For this month’s blog entry and healing journey update, I have decided to go with a journal entry from earlier this month. It was rather poignant at the time; and I’m sure it will be revisited. As such, the verb tense will shift, but you’ll get the drift. In the first few days of this month, I found myself once again grieving the loss of wellness, getting stuck in the bargaining stage.
For those not familiar with the five stages of grief, which are not linear by the way but more of a spiral, they are: shock/denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. We can experience all of these in a single day or even a moment and cycle through them at various times in our lives and/or be triggered by other losses. Active grieving means spending time observing what is happening rather than fighting or ignoring it. As such, here are my observances.
In my bargaining stage, I found myself asking: What if I could work a “real job”? What if I had steady employment [aka income]? What if… and If only… My options in life would be much different. I think I have also been in the grieving stage of depression: sad that my options are so limited; feeling helpless and powerless. Abandoned.
Then Gaia [another name for Mother Earth or the Divine Feminine] reminded me that I’m not alone nor completely powerless or helpless. After all, I am part of the Great Goddess Sisterhood [a feminine reframing of the masculine Trinity Godhead]. I think I need to let that sink into my bones. What does that mean for me to be part of this Sisterhood? But I feel I’m digressing as I haven’t properly addressed the bargaining stage issues.
Obviously, there is a part of me that resists having a chronic, physical illness, let alone the mental ones. There is some piece of radical acceptance I am missing. In my mind, I cannot have a full life if I have a chronic illness, or two, or three. Now that I see that written down, I think that’s absurd! But there it is none-the-less. A self-limiting belief that I am less-than and certain aspects of life are out of reach. In some regards, yes—like mobility and energy—but that doesn’t mean “everything” is off limits. Adaptations may be required. Compromise: give a little to get a little -or- give a lot to get a lot.
Perspective. I can have a full and satisfying life. Just this morning, I was musing that I have had a good/full life. A hard life, but a good life. I have endured much to experience much. My life has not been empty or even boring! My life isn’t perfect nor idyllic; but it is pretty good. A quiet life, yet a full life. I have to remain open and hopeful and receptive to what is all yet to come…
I have to let go the “what if’s” to embrace the “what’s next.” Just because my life hasn’t followed a “normal” trajectory does not make it less meaningful or worthwhile. I was dealt a very unique hand in life—and I like to think I’ve played the hell out of it.
Watching old episodes of “Who Do You Think You Are?” has prompted me to consider the job of professional genealogist. I would have loved that! Following clues, putting pieces together, connecting the dots. Another “what if.” What if I had known about that option when I was considering careers? Maybe I could’ve had a “normal” life of a livable career. A profession that didn’t take too much out of me but could still pay the bills.
However, I did feel called to counselling. A calling is a difficult thing to resist! There is something to that. But I think genealogy would’ve been fun. Not sure what training is involved. Maybe it’s still an option? But I saw myself in rather limited ways back in the day. I did not see my options as limitless. I didn’t have exposure to all the ways we can earn a living. Life was suffering. It wasn’t meant to be fun. And then there was the silence about my birth mother. Obviously my life wasn’t meant to go any other direction than what it did. Doesn’t mean it can’t change direction now. Something to look into. Didn’t’ see that one coming! To do what I love, live within my means, and within my limitations.
I have lived my life for other people—making them happy. I have given very little consideration to what makes me happy. I think that’s what these past five years have been about. What do I want? What brings me joy? What is pleasurable for me? And I think it’s been a bit of shock for certain members of my family to not have this same dedication—to in fact have the opposite approach: I don’t care what makes you happy.
My life has been about duty, service, keeping the peace, accepting suffering, relieving the suffering of others. My life has not been about me per se—as per my indoctrination/upbringing. So, it is new for me to consider what makes me happy, what is my life all about. What do I want to do with my time, and energy, and money, and gifts, and abilities, and skills. Hmmm. That last line. My gifts, abilities, and skills. I don’t think I’ve taken ownership of them before. They’ve always been for the use and benefit of other people or systems.
…As I reflect back on what I wrote in my journal earlier this month, I am intrigued how my observance of the bargaining and depression stages of grief led to musing about what makes me happy, what brings me joy. I am still spending time with this. But I have certainly sensed an internal shift which is difficult to explain. What comes to mind is the healing journey from fragmentation of Self towards integration. I actually feel less fragmented, as weird as that may sound.
