It’s all about my brother

About six weeks into my kinesiology studies, a whole bunch of my “stuff” started arking up. Causing a kerfuffle.

So much so that another student and I ended up having a bit of a falling out. Unintentionally, her stuff and my stuff interacted badly.

Like an alchemist whose experiment went all ker-blewey. Just like that.

Not that either of our stuff had anything to do with each other. Of course.

At first I’d no idea what it was all about. It took two sessions with two different kinesiologists PLUS plenty of sessions at home (self-administered kinesiology), several weird physical sensations (nerve pain in your right heel, anyone?), picking up a card that read “sabotage” at the local health food store, and a score of ‘a-ha’ moments… for it all to start to come together.

Well, sort of.

I’ve done lots of talking about being assaulted and having PTSD, both here on the blog and IRL (in-real-life). I’ve had scores and scores of therapy – CBT, EMDR, Kinesiology, tarot readings, shaman healings (Bali, Thailand, India) and more. So. Much. Work.

Then there was the focus on my physical health and regaining my balance there…

It’s not like I’ve been negligent or un-thorough in my approach. I’ve worked my ass off.

Yet somehow… I’ve allowed myself be incredibly blasé about the years of abuse I experienced while growing up.

Even though I knew it wasn’t exactly a good thing. Even though I acknowledged how much it affected my self-esteem, quite bafflingly, I still never really gave those years the same weight as I did to the one-night only assault that triggered my PTSD.

That night and the ongoing effects have hogged the spotlight of my personal healing journey. Strange, huh?

And yet. I know. I REALLY know that the PTSD trigger was NOT just about that one night.

But my memory’s always been really bad. So has my younger sister’s. Neither of us have much by way of recollection of our childhood.

So I don’t really remember exactly how bad it all was or exactly what happened.

But my body and sub-conscious DO remember. And so, the more work I’ve done with kinesiology, the closer to the surface all the sibling abuse has become.

Consciously, I only know pieces of the puzzle. Not the whole story. Just that it was bad, and that I felt betrayed and unprotected by my parents. And that every story I have about myself in regards to my physical appearance, ability to be successful or powerful… has an origin in those early years of my life.

I feel like I’ve been digging up clues. I do my kinesiology homework and I see my practice ‘clients’, and I do kinesiology on myself and get sessions when I can afford them. And I’ve found this or that piece of the puzzle. I know there’s probably more, but I honestly can’t remember.

I know from testing on myself that it started around the age of seven. I also now know that there’s some kind of sabotage surrounding a repressed memory from the age of twelve.

All to do with my brother being an angry, violent and abusive person towards me for over ten years of my life.

Tomorrow morning I go to see my kinesiologist. Thank goodness.

This week I’ve been feeling all super-sensitive and weird. I’ve spent a lot of time curled up on the couch. Last night I felt as though my flesh would vibrate right off of my bones, and today I’ve been surprisingly hungry.

I don’t know what tomorrow’s session will tell me. I just know that I’m reaching in to the main bedrock issue that underpins every life-story I have, of what it means to be me. Or what I think it means, anyway.

And I feel as though someone’s unleashed a wild horse in my chest. With all the hoof stamping, nostril flaring, tail swishing and neighing going on, it’s hard to get any rest around here.

I’m terrified. I’m excited.

I’m onto something big.

And I’ll keep you posted.

~ Svasti

An ode to Snake Gully

Tags

confident, courageous, hiking, Nature, paths, pathways and patterns, powerful, PTSD, repeatable experiences, self-assured, Snake Gully, thrive, Trauma, waterfalls, you can’t ever go back

The place I went to for my writing retreat? I used to come up here maybe once or twice a year. More often whenever I could.

It was easier when I lived in Sydney because once I moved to Melbourne, I had a cat. As all pet owners know, you can’t just pick up and take off any time you like. So there was that.

Then I got PTSD and although this magical home of my friends was the perfect place for me to recover, I simply shut myself up in my own home. Anything else was too scary.

I still saw them when they came to Melbourne but I didn’t make it back up this way much. And then I gave up car ownership, which made it even harder to take a spontaneous road trip…

Anyway, back when I was a frequent traveller to this part of the world, we’d take many trips down Snake Gully. Which is on my friend’s property – just start following the creek to the south-east and keep on going.

Snake Gully is the sort of place where, if you’re sensitive to and aware of nature-type energies then you’d better bloody well ask for permission to walk the land. If you’re not, then you’d better just be respectful and watch where you’re walking.

Because the land, river and surrounds that comprise Snake Gully, are truly alive. It’s a place of magic, power and wildness.

