I finish my coffee and my thoughts. The sun is up, and it’s a new day unfolding ahead me. I smile, thinking about my Traveling Partner and the love we share. I feel relaxed and contented, and generally well; it’s a good beginning to the day. It’s already time to begin again.

I very nearly started this out as a reflection on having “only” one lifetime, but… I don’t actually know that with certainty, any more than anyone else does. Maybe there’s more? Maybe not. Won’t know until I’m “on the other side”, I suppose. What I do know is that I’m here, now, living this life, right here. Each individual day made up of so many individual moments – some of those truly “unique” (or at least, unique in my own experience), although many of them are quite similar to each other, as days and moments go, built on habits and routines and rituals and celebrations and things noticed along the way. I sip my coffee and think about this one lifetime, and what sorts of things I’d like to experience and fill my time with.

Daybreak and dawn have come and gone. The sun is up, somewhere beyond the dense gray of an overcast day. My coffee is… fine. It’s fine. Not great. Not bad. Just… coffee. Mostly gone, which seems fitting for the hour of the morning in which I find myself. Pleasant enough morning, if not especially interesting or adventure-filled – I’m fine with having an ordinary morning. Quiet. Productive. Undisturbed. Busy without being frantic. Calm. I’m neither joyful this morning nor somber, neither aggravated nor merry. I’m just here, being. It’s enough, isn’t it, most mornings?

Yesterday was an odd one. All day I felt rather as if some small portion of my brain never really woke up when I rose for the day. That feeling lingered well into the evening, and when I finally went to bed, I crashed out hard, immediately, no reading or lingering wakefully waiting for sleep. I woke this morning to the lights on full brightness; my artificial sunrise didn’t actually wake me up until I just happened to open my eyes as I turned over, and realized the room was fully light. I sat up confused and groggy, but that feeling passed quickly, and soon I was on my way to the office. Traffic seemed quite a bit heavier than usual, but it was just a byproduct of my somewhat different timing, which amounted to a “late start” compared to most recent mornings. The commute, like my morning coffee, was… fine. “Nothing to see here.” Just a drive to the office in the pre-dawn gloom.

Today? A new day, a new opportunity, a new series of moments to live in this one life. What will I do with them? Nothing much – for me – just work, at least for the next few hours. It would feel like tedious drudgery, but I like the job and the team I work with, and the day will pass quickly and likely have some entertaining moments to reflect on later. I’m eager to be home; the moments I spend with my Traveling Partner are some of the best I have in this life, at least over the past several years (and, I hope, the many yet to come). I miss him when we’re apart, in spite of my yearning for solitude now and then. Even when I am most eager to embrace some solitary moment or experience, he’s part of my thoughts, in my heart, and a notable feature of my emotional landscape. “The love of my life” is not an exaggeration; I can’t imagine feeling more strongly, deeply, affectionately about any one other human being. Sitting here with my nearly finished coffee, thinking about how much I think about my Traveling Partner, and what a big part of my experience he has become, my heart fills with love and a smile develops on my face that doesn’t make any sense. “Too much smiling!!” I think to myself, almost laughing. Fuck that man fills my heart with joy, just by existing. It’s nice. 😀

I sit thinking about things I enjoy doing, or experiencing, and ways to spend more time on those things, and less on things I dislike, or don’t get anything out of. Choices. There are so many choices. Too often I find myself choosing to undertake things that seem to “need” to be done, without really examining how true that actually is. Other times, I dodge doing the needful, in favor of doing something that is neither necessary, nor what I might actually want to be doing… just a thing being done that gets me out from under doing something “worse”, but having the unintended consequence of putting something far more pleasant, desirable, or necessary even further out of reach. Humans are weird.

I laugh and yawn, and rub my eyes. I could do better. Choose my actions with greater wisdom and discernment. Be more present and aware, more willful and studious about my decisions. I could undertake a few more verbs, and a little less sitting around, perhaps. I sigh and glance at the clock – it’s already time to begin again. The clock never stops ticking…

…and there’s just this one life…

I woke ahead of the alarm, this morning. I got going and headed up the highway a bit earlier than usual, enjoying the lack of traffic. I’d love to say I drove mindfully, fully present in the moment, but… it wouldn’t be true. My head was still in the garden, after delightful weekend hours planting and planning, and putting to good use the seed starters my Traveling Partner had 3D printed for me, for such crops as will be planted later, in warmer weather.