So, I am curious to find out if you have spent any time paying attention to what brings you joy. And if so, what sets your heart alight? What makes the day more bearable? What is worth exerting your precious energy? Or spending your hard-earned dollars upon? Feel free to share in the comments, or any other anecdote about becoming an Integrated Self.
Happy Trails! Or as the dogs would say, Happy Tails! 🙂
The year 2023 has had a rough start for me. My trauma triggers have been tested; and I haven’t passed with flying colours. However, this has led to a few self-realizations and a reverse validation of sorts.
I work with trauma clients on a regular basis. I see the signs in others, put puzzle pieces together, connect the dots. I introduce alternate coping strategies, mainly ones I have tried myself and found helpful.
Sometimes I forget, or minimize, or deny my own trauma as a well-worn coping mechanism. When it comes to internal work, I feel I’m pretty good at resolving trauma and healing from abuse. My weak point seems to be interpersonal.
So, how do I unravel this for you?
There was a whole Christmas family fiasco (escalated by my runaway PTSD anger) that is associated with how my new year started, but not the main feature. When I opened my front curtains January 1st, I was met by frozen egg caught in time as it oozed down my window. My amygdala did not know what to make of this. Was I targeted? Was it random? Who could be out to get me? Why would anyone do this? And so the process began to get answers to these questions. I knew I would not be able to calm my amygdala until it knew if I had made a personal enemy somehow, or it was pranksters.
When I talked with others about it (in person or online), the general response was that it was kids which proved to be true thanks to the neighbour’s security cameras. The RCMP couldn’t do anything with said footage, but at least there is a record of this activity for any future incidents. I was grateful that I hadn’t also been hit in October like a few folks online. And I wasn’t the only one whose first Google search of 2023 was how to get frozen egg off your window.
Once I had enough information, I was able to talk myself down. The most interesting part for me was seeing the impact of my trauma “full on.” The first assumption by others was that it was childish pranksters. My amygdala automatically went into high-alert danger mode. The threat was real even though there wasn’t reality to back it up. It’s first assumption was: “uh oh, I’m in trouble.”
This was the reverse validation—evidence that I have, indeed, been traumatized. There is no denying how my brain initially processed events. To make matters worse, the unfriendly dogs across the street escaped their house, while their owners have been away, and terrorized the neighbourhood. Just another in a bizarre series of unfortunate events. Due to their antics, the better footage of the eggers was erased from the neighbour’s motion-sensor dash cam. Dogs were eventually contained, but I think it was three or four days of “gong show.” In amongst the dog drama, an emaciated stray with a sweetheart personality met me when I was walking home from downtown. He greeted everyone who came by, evidently in need of attention.
Another lesson. I wanted to let the dog into my porch (he came right up to the door, practically rang the bell), yet felt I needed to defer to the male in the house. By the time he got outside, the stray had run off; and wouldn’t you know it, the dangerous dogs got out again. I felt immense guilt for not helping a fellow creature in dire need. Why didn’t I simply invite the dog inside when I entered my porch? Why did I feel the need to check first? It’s my house. I can invite whomever I want inside. Just because all the other neighbours who also saw the dog didn’t do anything doesn’t mean I had to follow suit.
Then, just yesterday, there was communication confusion with an established client (meaning they weren’t new and “impressionable”) due to time zone differences and my brain fog (it wasn’t a good Chronic Fatigue day). My sense of failure/guilt has been immense and disproportionate to the circumstances. It would appear I have lost my ability to give myself permission to disappoint others.
It would also seem that my first (repeat) recovery lesson of 2023 is self-forgiveness. Strange given the meditations/journalling I completed last summer/fall on the subject. It’s one thing to forgive yourself for unmet childhood needs and long-ago choices. It’s quite another to forgive yourself for disappointing others (animals or people) in the here-and-now.