So for the first walk of my writing retreat, I returned to the Gully.

My method of speaking with nature has changed: these days I can’t help but turn such things into songs. Wordless songs or chants, it doesn’t matter. As long as it comes from the heart and I can feel the boundaries of the world shifting in response, then it’s all good.

Traversing the Gully and its numerous waterfalls, I noticed the message I was being given and it took me back to a lament I used to have when in the midst of living with trauma:

There’s no going back!! I used to angrily repeat to myself over and over.

There’s no going back to how things were. I’m not the person I was before I was assaulted, damn it. I can’t even remember who I used to be…

You see, there’s this absolute anguish around not being able to return to a place or time or experience we used to have. It’s part of what makes grief so terrible. We think of not being able to go back as a very, very bad thing.

BUT. Snake Gully told me this as I criss-crossed the creek and scampered over rocks:

You can’t climb down me and then go back up in exactly the same way. There’s no set path. There’s actually no right or wrong way to go. As long as you can see where it’s safe to walk, then it’s fine.

My paths don’t look the same from below as they do above. Some paths are visible; others are not. You might need to take the steep path up and away from the creek for a while because from where you stand, there’s no obvious way through.

There might be some hints of what move to make next, but there’s no guarantee. You have to try it out for yourself and see if the ground is solid/unslippery enough for you to pass. And when you return, good luck finding your original path! Take the route that makes sense and don’t worry about the rest.

Our western world is all about making experiences repeatable.

Same, same. NO different.

We build our cities on grids so it’s harder to get lost. We signpost everything. We create franchises and malls that look alike the world over. We grow up thinking we can do the same things we’ve always done and the way we’ve always done them. And most of us do just that.

Part of the distress of trauma and PTSD is that it destroys what was. ALL the pathways you knew are gone. All the experiences of life as safe and happy. There’s nowhere to turn, no safe haven (or so it seems for the longest time).

This is part of what breaks us: we think we need this sameness to function and without it, we’re lost.

The process of healing has taught me that you really can’t ever go back and damn it, I don’t WANT to anymore.

Whoever I was before, that version of me is nowhere near as powerful, self-assured, confident and courageous as the person I am now.

So, we learn to function without our previous pathways and patterns. We find new ones and we see that yes, we can get by.

Actually, we don’t just get by. We thrive. And see that change is a good thing, even on an everyday basis.

Change doesn’t matter in the end because when the previous layer or path is peeled away, there’s always something else just waiting for us.

~ Svasti

I’m off on a writing retreat!

Tags

Albury, Awayyyy, bushland, Charlotte Almond, ebook, faeries, kangaroos, koalas, lizards, nature sprites, PTSD, snakes, tea sipping, Trauma, wombats, Writing, writing retreat, Yoga

See this?

This gorgeous, rustic building is up a hill (accessible via 4WD only), in the middle of nowhere-ville. Okay, so it’s actually a few hours east of Albury.

Wild animals (wombats, snakes, lizards, koalas, kangaroos etc) live there. So do faeries and nature sprites (for realz, I’ve encountered them before!).

For ages and ages, I’ve been trying to get at least one book out of my head. Y’see, there’s a couple of ’em living up there at the moment… but it’s not always easy to do that kind of work when you’re distracted by your crazy busy everyday life.

A while back, The Divine Ms N sent out an email to her Yoga Mafia (read: newsletter subscribers!) with a super-generous offer from one of her contacts – a limited number of exceptionally affordable life coaching sessions.

Soon as I saw the offer I jumped right on it. JUMPED, I tell you. Because as I’ve alluded to already, there’s a few Really Big (Positive) Things going on for me. It’s all quite exciting and overwhelming, and I knew this offer of life coaching sessions had my name all over it.

Which is how I came to meet Charlotte Almond, who is an extremely lovely and canny lady. I can highly recommend her services, and will write more about her soon enough.

Together we worked through some of my Really Big Things, but also, laid down some powerful and practical steps I could take towards my Excellently Awesome Future Life Plans.

One of those steps is writing my ebook! It’ll be practical advice for those who are trying to recover from PTSD/trauma. Because trauma’s a bitch, recovery is freakin’ tough AND there really isn’t enough out there by folks who’ve been through it all.

And I can write this now, since I’m no longer in trauma myself!

However, to really be able to write down the bones of it all, I need to get outta town. Awayyyyy from my hectic job. Awayyyy from my home, which is comfortably hermit-like and filled with books I like to read etc etc. Awayyyyy even, from the internet and Facebook and Twitter (*ahem* says the digital media addict).

