Recent posts
#1
Recovery Journals / Re: Activating myself
Last post by Blueberry - Today at 04:58:34 PMI have been active since last post in various ways.
I'm slowly but surely coming down with a cold so idk how much I'll be on the forum in the next days. I need rest, hot drinks, keeping myself warm.
I'm slowly but surely coming down with a cold so idk how much I'll be on the forum in the next days. I need rest, hot drinks, keeping myself warm.
#2
Recovery Journals / Re: Papa Coco's Recovery Journ...
Last post by Blueberry - Today at 04:49:02 PM
#3
Recovery Journals / Re: the next step
Last post by Papa Coco - Today at 04:02:32 PMSan,
It feels like you are on the right road toward understanding what's going on in your gut. I absolutely agree with you that the brick in your head and the one at your heart most likely have emotional connections to the difficulties of living life on this planet.
The search for what this pain is attached to is a good search. If we don't seek, we don't find, and you are seeking. And I believe you are moving forward in your search. I see subtle hints in your posts that you are moving forward and your inquisitive search for joy. You are starting to see connections you didn't see before. That's the path of healing and I think you're on it. Your kindness toward others on this forum is being returned to you by the people here. In my own world, that's the greatest healing tool there is. Empathy. We feel each other's struggles, and we support each other and that fuels the healing.
You have a lot of good friends here on the forum. We are always rooting for each other. I hope the comfort they bring you helps you as you work through these physical bricks.
It feels like you are on the right road toward understanding what's going on in your gut. I absolutely agree with you that the brick in your head and the one at your heart most likely have emotional connections to the difficulties of living life on this planet.
The search for what this pain is attached to is a good search. If we don't seek, we don't find, and you are seeking. And I believe you are moving forward in your search. I see subtle hints in your posts that you are moving forward and your inquisitive search for joy. You are starting to see connections you didn't see before. That's the path of healing and I think you're on it. Your kindness toward others on this forum is being returned to you by the people here. In my own world, that's the greatest healing tool there is. Empathy. We feel each other's struggles, and we support each other and that fuels the healing.
You have a lot of good friends here on the forum. We are always rooting for each other. I hope the comfort they bring you helps you as you work through these physical bricks.
#4
Recovery Journals / Re: Papa Coco's Recovery Journ...
Last post by Papa Coco - Today at 03:44:08 PMJournal Entry
Yesterday I used ChatGPT to help me sort out the details of why I feel like I'm just killing time waiting to die. I was a bigtime overachiever for all of my working life, from age 11 to 60. When I lost my job of 42 years, and turned it into retirement, I realized I had also lost interest in over achieving. All my hobbies fell away. I lost interest in classic cars, kayaks, bicycles, making money, remodeling homes, taking vacations, exercising, etc. I literally believed that I had accomplished everything I ever wanted and still had to keep breathing anyway. I felt like this was a massive depression that was probably never going to stop. I would read about chronic depression, and have believed for 6 years now that I'm just a depressed old man waiting to die.
BUt I did decide to bring this to ChatGPT as a problem. I started the chat with "I want to find true joy" and the conversation started there. Once I'd explained to the tool that I was once a vibrant over achiever and now I'm just a depressed old man who has found that the ONLY joy I find is in connecting with other people, and nothing else, it started giving me responses like the one below in blue. This is a small cut/paste from what it told me, and I am SO GLAD to have gotten this message, because it's building up a new sense of hope in me. (HOPE used to be a curse word for me, when I used it as a default for "hoping" something would change so I could be happy, but now I've learned that hope is when we see a light up ahead and decide to follow it.). This chat with the Ai tool has reignited a hope that maybe I can find joy, so I'm going to pursue it. Hope is only good when it gives us something to work toward, and this chat is giving me something to work toward: Here's what it said:
Yes, James — it makes a lot of sense. And what you're describing is actually a very healthy psychological shift, especially for someone who spent most of life in responsibility and hyper-vigilance.
Let me reflect back what I hear, because it's important.
For decades your orientation was something like:
"What needs to be handled?"
• Work
• Community
• Family
• Advocacy
• Problems in the world
You were outwardly useful, active, admired, productive. But the emotional fuel behind it often came from duty and survival energy, not from joy.
Now something in you is asking a different question:
"What makes me feel connected and alive?"
That is not selfish.