I think on some level, my subconscious is stuck in trauma mode from Christmas. After the fiasco, my brain went into “uh oh, I’m in trouble” mode; and it took awhile to realize nothing bad was actually going to happen. Or more accurately, my latent “I’m in trouble” mode surfaces as an automatic response to (potential) trauma triggers. It has become my working theory that we can never truly reprogram our trauma brains, only learn to manage it better. The fiasco at Christmas also removed a veil to the reality of damaging patterns. Almost an ah-ha moment of “no wonder I _______ all the time.”
I just finished watching a TV series that ended up being about simulations; and it occurred to me, I wish the trauma brain was a simulation. A simple reset, and off we go again. But reality check says trauma is real and that ‘inconsiderate’ people are real. We can’t avoid pain by living in an alternate reality (although some of us do try). Being human means experiencing suffering whether in a simulation or real life. There is no reset button. The best I can do is reset my thinking until the next trigger; and hope that one day it won’t be necessary anymore. In the meantime, the goal is to get better at resets.
This leads me back to what I chose as a framework for my blog entries for 2023. It is my intention that I will provide monthly updates on my own healing journey. I realize that there has always been an element of this in my blog entries; but this year, I plan to be more mindful of it. The hope is that something I experience along my healing journey will be offered as a breadcrumb for your own.
I had it in mind that I would post a journal entry from early December; but after typing it up, it is more of a rant triggered by a text than it is blog-worthy reflective writing. While I think the content is of benefit to others, it is a bit heavy and needs more finessing. At any rate, it will be a chapter in my book—some day. The topic was the “misuse” of prayer and faith, if you’re curious. It is also not where my head is at today.
My reflections lately have been in the context of the four themes of Advent: Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. I have been searching out articles and meditations to create an “Advent notebook” that I can refer to year after year. I began this project last year, but it fell by the wayside as these things usually do. I picked it up again well into this Advent season. It seems to have snuck up on me, somehow. Maybe next year I will have my ducks in the proverbial row to have a mindful Advent practice.
On my spiritual journey, like many others, I am easily triggered this time of year with expectations and misguided, yet well-intentioned, expressions and traditions. My quest for reflective materials, therefore, were not “Christmassy” per se or even religious. But I do appreciate the tradition of Advent and taking time out each week for reflection on a theme.
I grew up with an Advent log with five candles (typically Advent wreaths or logs hold four candles representing the four Sundays before Christmas Day, but ours included a Christmas Day candle). Each Sunday a new candle was lit, and if not the first Sunday, the previous candles were lit as well. Christmas day, all five candles were lit. However, that is where the tradition began and ended. We did not have any liturgical reference to the meaning of each candle.
Much later in life, after continuing the Advent candle practice every Christmas season as an adult, I learned of the significance of each candle. Some years, I even incorporated the themes into my blog entries. Only recently have I made an effort to reflect upon the themes more mindfully and purposefully. However, I do not limit myself to an ecumenical framework, rather embracing the true “reason for the season”—winter solstice—which the Catholic Church appropriated in order to provide parishioners with an alternative to pagan or secular celebrations.
The reason for this holiday season, regardless of your worldview or religious leaning, remains the same: celebration of light—a way to mark the shift from darkness to light. The shortest day being around December 21st. So my personal celebrations include reflecting upon the themes of Advent in this broader context. Each Sunday, the days gets a little shorter. Even more noticeable now as the Christmas tree lights could go on earlier, but I am too lazy to adjust the timer. I notice the absence of light and appreciate the diversion of the holiday season—the season that marks a turning point. I think the winter would be harder to bear without this celebration of light.
Being who I am, a deep thinker and feeler, it is not enough to embrace this season at its most shallow. It has to be meaningful for me. And I have found doing so mindfully with purpose has been therapeutic. Now that I have my notebook (mostly) assembled, I am already looking forward to next year. A yearly reminder of what Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love mean to me—which in counselling parlance is akin to maintaining therapeutic gains—reminding me of how far I have come while acknowledging the journey does not have an end point.
Dictionary.com defines advent as “a coming into place, view, or being; arrival.” I think that perfectly describes the essence of this season. It is a coming into place marked by various festivities. We arrive at the turning point: the days start getting longer as we look towards the lightness of spring. And for me, it is an arrival point of personal reflection.
What are your favourite aspects of this season celebrating the transition from darkness to light? What makes it meaningful for you? What would you like to add or subtract to make it more meaningful? How ever you celebrate (even if you choose not to), I wish everyone a Wonder-full “seasonal transition” filled with Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love.