Anyhow, I was hunting for a place to get awayyyyy to. And I’d sort of forgotten that my friends (whom I haven’t seen in years) have this retreat space on their beautiful virgin bushland property. Up a hill in the middle of nowhere.

It was only when I posted a Facebook status asking for recommendations of cheap get-away places that my friends said, Ummmm, what about our place?

DOH!

Maybe because it’d been so many years between visits (I don’t have a car now and their place really is in the middle of nowhere), I simply didn’t think it was polite to ask. Also, I suppose there’s a part of me that’s become so used to being self-sufficient that I’m not accustomed to people being this generous with me. Even when they are, a lot. I don’t expect it, I guess.

However in a subsequent phone call, I was told very plainly that I don’t even need to call ahead. Just turn up. There’s always a place for me.

Wow, right? I have some awesome friends.

So I’ll be away for the next week. Living in an octagon-shaped room with a view of nothing but trees and enveloped in the sounds of nature. Doing yoga, eating whole foods, drinking copious amounts of tea and writing like a woman on a mission. Which I am.

Have to confess that I’m a touch nervous about it all, because writing this book will require some digging and re-visiting. But I’m strong and well now, and it’s all for a good cause. There might, however, be vomit. And tears.

When I return, there’ll be a mountain of editing to do. Then finding a designer to make it look pretty, and putting it all together. But how exciting to crow-bar all those words from my over-crowded brain, huh?

Also: a lil Spring clean!

So in case you’re looking at this post in an RSS reader or via email, I’ve just neatened up the blog. In the southern hemisphere, we’re on the verge of Spring, so a spring clean is appropriate: I’ve applied a fresh new template, tidied up my left hand column and so on. I’m loving the new look!

Enjoy your week, and I’ll check in on the flip side.

Wishing you all lots of creative inspiration!

~Svasti xxx

Other posts inspired by my retreat

• Writing retreat report: I’m back!
• An ode to Snake Gully
• Writing a book is a topsy-turvy thing
• Life lessons from managing a fireplace
• Waterfalls sound like the Universe

Continual personal evolution required

Tags

bitch, continual personal evolution, disability, glitches, poor memory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD symptoms, sensory overwhelm, Sookie Stackhouse, triggers

An analogy for you: in the same way a person whose been in a car accident might end up with a limp or some other kind of disability for the rest of their life, there are some side-effects of PTSD that remain no matter how much work I’ve done.

Or perhaps it’s that the work is still there to be done, and one day I WILL be 100% symptom-free. Or maybe I won’t. I’m not particularly attached, either way.

I seem to have three lingering PTSD-related “things” that happen from time to time. My disability*, if you will.

1. Really crappy/patchy memory: remembering names (i.e. of yoga students) is almost futile, it can take months. Remembering that I went out for dinner with friends and had a super-fun time – just days later – isn’t easy. I write everything down. EVERYTHING. Or it doesn’t happen. I have to work exceptionally hard to remember the yoga sequences I’m teaching – which requires a lot of intention and presence.

Sure, there are memory exercises a person can do. I eat and imbibe all the foods/vitamins etc that I’m supposed to. Don’t worry, I’m on it.

But I also get really confused sometimes, in a little fog of weirdness that only time can resolve.

2. Occasional sensory overwhelm: it happened again last Friday night, but the time before that was over a year ago. It seems that even in situations unrelated to my own traumatic experience, if I don’t feel comfortable in a given environment things start to get a little whacky in Svasti-land.

Last Friday, I went with my workmates to some dive of a bar for some farewell drinks. It was below street level, deep and dark… walking in there just felt wrong in the pit of my stomach. I kept asking to leave, but I couldn’t make myself explain to my friends WHY I needed to go. So they stayed, and I spouted a bunch of semi-related reasons why I didn’t want to be there. Eventually I realised they weren’t leaving and I still wasn’t happy, so I left. And woke up the next morning feeling bloody awful: the full fight-or-flight adrenal aftermath, thank you very much.

It happens so rarely that even if the people I’m with know my history, they won’t always pick up what’s going on for me.

In fact, one of my co-workers’ impression of me that night is that I was being a complete bitch. He’s all – how can you be a yoga teacher, and behave like that?

Which is when I tried to explain that no one is perfect, not even yoga teachers. But he was asking me that question from his own intense self-loathing, so he didn’t really hear me.

Anyway… here’s hoping with this one, there’s a way to reduce this reaction even more. Although the main issue is that the trigger’s so random and hard to set off that… well how do you treat such triggers, eh?