2 of 4 seed starter sets (translucent covers not pictured), with re-usable inserts that separate into two sections for easy removal of tender seedlings for planting.

Much of the drive this morning was spent entirely in my own head, having imagined conversations with family and friends no longer available in life for such conversations, at all. I miss sharing the details of the garden and gardening with my Dad, with my Granny, with my dear friend… It’s okay, I guess, the conversations would be much the same as previous such conversations had been, and it’s easy enough to replay them in my head, and imagine sharing the new details of this garden, and this Spring. New roses. New herbs. New ideas. In a sense, it isn’t “new” at all, more part of a seasonal cycle that repeats each year, embraced by those that love it so.

New plants waiting to be planted.

I do share what’s going on in the garden with my Traveling Partner, and he’s a wealth of good ideas and insights, but whiling away endless hours talking about this variety versus that variety, or what specifically to plant in that corner over there isn’t really his thing, so much. lol I’m okay with that; we each have our own things to share and to do, and there’s always much to discuss about the things that interest us both equally. A passing conversation about the garden, a quick update, and a shared moment are quite satisfying, and I’m grateful to share them with him. I do miss the conversations with Granny about the various herbs, and the kitchen gardens and medicinal gardens of her youth. I miss the eager excited exchanges with my dear friend about garden plans and new roses, and her delight over pictures shared over the years. I miss my Dad’s amusement that what had been such drudgery for me as a kid has become something I truly love as a grown woman, and our conversations about the garden as a metaphor, and how we change and grow in life.

So, I drove into the city with my thoughts. It was a pleasant drive, and as I reached the city I found myself wondering what I need most to take care of this fragile vessel, right now? Do I need “down time” at home, in the garden, and more shared connected time with my Traveling Partner? I can easily make a strong case for that. Do I need “down time” in the form of a short getaway, a chance to fully immerse myself in my own thoughts, to read, to write, to paint, to enjoy the stillness of solitude? I feel that, too. I’m in a peculiar “in between place” with myself, and I’m not at all sure what will serve best to satisfy moments of restlessness or ease the internal chaos. I reflect on that and sip my coffee, as daybreak arrives, revealing a cloudy sky.

…Is it too soon for comfortable camping…?

…Can I get an affordable room on the coast and watch the tide come and go for a day or two…?

…Do I even want to be away from the comfort of home at all…?

…Every day away from home is a day away from my garden, and it’s Spring…

I sigh out loud, feeling mildly annoyed with myself. I’d email my dear friend and get her thoughts on it, but… she’s not replying to email, these days, and no longer answers texts. We are mortal creatures, and it’s damned inconvenient, sometimes. :-\

My thoughts bring me back to missing departed dear ones, far away friends, and fond memories of other times and places, other gardens. I sip my coffee as the dawn becomes day. I remind myself to bring up my “what to do about me?” questions with my Traveling Partner; he’s always got useful perspective and good ideas to share. I’m very fortunate to have a partner who supports me taking care of myself properly, and doesn’t grief me over needing time away, when I do. He sees me from a different perspective than I see myself, and I often find his thoughts quite useful for improving my perspective.

…I think of my Traveling Partner, hopefully still sleeping, and my heart fills with love. I’m very fortunate. I sip my coffee and finish this moment with gratitude and quiet joy, and thoughts of garden tasks yet to be completed. The work day stretches ahead of me, and the afternoon on the other side will be another chance to be in the garden for some little while. I smile, and get ready to begin again. 😀

I’m at a favorite trailhead waiting for the sun, or at least enough daylight to safely walk the trail on this foggy morning. I’m also waiting for the park gate to open, which should be any minute now. Another early walker shows up, and just sits idling at the gate, instead of parking and waiting. I don’t take that personally; not my vehicle, not my choice, not my business. I’m ready to walk but not feeling impatient about it.