I have been trying to recapture a blog idea that formulated during one of those half-asleep moments; but now it eludes me. The subject matter is retrievable, but not its significance—that a-ha moment. And given today’s reading, maybe that in itself is significant.
The concept from today’s reading was along the lines of going with the flow and being open to a plan not of my own making. So many thoughts are twisting and knotting in my mind about missed opportunities and following God’s Will. How to untangle the mess to make sense of it?
Maybe I’d better start with yesterday’s conversation with a client and work from there. It was a conversation about being scared enough by an amazing opportunity that it impacted the decision- making process. None of us have ever been there, right?
The discussion led to the different types of fear such as the fear that protects by stopping us (looking both ways before crossing a street). Then there’s the fear that results in proceeding with caution. The worst kind is the fear that spirals into immobilizing anxiety. In case you are wondering what to do when experiencing fear (which is your friend, not your foe), the basic steps are to: 1) validate the fear (acknowledge what you are feeling and allow it to offer its message); 2) self-soothe (calm the amygdala to allow higher functioning parts of the brain to come online); and 3) assess. What kind of fear am I feeling? What is the message? And what will I choose to do with that message?
In a nutshell, what we choose to do can either set us up for success or self-sabotage. I excel at the latter. And talking with this client brought to mind more than one incident of my own self-sabotage, but one in particular from when I lived in the Yukon.
When I first moved to Whitehorse, I had almost completed a Bachelor of Arts degree—which I finished by correspondence (back before distance education was what it is today). I am not sure if this moment of self-sabotage came before or after that. I am trying to recall all the jobs I had when I stepped onto the stage of the Whitehorse employment scene. To begin, I had a temporary job working for a friend of my brother in his sign making shop. And then I worked for a day care for a bit. I had also applied for a teacher’s aid position for the government program that educated special needs children.
It was while I was working at the day care that I heard from the teacher’s aid position which they didn’t offer me. They offered me a full-time teaching position which scared the pants off of me. I told them I was working for the day care. Their response was if that didn’t work out to let them know.
Well, it didn’t work out; but I didn’t let the government position know. My confidence was shattered by how the day care job ended. Not that I had enough confidence for accepting a full-time teaching job. I was too intimidated by that and really didn’t believe I could do it. I also denied myself the opportunity of finding out. Besides, surely there was an applicant more qualified than myself?
I let my response to fear self-sabotage rather than set me up for future success (whether at that job or elsewhere). I wasn’t in any danger (protection fear); and I was ignorant of the proceed-with-caution fear. So I did what I always did.a I gave anxiety full control over any higher functioning parts of my brain. Of course, I didn’t understand any of this back then. I only knew I was terrified; and my brain processed every fear as that of potential danger and requiring protection. I also didn’t know anything about anxiety at that time. And it would be at least a full year before I took baby steps toward managing depression.
I haven’t given that missed opportunity much thought over the years holding firmly to the belief that it was the wisest course of action given my inexperience. Failure wasn’t an option, you see. My sense of self was far too fragile to fall flat on my face trying something new. Looking back, I likely could have done the job. I never bothered to find out the details to consider if it was truly do-able. Nor did I have anyone in my corner to suggest I explore it.
My modus operandi was to fly under the radar. And taking a teaching job was not consistent with that belief system. Fear of the anxious kind dominated my decision-making process. So where does the will of God enter the picture? Well, it’s like this. I was raised in a fairly conservative Christian environment. Not as strict as some, but not as open minded as would have been healthy. It was also an abusive environment which this blog is not about.
But following the Sovereign Will of God was entrenched into my thinking (or lack there of). It was a passive obedience rather than an active one. I had to wait for direction (which seldom came by the way). It was also dangerous to bypass the will of God. Apparently there was a script I was to follow that I never got quite right, which meant every decision I needed to make had to first be considered whether it was the Will of God or not. And one didn’t want to fall out of God’s will by making the wrong decision!
It wasn’t until much later in life that I learned the will of God was fairly easy to follow. Love God. Love yourself. Love your neighbour. It was a matter of principle and life values, not specific direction. But “back then,” following the will of God was a matter of life and death. Decision making fell under the fear of protection. Danger was everywhere.