3. Under duress, I’m not always a nice person: I’m not entirely convinced this is just a PTSD-thing. I come from a family of harsh and mean people. LOTS of in-fighting on both sides. Then there’s that whole thing where I grew up as the target of an exceptionally abusive older brother. I learned to fight back. Had to.

I’m 100% certain that having experienced PTSD made this personality flaw worse. Because trauma causes the traumatised to be harsh towards themselves, and then towards others by extension.

So, when I’m really stressed out, I can be a Grade A Bitch. Harsh. Mean. Unkind words.

It’s not what I practice or teach as a yogi, but for now that’s how it is. I’m not living my practice 100% off the mat, all the time. And I don’t like it at all. Not one little bit. In fact, I feel very shitty approximately thirty seconds after I’ve unleashed a torrent of evilness. I judge myself harshly for such infractions.

But unlike both sides of my family – who all have a talent for selective ignorance around their own issues – I’m not content to remain like this.

The solution to this one is obvious, I think: more yoga. Deeper immersion in studies and practice. Plus, a change of career, out of a toxic working environment that is always rush-rush-rush and so much pressure, to something more suitable for someone like me with my autoimmune condition and my PTSD disabilities…

Luckily, these are all things I’m working towards anyway. Transitioning out of the 9-5 office world. Reinventing my career to be self-employed (not that I think working for yourself is stress-free!). Going to India.

All of these things are on the cards, and actually not too far away, either.

My intention is the same as it’s been for years: continual personal evolution. This is all we can do, really. The only true change we can invoke in the world. And I’m on it. Might take a while though…

~Svasti

xx

*As a side note, if you’ve ever read the Sookie Stackhouse novels, you’ll know Sookie refers to her telepathy as her “disability”. I use the term very much in the same way – these things are both a blessing and a curse. The curse part is especially because it aint always convenient to be all special needs. But it does make life interesting…

I. Am. Out. Of. Trauma.

Tags

Depression, Enter your zip code here, Healing, I Am Out Of Trauma, Kinesiology, PTSD, Trauma

Yes. Yes, I am.

And I need to tell you about this because trauma’s a tricky little bastard who likes to make you think he’s permanently in your life.

Let me tell you: when you’re dealing with PTSD, you think its forever. It sure feels like forever. I really DID think it would in fact, be forever.

And yet.

I. Am. Out. Of. Trauma.

Truly. I’ve tears of gratitude and happiness and just the most GIGANTIC sense of relief and release flowing forth from every pore of my being. Because I know this now, and I know it deeply. Irrevocably.

But it’s not like I woke up one morning with a blinding flash of realisation – THAT I AM HEALED! No one sent me a telegram or email with said announcement, either.

Yet, I am out of trauma. I really, really am.

It makes me smile the broadest smile I can manage with this face that I was born with.

Cumulatively, I know this is true. Piece by piece, as I’ve reclaimed all of the forgotten broken parts of who I am.

And instantly I know this, too. In retrospect, anyway.

Last weekend I knew this most definitely, in my kinesiology session, where my kinesiologist Amanda, said this: You’re no longer in trauma. Life and these sessions are now about what’s next instead of what has been.

She said that and I knew it to be true. And I remembered all of the sessions. My early ones with Kerry. Then the first eight or so months with Amanda. As we shone lights on all the sneaky hiding spots that trauma tried to squeeze its self into. To remain and fester. Because that’s what trauma likes to do.

But that was then. Those sessions were then. All of those years, all of that sadness and grief… it isn’t who I am anymore.

Instead, I cackle out loud like a crazy hyena. I snort and belly laugh, too.

Because I. Am. Out. Of. Trauma.

This, I know deep in my bones as all of those Other New Things come at me… more change, but this time of the positive ilk. My job now is to prepare. To make the right decisions for my future and… already do whatever I can to help others.

And I can do that – help others – because I. Am. Out. Of. Trauma.

So all of the hard won wisdom is now mine to share. And that’s what I’m in the process of doing.

I want to hand write love notes to all of the wonderful healers I’ve worked with over the years. The people who kept me afloat when I otherwise would’ve drowned. I’ve so much gratitude for all of their love and care and support.

I. Am. Out. Of. Trauma. And now it’s time for me to give it all back to those in need.

~Svasti
xxx

Guest posting over at Nadine’s

Tags

Depression, guest post, PTSD

I know that all of you regular readers know this – I spend a lot of time talking about Nadine. The awesome things she’s been doing, making and sharing. You can pretty much say I’m a Nadine fan. 😉

So, when she asked me recently to write a guest post for her Inspiring Women series, I was all over it.