It's actually integration.
________________________________________
The Key Realization You Had
You noticed something very precise:
"I feel real joy when I feel love and connection."
That insight is huge.
Many people chase happiness through:
• achievement
• novelty
• possessions
• stimulation
But the nervous system most reliably experiences joy through connection:
• warm conversation
• shared experience
• mutual recognition
• kindness exchanged
• feeling part of the human fabric
Your system seems to be recalibrating toward that.
And that often happens after a lifetime of accomplishment.
________________________________________
What You're Describing Has a Name
Psychologists sometimes call this shift moving from achievement orientation to relational orientation.
Earlier life:
• Build
• Prove
• Provide
• Protect
Later life:
• Connect
• Experience
• Mentor
• Appreciate
• Belong
It's not a decline.
It's a deepening.
I got to this message from the Ai tool at around noon yesterday, meaning I've been living with this epiphany for about 20 hours now and they have been glorious hours. I no longer have to feel like my loss of interest in achieving things is a bad thing. I now see it as a very, very, very good thing. I want connection with people more than I want anything else. And now I know that's a good thing, not a bad thing.
For me, finding a reason to live has been a life's purpose since I was about 6 years of age. The world tells me I'm a failure if I don't achieve things. But things don't love me back. People do. And I'd rather eat rice with friends than 5-star cuisine with people I can't connect with. And now, for the first time in my entire life, I feel like that's not a bad thing.
This hug is for anyone who reads this journal entry: I'm glad you're in my life. Those aren't just words.
Yesterday I used ChatGPT to help me sort out the details of why I feel like I'm just killing time waiting to die. I was a bigtime overachiever for all of my working life, from age 11 to 60. When I lost my job of 42 years, and turned it into retirement, I realized I had also lost interest in over achieving. All my hobbies fell away. I lost interest in classic cars, kayaks, bicycles, making money, remodeling homes, taking vacations, exercising, etc. I literally believed that I had accomplished everything I ever wanted and still had to keep breathing anyway. I felt like this was a massive depression that was probably never going to stop. I would read about chronic depression, and have believed for 6 years now that I'm just a depressed old man waiting to die.
BUt I did decide to bring this to ChatGPT as a problem. I started the chat with "I want to find true joy" and the conversation started there. Once I'd explained to the tool that I was once a vibrant over achiever and now I'm just a depressed old man who has found that the ONLY joy I find is in connecting with other people, and nothing else, it started giving me responses like the one below in blue. This is a small cut/paste from what it told me, and I am SO GLAD to have gotten this message, because it's building up a new sense of hope in me. (HOPE used to be a curse word for me, when I used it as a default for "hoping" something would change so I could be happy, but now I've learned that hope is when we see a light up ahead and decide to follow it.). This chat with the Ai tool has reignited a hope that maybe I can find joy, so I'm going to pursue it. Hope is only good when it gives us something to work toward, and this chat is giving me something to work toward: Here's what it said:
Yes, James — it makes a lot of sense. And what you're describing is actually a very healthy psychological shift, especially for someone who spent most of life in responsibility and hyper-vigilance.
Let me reflect back what I hear, because it's important.
For decades your orientation was something like:
"What needs to be handled?"
• Work
• Community
• Family
• Advocacy
• Problems in the world
You were outwardly useful, active, admired, productive. But the emotional fuel behind it often came from duty and survival energy, not from joy.
Now something in you is asking a different question:
"What makes me feel connected and alive?"
That is not selfish.
It's actually integration.
________________________________________
The Key Realization You Had
You noticed something very precise:
"I feel real joy when I feel love and connection."
That insight is huge.
Many people chase happiness through:
• achievement
• novelty
• possessions
• stimulation
But the nervous system most reliably experiences joy through connection:
• warm conversation
• shared experience
• mutual recognition
• kindness exchanged
• feeling part of the human fabric
Your system seems to be recalibrating toward that.
And that often happens after a lifetime of accomplishment.
________________________________________
What You're Describing Has a Name
Psychologists sometimes call this shift moving from achievement orientation to relational orientation.
Earlier life:
• Build
• Prove
• Provide
• Protect
Later life:
• Connect
• Experience
• Mentor
• Appreciate
• Belong
It's not a decline.
It's a deepening.