Learning to make decisions based upon embracing the gift of who I am took a lot of reconditioning and practice. Now, I see that long-ago teaching offer as an opportunity to shine that I missed. But my psyche couldn’t tolerate the risk of failure. I still struggle to make decisions that allow myself to shine. Just putting a sign on my fence to advertise my counselling services is anxiety producing.
I have lived in fear my entire life. It’s very hard to emerge from that shadow. And the irony is, it’s very scary. 😊 But if I allow myself to go with the flow, aware that a higher purpose is at work—in a gracious way, not a demanding one—then I can set myself up for potential success. And failure does not mean a death sentence; it’s a redirection of personal resources. There is no definitive plan I am to follow and “get right.” Life (and the Universe) is more fluid than that.
So what is your self-sabotage go to? The imposter syndrome? The not-good-enough shame message? How about not being deserving? Fear of failure, or its counterpart, fear of success? Pressure to perform? Living up to expectations?
What would it be like to shine? To own your particular set of gifts and limitations and work with them rather than against them? Remember, success isn’t the absence of failure, it is the forward momentum in spite of them. Sally forth, my fellow travellers, sally forth.
I actually had this blog written October 11th in my journal, but somehow the month got away from me in digitizing it. Thanks to a reader for the reminder. This blog entry was prompted by a chapter from Drinking From the River of Light: The life of expression by Mark Nepo (2019) entitled “Venetian Interior” referring to a work of art by John Singer Sargent.
Nepo’s description of this work of art is enchanting. I googled it and was hard pressed to see what he did. Maybe seeing it full size makes a difference. But I love Nepo’s interpretation. “The painting pointed to a reality beyond itself. The subject of the painting was the world beyond the frame…The painting was a metaphor for the dark room we can all fall into, even though we know there is light all around. The painting illustrated the truth that the miracle of life doesn’t stop because we lost our way in the dark.”
While I am surrounded by art and crafts, I don’t know of one that pulls me like Nepo’s experience. The statue in Iceland of the mother embracing a child expressed a deep longing—to be loved. I love images of trails through trees. It’s like they’re saying, “There’s more.” The trees are beckoning me to continue walking, to keep exploring. I also like closeups of flowers with blurred backgrounds or highlighted with a beam of sunlight against dark backgrounds. Again, it’s like nature is enticing me saying, “Look closer. There’s more.”
And maybe that is a metaphor for my life. Look away from the dark room, out the window, to the light. Look up from your feet and see what surrounds you. Notice the details of life beyond your own existence.
Maybe that is also a metaphor for recovery from depression. Notice. Observe. Pay attention. Don’t get sucked into the darkness.
Looking through the photos on my pocket digital camera [they’ve since been uploaded to my laptop], a thought or observation came to me. We need the dark to showcase or even see the light. The contrast. The contradiction. The most striking photographs and works of art play light against dark or vice versa. We see more that way even though there might be less to look at.
Which made me think of my bee “collection.” The bees remind me of their “life philosophy” and not just appeal to me artistically. Ergo seeing beyond the frame. And the bright yellow contrasts with the dark black. They are truly wonders to behold. The bees fit even in with the dark and light theme as they create in the darkness of their hives. They collect the pollen in the sharp brightness of day and return to the dark to rest and to make sweet honey that is the colour of amber when held to the light. It’s magic in a jar. And it couldn’t happen without darkness.
I think humans are the same. We can’t shine our brightest unless we experience some darkness. Perfection is only seen in contrast to the imperfect. Humans are not perfect, but we are perfectly imperfect. Only when we embrace our humanness—our imperfections, our tendency to “mess up”—can we truly shine. We can only be bright against our dark. And maybe we can only shine as bright as our darkest night. The less we own our dark, the more dim our light. In that case, I’d be a neon bulb. 😉
I have more unexplored darkness. The deeper we enter the cave, the brighter the light we carry with us. I may have to remember that the next bout of depression. Grab a flashlight!
Where did September sneak in from? Seems like moments ago it was hotter than Hades outside. Now the air feels crisp in anticipation of what’s to come. I personally love the changing seasons—fall being my favourite. I love the changing colours, cooler temps, and autumn scents. And fall fashion has always fascinated me: the rich colours, the texture of the fabrics. It will get monotonous as everything else does; but for now, it’s fresh and new—a sense of readiness is in the air.
