Yesterday morning I had a moment.
The simplest trigger: at a cafe, an old framed portrait on a white wall that reminded me of something from then.
And I was off. Cycles of panic, terror, helplessness, pain, fear.
And then I came back. Doing the things that help me be here.
So yes, I’ve had a fairly messed up life in some ways. I’ve had hard things happen to me. And I’ve lived in difficult places, difficult situations.
But everyone has hard. Everyone has pain.
I don’t know whether you also get knocked out of your space the way I get knocked out of mine. But I am documenting some of what I do in these moment of hard, with the hope that some of this is helpful.
Being in my body. Or: being with my body.
In this case, walking outside in crisp air for forty minutes was the exact right thing.
Sometimes I can’t do that.
But anything that helps me reconnect to my body in a way that feels safe and grounded is good.
Rubbing feet. Drawing words on my arms. Kissing the palm of my hand. Touching the ground. Acupressure points. Any yoga pose that uses a wall.
Talking to me-from-then.
And creating safety.
I tell me-from-then the following things:
- Things are different now.
- She is allowed to be scared. Whatever she’s feeling is completely legitimate.
- Her work is done. She does not need to take care of anything ever again. It is her turn to be taken care of now.
- She has protection. I am here now. I am a pirate queen. I have skills, resources, allies and superpowers that we didn’t have then.
- Everything is going to be taken care of for her and she doesn’t have to do anything except experience safety.
Then we create the safest, most perfect space for her.
We put locks on the doors and assign these badass lions to guard the entrances. The lions are beautiful, graceful, powerful, devoted to her.
We fill her safe space with whatever she wants — books, music, cushions, an enormous punching bag, borekas. Whatever she wants in there, we make sure she has it.
And then I ask her to listen in from her safe space while I do the separation exercise and the alignment exercise.*
* See the next two bits — these are exercises I came up with several years ago that have been helpful in all kinds of situations.
The separation exercise.
I list ten things that are different about now.
They can be related to whatever was going on then, but they don’t have to. The point is just to create space. Distance and space.
- I own and run a successful business. And it’s a pirate ship! With an (imaginary) island!
- I have a home.
- It used to be that I didn’t know how many options were available to me at any given moment. It was easier to end up in situations that couldn’t be gotten out of, because I couldn’t see any of the exit points along the way.
- Now I know about things like deguiltifying, compassion, being my own true friend.
- I have a lot more experience with mindfulness, alertness, paying attention to cues.
- I know about sovereignty, and so I approach every situation differently. I assume that my space gets to be mine.
- I’ve had X more years to practice things (everything from standing up for myself to believing I have a right to).
- I speak German.
- I work at a Playground.
The alignment exercise.
Ten things that me-from-right-now has in common with me-from-then.
We’re on the same team, so she needs to know that she can trust me. How are we the same? Where is the continuity?
- We both love to walk.
- And to nap.
- And to read.
- We talk to trees (and now they talk back too).
- We are both writers (except that I don’t hide it anymore).
- We like to dance.
- We get annoyed when people tell us what to do.
- We care about words.
- We collect funny names.
The naming exercise.
This is where you name everything you see to remind you that you are here.
Poppy seeds. Bagel crumbs. Empty glass. Pink soap. I am here. Cracked sidewalk. Tall fence. Blue backpack. Worn clogs. I am here. Pirate flag. Flowered tablecloth. Old lamp. Cross-eyed cat. I am here.
It helps.
Remembering to access external support in addition to internal support.
Getting out of isolation is really helpful for me.
I need someone who isn’t going to ask questions or make me talk about it, but who is up for going for a walk with me, or sitting with me while I process stuff with myself.
Generally I try to figure out who these helper mice are when I’m not having a moment, because once I’m panicking, I can’t really think straight.
Always! Asking what’s needed.
In this case it was:
trust, safety, sovereignty, reassurance, perspective
And then giving it to myself in some form.
If that’s what I need, how do I get it?
I give myself a dose of trust by writing it on my heart with a finger. By writing a request for it as a Very Personal Ad.
A dose of safety by locking myself in my office and meditating.
A dose of sovereignty by mentally reconfiguring my force field and by putting on my tiara.
A dose of reassurance through listening to one of the Emergency Calming Technique recordings.
Bringing in the new pattern.
I dance the awe-full wrathful dance of anger. I dance the patterns without knowing what they are. I flail and fall and make mistakes.
Mainly, though … I try things.
All the time. And every time I try things, I take notes.
What’s this like? How does it feel? What’s missing? Is there a way to make this more useful, more accessible, more fun?
And then whatever you learn goes in the Book of You for next time.
You never have to use techniques that you don’t like. And you never have to stick with something that isn’t a good fit. It’s your video game. Your practice. Taking care of yourself is the most individual thing there is.