Yesterday evening my Traveling Partner and I enjoyed a lovely somewhat romantic very connected evening listening to music together, but it ended on a sour note. I wrapped up my day with some quiet time reading, hoping to avoid aggravating him further. When I woke this morning my head was still full of hurt feelings and irritation. Pointless and not constructive, over a moment that was just a moment. So… I used the drive to the trailhead to sort of sift through my feelings, supporting my emotional needs by acknowledging my feelings and developing an understanding of why I still felt hurt, and whether that had to do with some legitimate concern needing some follow-up, or perhaps just me holding on to shit because that’s what human beings often do. Having decided it was more “just holding on to shit” than anything else, I proceeded to just let it go. Yes, there are verbs involved, but it’s quite doable to let small shit go.

It’s a new day. For me, a new day is a sort of “cheat code” for moving on from shit I’d like to let go of. It’s a nice moment that draws a sharp line between some moment and this new day unfolding ahead of me. Useful. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The foggy morning envelopes the car. I wait for day light.

My Traveling Partner greets me when he wakes. We briefly discuss errands, and my plan for the day begins to develop: a trip to the store, a stop by a local merchant on the way home, waffles for breakfast, and some time in the garden later, planting spinach starts and kitchen herbs. It sounds like a lovely day!

Foggy, but fine for walking.

… But first? A quiet walk along river and marsh on a foggy morning. Then, I’ll begin again, again. 😁

Wild night. Plentiful, surreal, and rather lively dreams that seemed more like “real life” than dreams, with enough really strange stuff mixed in to be… remarkable. I slept deeply, but restlessly, and woke with my silent alarm just as the lights came on. Groggy. Feeling rather as if I were “running late”, simply because I’ve been waking so damned early for the past couple… days? …Weeks? I got through my morning routine, surprised to discover my Traveling Partner already up as I stepped into the living room, as I left. We exchanged greetings, and a sweet kiss good-bye.

…I feel rather as if I really “woke up” somewhere along the commute, more than half-way to the office…

I’m sipping my coffee, now, preparing my work for the day ahead. I almost forgot to take a few minutes for me, just to get my head right, and meditate, and take care of this fragile vessel. I put things on pause, and sit with my coffee, watching the storm clouds that fill the sky obscuring the sunrise, as daybreak becomes… morning. There’ll be no view of a sunrise today. lol I’m okay with that; it’s enough to enjoy a new day. Some mornings seem to remind me that “the clock is always ticking”. This is one of those. I breathe, exhale, relax, and give myself over to a moment of gratitude and presence. It’s enough to be here. Enough to be awake and aware. Enough to experience the small joys in a comfortable place to work, and a good cup of coffee. Enough to know that my loving partner and pleasant home are waiting for me on the other side of this work day.

Bits of blue sky peak out between fluffy gray clouds. I sip my coffee. It’s a very quiet morning, and the loudest thing I hear is my own tinnitus. There are few cars on the streets below. Most of the residential windows are still dark. There are no trash trucks doing collections, presently. No construction has started. Quiet. I enjoy these quiet moments. I sit with my thoughts awhile. The weekend is only one more work day away… I’m eager to be back in the garden, though the forecast is for rain. I’m unconvinced – on Sunday, the weather forecast indicated it would rain all week, and it most certainly has not rained, beyond a few scattered sprinkles, yesterday evening. lol So… maybe I will be in the garden? I love my garden as a metaphor for life (and for personal growth). I plant seeds, I nurture them as they sprout, I watch them grow and tend them with care… the more care I give, the more effort I put into it, the better my results. There’s something so simple (and so profound) to be learned from that… I keep practicing.

Yesterday evening, although I was tired, I walked through the garden, and looked for new seedlings. I’ve planted carrots and peas and radishes and salad greens (from seeds), and although that was done quite recently, the radishes at least should be coming up… “soon”. I spotted first one sprout, then another, then as my eyes calibrated to their shapes, I saw the entire row, and the chaos where El Gato had dug a whole (that I filled back in) – scattering the unsprouted seeds such that those seedlings are sprouting just every-damned-where. I’m okay with that bit of chaos. Nothing to do about it but enjoy it, really (at least, that’s my approach to such things). Spring is truly here. 😀

What have you planted in your metaphorical garden? How are you nurturing those seedlings? What do you hope to harvest? Can those seedlings even become that thing at all? Things to think about as you plan and dream… Soon it’ll be time to begin again.