And as per the image above, the post is called 5 Key Tips for Healing from Trauma.

Its the sort of advice I’d want to share with anyone who has experienced a traumatic event that they’re having trouble overcoming.

Please head over to Nadine’s blog to have a read. Perhaps share it with anyone you know who might find it useful.

~ Svasti xxx

Change is a funny thing

Tags

Acceptance, autoimmune disorder, Change, control, deep gorges, Freedom, Hashimoto's, Healing, hidden crevices, Kinesiology, personal power, PTSD, tools, traumatic memories, wherewithal

Often we don’t get that change is happening until it’s already here. The birth of change can be troubling, right? Because sometimes we get a little stuck. But ultimately, change has already happened by the time it registers in our brains and what we actually need to do is accept that our reality is different now.

Of course, reality is changing from moment to moment anyway. But when it changes A LOT in a short space of time; when the process is sped up or jam-packed or just significantly different than our current concept of life… that’s when the proverbial hits the fan, yeah?

So all I know is that mid-November, I had an inkling that things were Different. I mean, I had a pretty major hair cut, which is something women do when they’re acknowledging change on some level.

And when I say major, for the first time in 10-15 years, I significantly changed my hair style. Are you hearing me? I’ve more or less had the same hairstyle forever. And as I sat there in the hairdresser’s chair peering at myself in the mirror, these words rose up: Can you chop it off and make it look good? I want it to be a LOT shorter.

Immediately afterwards, I loved it. The girl who’s always had hair at least 3-4 inches past her shoulders now had neck-grazing hair length. It wasn’t short-short, but it was short enough. And to quote a friend: choppy and swishy and good.

But I didn’t really get it then. I was still caught up in the oh-my-goddess-will-I-get-a-new-job-soon momentum, avoiding (for a little while) my health, and planning for my trip to Bali while wondering if I could really afford it. Funnily enough, everything panned out.

I landed a job I love (and still do); I quit sugar – which has had a major impact on my health; my Bali trip was awesome AND due to the speed with which a new job turned up, it wasn’t a financial strain. I found a new and wonderful naturopath and we’re on EXACTLY the same page in terms of treating my health; and, my yoga practice and teaching are going from strength to strength.

Life is getting… better. At the start of this year I was desperately afraid that it wouldn’t. But so far, setting my intentions for Healing and Acceptance has been crazy-powerful. Consequently, there’s all sorts of healing and acceptance going on without my having to put too much effort into it. Or so it seems.

Yet, I was still afraid that all of this good stuff wouldn’t/couldn’t last. That at some point, it was all going to go away again and/or fall apart. Weirdly, I was carrying this around as anxiety that wouldn’t quit. Kinda silly, huh?

Then, last Saturday brought with it another major milestone.

In late 2010, I started having regular kinesiology sessions when I realised I was still struggling with PTSD in some ways. Sure, I wasn’t a complete mess like I had been. But I couldn’t talk about it freely without falling apart. Even though I was once again a functional human being, I wasn’t really okay. Not in my heart of hearts, and it was compromising my ability to move forward in life.

Every single one of my kinesiology sessions delved into the past, purging some other aspect of trauma from my body and mind. I can only liken it to wringing a towel dry – you’ve gotta keep it up til you get all the moisture out… Sometimes dealing with the past was just about being assaulted, but more often than not it also included other traumas from my past.

Because, if you face up to real healing you have to face up to all of your un-dealt with stuff. All of it. It is VERY hard work.

THEN…

For the very first time last Saturday, I had a kinesiology session in which the past didn’t come up at all. Not once.

Instead, we were dealing with this transition time between what has been, where I’m at and what will be.

I can’t tell you how weird that was. There’s been so many false starts where I thought I was “healed”. Most of it was wishful thinking, however: I wanted to be better but I hadn’t really faced up to the whole truth.

Now I have.

Of course, I’m not saying that I’m 100% sure I’ve dealt with everything that needs dealing with. I mean, can anything ever be 100%?

However, for the first time since late 2005, there are no painful shackles imprisoning me to traumatic memories. I’m no longer just a small shift away from tears and falling apart. I’ve inhabited and owned those experiences instead of dissociating from them.

It’s such a powerful feeling because I’m in control. And free!

These are two things that trauma survivors can’t relate to very easily. For example, being assaulted wasn’t something I had any control over. Neither were the years where I didn’t know I had PTSD, or the flashbacks, anxiety, or depression. I didn’t have the tools or emotional wherewithal to do much about it for many years. I also didn’t have much control over the crash-landing of my adrenal system, resulting in an auto-immune condition.