I got to this message from the Ai tool at around noon yesterday, meaning I've been living with this epiphany for about 20 hours now and they have been glorious hours. I no longer have to feel like my loss of interest in achieving things is a bad thing. I now see it as a very, very, very good thing. I want connection with people more than I want anything else. And now I know that's a good thing, not a bad thing.
For me, finding a reason to live has been a life's purpose since I was about 6 years of age. The world tells me I'm a failure if I don't achieve things. But things don't love me back. People do. And I'd rather eat rice with friends than 5-star cuisine with people I can't connect with. And now, for the first time in my entire life, I feel like that's not a bad thing.
This hug is for anyone who reads this journal entry: I'm glad you're in my life. Those aren't just words.
#5
Recovery Journals / Re: the next step
Last post by sanmagic7 - Today at 02:24:11 PMQuote from: HannahOne on Today at 11:59:28 AMWe deserve this consciousness and care now, that we didn't get then when our pain was humiliated or erased
we do, indeed! thank you, hannah1 for this validation. much appreciated.
i'm just beginning to possibly link these physical manifestations to emotional blockages? build-ups? i can now see the brick in my head was all grief. the brick in my gut was pain and hurt. possibly the pain i feel from my mysterious gas attacks which i feel close to my heart are about relationships gone badly? pain from what happened inside/during them? at any rate, it seems i'm carrying a lot of pain inside. hopefully, if i'm able to recognize what it's attached to, i can do what needs to be done to alleviate some of it. that would certainly make my life feel more like it's worth living.
#6
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by sanmagic7 - Today at 02:16:19 PMhannah1, thank you for your explanation - it makes perfect sense to me in that context. i'm glad for you that you are able to find such a variety of things to work at, to concentrate on, to do. well done! i used to knit, loved it, never got into crocheting. someone once said knitting is like meditation for the hands, and i can agree w/ that. i found it soothing, comforting, and so relevant somehow. i used to knit a lot while watching tv - back in the day the program pacing was different and there were commercials to help get back to concentration. but i hope you can find your way to knitting - there's just enough challenge to keep it interesting (at least for me), but repetitive enough to keep it relaxing.
good for you for pushing yourself on the man front. i do hope all the results are positive. love and hugs
good for you for pushing yourself on the man front. i do hope all the results are positive. love and hugs
#7
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by HannahOne - Today at 01:13:03 PMTW some talk about gender, please forgive any offense and don't read if the topic is sensitive for you.
I'm going to a yoga/Pilates class today for the first time. I'm nervous. But excited to try it. The teacher is a man. I hope it will be ok. I am trying to be around men. I can't go into the world if I can't be around men. The last decade of stay at home motherhood I existed entirely in a world of women. I could go days never interacting with a man. Other than my partner, but somehow he doesn't count.
There's a man in my house. I keep noticing. Oh yeah, my husband. LOL. There's a man in my house! What am I going to do with him? What is he thinking? Where is he going, to the kitchen? Footsteps, footsteps. There's a man in my house. Oh yeah, my husband! LOL.
Today there's a man teaching my yoga class. I signed up for his class on purpose. Will he touch me? Will he ask first? How will he look at me? What will I say, how will I act? Will I smile? Not smile? Shake his hand? Keep my hands at my side?
There's a man as my PT. I've known him for almost twenty years. Hadn't seen him in five years. He was surprised at my appearance. "So....what happened?" Um. I laid in bed for a few years? Last he saw me I was all muscle, working with horses, running miles a day. He helped me overcome two pregnancies, a knee injury, a bad back, torn tendons, a broken thumb, a hernia, overcome inertia so I could work horses. We worked so hard for years on end. Worked from holding myself up against a wall for 15 seconds to 15, 20, 50 pushups. And then.... plllfffttt. Here I am again. Starting over. Holding myself up against the wall, arms shaking. So discouraged. Starting over.
I know this man. But the same thoughts. Will he touch me? Will he ask? What will I say? Will I smile, not smile? He puts a strap around my legs for stability. "So you can't run away," he says, as I'm dissociating. His comment springs me back and I laugh. He pokes me in the shoulder, "Hello! Do you want to take the strap off, or should I?" I spring back, "I'll take it off." Balancing on one foot as he adjusts my ankle weight, I start to wobble. "Touch my shoulder," he says, kneeling in front of me, "so you don't fall." