The Struggle is Real

I began writing this series of ideas down more than once... and stepped away each time I became so enraged by what I was writing. There is no point to me raging about the political state we're in. There are plenty of people who are better equipped to write about the politics and others who are better suited to offer encouragement and direction. I have none of those skills. If anything I have an excess of fear and anxiety. 

For nearly fifty years I hid away my emotions as best I could, thinking it would keep me safe. It would be easy to blame my father for instilling that belief... he's dead and can't argue with me. As a child, I was sure he was right, as most children believe their parents to be right. I built a box to put those feelings into and when the box was full, I stacked it on top of the other boxes full of emotions. Every now and again, the box would overflow and the emotions would pour out in an "uncontrolled outburst" as my therapist explained it. Everyone else called it rage. It scared me as a child. It scared my parents. I was told to keep that hidden away. It was a bad feeling. So, one more thing got shoved into that box of other feelings. 

Why does any of this matter now? Why bring it up? It's obviously a sensitive issue. 

Well... a few years back, I started exploring ways to unpack those boxes full of feelings. I made room where they could have as much space as they needed. I started spending time visiting with them. It was like getting to know a whole room-full of kids... except that each one of them knew a very distinct moment in my life, in excruciating detail. Down to the sights, sounds, textures and sometimes even the smells. All tied to the feelings. 

I repeat myself... why does any of this matter? Why write about it?

What I discovered recently is that the grounding techniques that I use to manage my PTSD can be applied much like physical therapy. Instead of waiting until everything is a red hot mess to start using these grounding techniques, if I try to implement them on a regular basis, the skill becomes more ingrained and easier to attain.  What sort of grounding techniques? Well, all sorts of tasks in the garden have become grounding techniques. Almost a walking meditation. The invasive thoughts that pulled me down, lighten, and curiosity finds me wide-eyed, experiencing something new in the garden. Each lap around the garden is like unwinding an overtightened spring. There are days where I am on the verge of tears because of the abuse from work. Stepping outside the door, and then to be greeted by the incessant calling of the robins... two seconds from the doorway and things shift.

For the last few weeks, I have been organizing and running two conferences. Heck, I think GOING to two conferences in a month is too much. But running two of them, is just cruel. If I could, I would spread them apart by, oh maybe six months. Heck, even two or three months would be great. Nope. Not an option. Tonight I am typing with swollen hands and legs that refuse to bend after walking for nearly twelve hours on concrete yesterday and almost as many hours today. Ibuprofen isn't touching the pain. Inflammation is one thing... but the internal stress is a whole different issue. Right about now is where I wish we had a hot tub or a big deep bathtub. Instead, I got to stumble around outside before it got dark. Seeing the tiny lupines massing their tiny unfolding leaves is incredible. Noticing the little tiny baby kale opening their first seed leaves is so darned cute! The daffodils have a few more days before they start to open fully. The last of the iris reticulata are showing off the most intense, rich colors. It was late enough that the crocuses that remain had folded up their leaves for the night. 

I am excited that tomorrow morning, I can see the garden in the daylight and see what's changed over the past few days while I have been gone from the house long before (and after) dark. There's always something you miss. As I made my way back inside, one of the local ravens let me know that I had been missed. It was quiet, but intentional. I said hi in reply, it paused over the house and croaked again. Hopefully tomorrow morning we can continue that conversation.