But now I do have tools, control and wherewithal. I’m physically, emotionally and mentally stronger than ever. However, to become strong I had to expose my weaknesses.

So now you can’t even unintentionally hurt me by talking about assault or PTSD. You can’t accidentally kick over my carefully constructed defences and expose my raw underbelly: my wounds – deep gorges and hidden crevices that they were – have healed properly this time with all infections excised and treated.

Managing my health will be an ongoing balancing act for the rest of my life. But, I know what helps and what hurts. And I’ll do everything in my power to minimise the impact of Hashimoto’s on my body and mind.

Yep, I’ve only just noticed that all of this change – in the form of renewed and strengthened personal power – has arrived.

But then, I got my hair cut again last Friday. Even shorter than last time. Yep.

~ Svasti

Not chasing shadows

Tags

Anxiety, full circle, Healing, not-hobbling, perception, PTSD, shadows

As usual I’m trying to write fifty gazillion things and none of them are coming out quite right. It seems my book reading habits (multiple books at the same time with some never quite getting finished) are affecting my writing and so it’s all been a bit of a mushy seven-horse race with no clear winner.

Something like that anyway. I am almost finished writing this piece wherein I get a little whiney about the state of the health care industry but y’all should be glad you’re getting this one instead.

Yesterday was a little different. Maybe it’s because for the first time in about eight weeks I’ve started walking like a normal person again. None of this favouring of one leg or hobbling more ferociously than a grumpy old hobbit (assuming that is, that hobbits hobble, yes?). No strain on my lower back or extra painful left knee as a result of the not-hobbling. Not-hobbling is good. Nay, not-hobbling is great! There should be endless poems to extol the virtues of not-hobbling because being all balanced weight-bearing with the walking is honestly nothing short of a miracle when you’re used to the hobbling walk instead of the not-hobbling. Capiche?

I’ve even been able to start using stairs instead of the lift at work. Fancy, I know! And, a ten minute walk is no longer something to dread. Walking normally? It’s like a hundred kinds of good and yesterday afternoon as I strolled at a leisurely pace towards my massage session I was all looney grins of joy. And not because of Melbourne’s return to the more typical August weather of grey, rainy and dreary, either!

But there’s something else I noticed last night. Or rather, I’ve finally fessed up to myself about it. And here it is.

For the last six months I’ve been working in one of Melbourne’s inner-eastern suburbs. It’s a part of town that if it wasn’t for my job, I wouldn’t have much reason to be here. Not that there’s anything wrong with this part of town but it just isn’t part of my usual territory, you know?

I’m not sure how long I’d been walking up and down the main street – for lunches, to go to the health food store etc – when I first noticed that certain visuals looked familiar…

Because it’s interesting how differently we perceive our environments, isn’t it? When you’re going out to a gig or a club etc, mostly its night time and your main focus is getting to where you’re going. Peripherals are just that. They’re unimportant, except for perhaps the ATM across the street or where to find a cab on the way home. So that’s what stuck out – looking across the road to the ATM and then over and up and then it dawned on me.

Nearly every day, I’ve been walking past the place where the reason for this blog’s existence began. Which is where the start of the story begins.

How about that, eh? I’ve inadvertently (if that is at all possible) circled right back to the beginning, but in the mundane light of day where every shop sign and doorway looks the same. Until you look again and notice those mostly invisible markers of significance.

Once I was sure, yep that WAS the place, I was relieved to notice that I didn’t really care anymore. Still, for no particular reason I’ve avoided processing any of this consciously.

I suppose I thought it didn’t matter. I’d already done a re-visit of this place – for me, conquering physical locations associated with my PTSD has been important (taking the fear out of time and space). And I’d even come face-to-face with my abuser (well sorta) and come out of that okay.

So it was done. It was done, right? Right?

Well, mostly. Tonight, post-massage and feeling decidedly more relaxed (physically) than I have for the last couple of months… I sat there at the tram stop nibbling on some dinner, only meters from the hole-in-the-wall door that leads up to the club where it all began.

And I allowed myself this thought: In that place and on that night, my life irrevocably changed in every way imaginable.

Standing up to throw some trash in a bin, I faced that damn door and felt a little woozy as though I was gonna puke. Only I didn’t.

And yeah, it was over. Sure, I’m still dealing with some of the repercussions with my health and anxiety etc.