And probably the most important.
Comment zen.
The one thing we definitely all have in common is that we all know pain.
Beyond that: People vary. Pain varies. Experience varies.
We tread gently with pain. We do what we can to meet people (ourselves too) where they (we) are. Sometimes this is hard and annoying. That’s why it’s a process.
We let people have their own experience, which means: we can talk about what works for us, but we don’t give anyone else advice unless they specifically ask for it.
Wishing you all kinds of love and support and whatever helps right now.
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I needed this one today. I have a family member visiting today who’s still living in the same hurtful, horrible home situation that I moved to get away from, and hearing her stories — which she’s of course feeling an intense need to share — brought back an awful lot of… um… awful.
Keyboard. Desk. Bookshelf. I am here. Thank you, Havi. Best of luck dealing with your stuff.
Until I heard about your lions, and a space for *that* part of me that was truly irrevocably absolutely totally entirely safe, I didn’t really realise how fundamentally UNsafe a part of me feels.
Big big quiet consciously-knew-it-but-didn’t-KNOW-it epiphany.
*shakes head*
.-= Andrew Lightheart´s last post … There was a typhoon and everything =-.
I don’t know if you intended this post to build on yesterdays but I love these ways of creating separation and alignment (wholeness) with that part of me that is back there… and the part of me that is here now. I get this image of being on a see saw and moving from the ends to the middle…slowly until we are in balance and holding hands.
Those lions……….. oh just those lions.
They sound so perfect to stand by my side from beside the chariot.
Havi, there is so much love surrounding these practices. What gifts! I know they would have helped a 5 year nightmare cycle while my subconscious worked through PTSD. I’m printing this one out and keeping it close for those times when I get knocked out of balance. I’m sharing it, too.
You are a blessing as always, my dear. <3 Mahala
.-= Mahala Mazerov´s last post … Tender Loving Care =-.
What a beautiful post! It doesn’t happen often, but the getting caught up in the THEN does still take me by surprise at times. So far, journaling and walking have been my best tactics… but I’ll definitely have to remember the lions!
I think my favorite part of this whole post is the reminder to seek external support. I tend to withdraw further into myself when I’m feeling this lost/scared/vulnerable part of me welling up, but it’s the presence of others that most seems to bring me back to NOW.
“I need someone who isn’t going to ask questions or make me talk about it”
Somehow I’ve discovered the perfect support in my sister (which is really funny if you go back and read the second post I ever wrote!)… probably due to growing up in the same shitty circumstances, we seem to understand each other in ways nobody else does. We both serve as sort of informal therapists for one another… except, we drink beer and eat pizza while therapising, so it’s even better 😉
.-= Heidi´s last post … I have a thing! =-.
I really appreciate you sharing what you have learned here Havi. It connects with what I’ve been considering this morning as I prepare to visit my family in the town where I grew up – that place where the old patterns are so strong. This post reminds me that I can remain the me-of-now while still caring for the me-of-then.
I totally get knocked out of my space by triggers. I’ve never thought to document it, but these sound like amazingly useful things to try.
I also love your naming exercise. In the Buddhist group I co-run, we were suggested to count things too – steps, leaves on a tree, bricks in a wall. It’s just another variation of naming – and you’re not expected to finish [having tried to count all the leaves on a tree 😛 ]
And if you need someone to sit with you, you can turn to us. I think I need to work on a safe room with wolves at the door – and a sofa for my supportive people to sit on. 🙂
Thank you for the reminder that we all share this experience [pain is in everyone] and for these suggestions/reminders for when we’re in the hard.
-big hugs to all-
.-= Rose´s last post … Preparations for a Party- The Baby Shower =-.
Havi, you name things; I count them. 37 steps to the front door. 17 leaves on the tree outside framed in one small space between the curtains. I will also try naming things. 🙂
I also keep a picture of me-when-I-was-two on my wall. I look at that tiny, beautiful, happy child and I vow I am here. I will protect you.
Powerful stuff. Thank you.
.-= Carol Logan Newbill´s last post … It’s way too hot out there =-.
Rose – you posted as I was composing. Counting! A Buddhist thing! How lovely.
.-= Carol Logan Newbill´s last post … It’s way too hot out there =-.
Elizabeth, good luck and if it helps, know that we are in the same boat!
I am the me of now. The me of then helped me get here, and I am thankful, but she doesn’t need to stand up and shout just because I am back where she is from. I will acknowledge her, and remember her without reverting to being her again. I can snap less, and speak more kindly and have more patience. I am still tough and capable and creative, she doesn’t need to shout about it anymore. It has been proven. I moved away and made a life for myself that is nothing like life here. I did it. I did what she dreamed of doing. there is nothing more to prove, and the me of now doesn’t care to anyway.
Thank you, in a very peculiar way I got this when I needed it. I am always surprised at how an old hurt can be so real still. I love the tools and I love that vulnerable me that I was can be cuddled and loved. Much better than being angry or embarrassed by her because most days I don’t really feel older at all.
First-
I deeply appreciate this idea that she gets to be scared. Honoring her in that place is super-helpful and supportive and good.
Second-
Way after the moment, I find it interesting what sets me off into a PTSD moment. Often, it’s an innocuous phrase and I’m a scared, crying mess.
Third-
Sometimes I wonder if we’re here to learn about trauma, and I think, who the hell set up this system? So many awesome people have been through so much.
Much love-
B
.-= Bridget´s last post … How to be Moneylicious- Pt 1- Play with your Transaction Anxiety =-.
More synchronicity here for me too, Havi. It took me 20 years to recover from trauma-onset PTSD, but I’ll always have the chronic PTSD legacy of my childhood. So there are many triggers I have to watch out for.
I’ve tended to remember to delineate how I’m different now than I was then, but I haven’t thought to recall our similarities. And I love the idea of talking to me-who-was and reassuring her and protecting her. “Safe” was a word she’d read in books, but never truly felt.
Me too — the idea of aligning myself with me-then is something I never considered, but immediately see the value of. Major ah-ha moment that I had to read a couple of times before moving on.
So many memories of me-then are first person like I’m seeing it all through my own eyes, or I’m seeing the back of me-then, as if I were behind her as an observer.
When I consider finding these alignments, for the first time ever, the image that flashed in my mind was looking at me-then from the *front* and I could see her face, the way she was standing, what she was wearing, and I could see her fear/confusion/sadness, too.
Of course, I would go up to her and connect with her! Of course, I would kneel down and find something in common to talk to her about so we could establish trust. Of course I would be gentle and kind and do my best to help her feel more comfortable.
Oh, Havi. Thank you. I didn’t know how much I needed to see me-then from the front, but your post and this topic of alignment gave me that. Very healing. <3
Havi, thank you so much for sharing those exercises! They are wonderful…I have been practicing the talking to me-from-then exercise after discovering it only recently myself. I am so looking forward to working with the Shiva Nata and getting down with sexies and robots and my stuff. I am going to do the ‘how things are different now’ exercise today. Thanks again you are a beautiful shivanautty woman! huggy
This post feels as delicate as lace.
Or as touch-sensitive as a ripe plum.
Thank you for trusting us with it, Havi.
I wish I’d never had my own very traumatic experience.
Yet I find that, because of it, I’m more apt to treat others as though they’ve been traumatized, as well. With a knowing kindness.
My last trigger: Monarch butterflies.
.-= Rupa´s last post … A Corner on the Market of Faith =-.
Thank you for posting this, it’s a great list of ways to cope with PTSD. Sometimes I forget that isolation doesn’t help… but walks are always great 🙂
This. I needed this right now.
Will I ever tire of saying “Thank you, Havi”?
Not likely.
Thank you, Havi.
PS – hi, Selma!
Thank you for this post! 🙂
For putting-into-words things that were unwordified to me.
For giving me some great exercises to do when I get into that place, and to use for helping to get out of that place.
And for adding the part about ‘unless asked’ to the Comment Zen about ‘no advices’. I really appreciate having the freedom to ask now. 🙂
.-= Birdy Diamond´s last post … Writing Wednesday – The Secret Door =-.
Love <3
Sorry for the odd response up above guys. I don’t think I have ever experienced PTSD in the formal sense and what I wrote was basically my thought process on how this stuff relates to me. It just struck me that my behavior and attitude and outlook since ive been home, have been very much the me of then. I realized suddenly that she can be at rest and at peace and that her fight is over. Anyway, I felt the need to clarify because you are all such amazing people and I don’t want you to feel like I was being dismissive about PTSD.
*hugs*
@Carrie — what you wrote didn’t feel dismissive at all to me. I found it inspirational. Hugging you back!
@Bridget — I think I know what you mean: I, too, find that often, it’s the little unexpected things that trigger me and hit me hardest. I get blind-sided, I guess — I’m not prepared at such moments; my protections aren’t in place.
@Havi — so many good things to remember, so generously shared. Thank you.
.-= Kathleen Avins´s last post … The trouble with “middle vision” =-.
Oh wonderful Universe, you know exactly what I need.
Just this week, I’m realizing that I probably have PTSD.
And trying to figure out ways to deal with it. I’m going to try all of these things, and think of other things and just try try try. Try anything and everything that feels appealing.
This also made me feel less alone, especially reading the comments. Those innocuous words, those stupid silly things that you can hardly even remember later, but your brain says GET OUT! GET OUT NOW! Hard. So so hard.
I’m so glad I’m not alone in this.