Back in June, I wrote about writing akin to breathing. I find I am revisiting that concept as I attempt to write for “my public” once again. What shall I write about? My mind defaults to subjects and musings that would benefit clients. Then I am reminded that this writing exercise is for me. It somehow is a different question to ask myself, What do I want to write about? What part of me needs expression?
I experienced an odd a-ha moment of sorts earlier this week when I realized one of mental illnesses keeps doing its thing even though the symptoms are masked by medication. My dysthymia operates like an undercurrent in a river or ocean: can’t always be seen or felt, but it’s there none-the-less. And my ‘low mood disorder’ did one of its dips end of last week.
I didn’t recognize it at first, thinking it was a Chronic Fatigue crash. But something “twigged” (is that a word?) when I thought of calling my sister and didn’t “feel like it.” Since when do I not want to talk to my sister? And I realized I had lapsed into a depressive episode, not a CFS crash.
Now in the past, these dips were catastrophic in comparison. The Netflix series, MAID, did a fantastic job portraying a major depressive episode using visual imagery. I do not miss the abyss, nor what it took to crawl out. And for the longest time, I blamed myself for these episodes and would over analyze every detail to figure out what I had “done wrong.”
Looking back, major depressive episodes always felt like punishments. Likely influenced by my conservative Christian upbringing. By the way, I highly recommend A People’s History of Christianity: The Other Side of the Story by Diana Butler Bass, if you experience inner conflict about your faith and what it looks like “en masse.” But that’s for another time of writing and reflection.
I will have to sit some more with depression as punishment; but the previous realization is that I have these slumps on a semi-regular basis. These slumps are “just” my illness and in no way a reflection of my personal worth, value, or capabilities. Before being properly medicated, I did learn to ride them out. Like a surfer riding a wave. I think I have lost touch with that coping strategy and have reverted somewhat to over analysis.
This is not situational depression with an attendant sense of powerlessness. Although that can develop if not kept in check. This is an ebb of a tide. I can no more control its existence than I can interrupt the moon’s influence on the ocean. All that being said, there are usually triggers for these episodes.
I suspect it was my participation in the 4P Festival events. I put myself “out there” and conversed with strangers, which is draining at the best of times. Hence my initial assumption I had “over done it” and was crashing. My limited energy (mental or physical) didn’t return. I was concerned about my diminished ability to play my morning word game. My sleep was interrupted. And of course, all signs associated with CFS as well.
It’s tricky having illnesses with overlapping symptoms; but the difference was the overall malaise, with the sister phone call averseness cuing me in. I can talk to my sister during a crash, I just slur the occasional word and have poor word retrieval at times. This was different. And led to realizations and reflections.
I have dysthymia: a chronic low-mood disorder (also referred to as Eeyore Syndrome) with periodic major depressive episodes. While these episodes don’t look or feel like they used to, they are still there. Dips still happen periodically (but not with any predictability). I am grateful for the medications that help manage the symptoms; but I am remiss to think I’m cured or out of the woods, or more aptly, deep water.
The meds are like a life jacket that keep me afloat when my boat capsizes—which it does when the undercurrent pulls too strongly. When simply floating in my boat in calm-looking waters, my meds (aka life jacket) remind/reassure that I will be okay if/when I fall into the water. So the life jacket (meds) serve a purpose during calm as well as turbulent times. Without the meds, my mind is chaotic and my boat is easily capsized. I drown and resurface repeatedly.
Did I know this is what needed expression when I began this entry? Nope. Just had an inkling of where to start. And that is the hope I extend to you—that you find your starting point. Too often we worry about “the end” before we even begin.
Happy Travels! Barb
By the way, I’m still having troubles with images in my blog. If I want it seen via mobile or tablet, I get doubles in desktop view. If I set featured image, it doesn’t show up in mobile or tablet views. If you know code and how to change it, I’d love to hear from you. Or even better, if you know Word Press and how to fix this double image in desktop view, I’d love to hear from you! I’d also love to hear about your adventures in life, so feel free to comment.