But these days, that club holds no more power over me than my abuser does. In fact, I hate even writing the words “my abuser” now, because it’s just not relevant any more but it’s a handy shortcut all the same.

The event that caused my life to explode is done, and there’s nothing more to say.

~Svasti

P.S. Except let the healing continue. Because, if someone had ever suggested to me the many and varied ways in which trauma needs to be healed, I never would’ve believed them. It’s kind of like trying to peel layers of fairy floss… sticky and lacking any clear borders…

Glitching

Tags

computer virus, ducking for cover, fight or flight, freak show, glitching, human cesspool, illicit hiding places, iron-fisted punch, neurological aberration, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, Recovery is a bitch, triggers

The calm and peaceful view from my Saturday morning - before everything went belly-up

Lately I’ve begun to think about PTSD as kind of like a computer virus: once it’s in, you’ve gotta completely scrub the hard drive to expunge it. Only thing is, there’s plenty of places for it to hide and then pop up unexpectedly. Taking you by surprise and completely fucking things up. Temporarily at least.

I’ve discussed this before with my lovely friend CK – She Who Also Knows – that in some ways, it’s all a lot easier to cope when you’re still mostly crippled by that blasted virus. You’re intimately involved with what to expect and you’re way more used to ducking for cover. PTSD in full flight might suck big time, but at least you know what’s coming. Well, sorta.

But when you’ve worked your ass off to clear the decks and you’ve kicked over as many illicit hiding places as you can, you begin to feel a great deal more normal. Which is completely awesome. It’s nice to be able to function effectively in day to day life. Really.

Until you don’t. Until you start glitching. Until some stupid little trigger you didn’t even know existed, makes itself known.

These days most people I interact with don’t know about my PTSD history. I don’t often feel the need to talk about it because it generally doesn’t incapacitate me anymore.

Until it does.

Not just in the here, have a physical illness to go along with your mental health issues kind of way. And not in the wow, did you know that PTSD weakens the immune system kind of way, either.

I’m talking about the sort of shit that makes you look like a freak show to the uninitiated. One minute all is well and the next, you can barely breathe. Your throat is closing as if someone is strangling you. You unintentionally mess up the lovely night out we were all having until you flipped.

That kind of freak show.

Ah yes. That was me on Saturday night. Out with my beautiful-of-heart friend, M, and one of her mates. A girl’s night out (without the drinking since none of us were, for various reasons).

I’d no idea that I’d be triggered by being in an over-crowded bar/club. We had fun, we were talking and then dancing to some of the cheesy music being played (Whitney Houston or Tina Turner, anyone?).

And it was all good until, perhaps, the crowd capacity maxxed out. Suddenly it was wall-to-wall people. Elbows in backs, drinks in danger of being spilled and no room to move. Forget dancing – it was all you could do to shuffle around on the spot. Not my idea of a good time.

But even then, I was fine. Until something snapped. Don’t know what. One too many up-close-and-personal moments with complete strangers, perhaps? The sensory overload of music, people, voices and being in a place I wouldn’t choose to hang out in myself? Maybe.

All I know is that I couldn’t stand dancing in that human cesspool any longer. The fight or flight mechanism had kicked in and I wasn’t doing so well. My poor friend M was caught between her other pal and I. M’s friend wanted to keep dancing (if you can call standing flesh-to-flesh in a crowd actually dancing) and I wanted, no, needed space.

Now, I’ve been out plenty of times in recent history. I’ll go to music gigs, hang out at festivals where there’s lots of people. But for whatever reason, I was triggered. And the problem with being triggered is that the world doesn’t make much sense any more. I couldn’t figure out that I should just leave, even though I really wanted to.

My friend M had never seen this happen to me before (she’s only recently moved back to Australia from the UK). So she didn’t really understand what was going on, and with my throat closing in I could barely speak. M kept asking me if I was okay, but my basic PTSD modus operandi has always been to deny that anything is wrong.

So I nod my head and plead with my eyes, I’m okay. I really am. All the while, coughing (a classic sign of stress for me) and sucking on ice cubes from my drink (cranberry and soda with a slice of lime).

It’s not like I wasn’t trying to change how I felt. I worked on controlling my breathing, but it was really hard going. When the fight or flight wild horses take off at a gallop, it’s very tricky to regain control.

M’s other friend really didn’t understand why I was being such a buzz kill. The only thing that made any difference was leaving that environment. Which we did, eventually… the night was pretty much over after that.

I took a tram home and slowly recovered, all the while I was kicking myself. Because I know just how weird that sort of experience can look to others. I’ve lost friends over similar incidents before.

And poor M was feeling terribly guilty that she didn’t get me out of the bar sooner. But really, neither of us had any way of knowing what was going on. Just like those viruses that get past your firewall and raise all kinds of weird and wacky hell on your laptop… completely unforeseeable stuff.

Unfortunately this little meltdown caused Sunday to be a total write off. That kind of neurological aberration socks a particularly iron-fisted punch. I slept until around 1pm and when I got up, I was dizzy. As in, whoah, I know which direction vertical is but I’m kinda all over the shop.

I spent the afternoon eating, resting and writing because that’s about all I had the bandwidth for. And to think I used to somehow get by with those sorts of experiences happening multiple times a day! (“Get by” might be slightly ironic).

So it looks like I’m still not done with PTSD. There’s more to do. And instead of feeling devastated about it, I’m thankful for what happened. Because if I hadn’t had that experience, I’d still be thinking I’m further along the healing path than I actually am.

Recovery is a bitch, but giving up just isn’t an option. Not anymore.

~Svasti

World Thyroid Day

Tags

adrenal exhaustion, epidemic, Malnutrition, Stress, Yoga

This is where your thyroid gland is...

Well, colour me purple and pink stripes, there’s such a thing as World Thyroid Day!

Those who don’t have thyroid health issues might be all “who cares?” about an awareness day for the not-so-humble thyroid gland.

But the truth is that we all need to care.

You don’t need to experience PTSD to be over-stressed and unfortunately, one of the triggers for thyroid problems is just that – stress.

Stress, perhaps the greatest threat to health in contemporary life, can be caused by a wide range of factors: toxins in our air, water and food; poor dietary choices and nutritional deficiencies; chronic bacterial, fungal, viral or parasitic infections; and lifestyle issues such as insufficient sleep, lack of exercise (or for some, overexercising); and chronic worry and anxiety.

The first points of vulnerability in the body are the adrenal glands, which become exhausted, and then our immune system, which weakens, opening us to all sorts of imbalances and ailments.

~ Words from the Stress-Buster & Adrenal Strength Workshop

As mentioned previously, one of my friends in the US is a naturopathic doctor and in her words, thyroid issues are reaching epidemic proportions. What a surprise in our over-worked, unhealthy western world!

Something else I’ve recently learned is that once you have thyroid health issues, if you don’t start taking good care of yourself it can get much worse. Say you don’t have the auto-immune version of hypothyroidism – you can easily develop this if you continue to ignore your body.

Another friend of mine (they know who they are!) puts it like this: You don’t f*#k around with your thyroid!

Basically, if you live with constant worry, anxiety, or stress then it’s your responsibility to yourself to sort it out before it becomes a chronic condition that affects your physical health. Of course, stress doesn’t just affect your thyroid. You need to take care of your heart health, too.

Some of us can’t help it though – PTSD is like a car crash for the body’s stress responses, and it takes time, effective therapy and support to resolve.

What surprises me however, is that people with chronic anxiety, panic attacks and PTSD are not (at least in my experience) advised to make sure they don’t neglect their physical health. Malnutrition is another trigger for thyroid problems and those with a broken fight or flight response are prone to self-neglect. Their minds are too busy just trying to make sure they are safe, and eating properly is often the last thing on the agenda.

So here I am, working it out for myself and doing my part to spread the word:

Dudes! Stress is bad for us in many more ways than we realise.

Here’s a short list of stuff we can all do to reduce our stress levels:

• Eat well – if the body is malnourished, our ability to cope with stress and change is reduced.
• Get appropriate exercise – getting the heart pumping and blood circulating around your body regulates your hormones and calms the mind and emotions.
• Find people to laugh with – laughter is one of the best stress-relievers around. Laugh with your friends, hang out with little kids and delight in their giggles, and read hilarious blogs like my friends Lo and Y-Dawg. 😉
• Get hugs or physical contact – it sounds cheesy but seriously, most of us don’t have enough physical contact in our lives. I know I don’t, and it’s tough if you’re single and/or coping with mental health issues that make you pull away from others. These days, I always hug my friends and get massages as often as I can.

Luckily for me, yoga and mediation are very beneficial for stress management. Hooray for yoga! And shoulder stand is considered to be one of the best poses for assisting thyroid function but there are others, too. Check it out:

From: http://www.yogacards.com/Yoga_for_thyroid/thyroid_problems.html

Right then. Enough said for now on the whole thyroid health/stress reduction stuff. Get on it, people! Relax, eat well, get plenty of sleep and bring enjoyment back into your lives. And stay healthy, okay?

~ Svasti xo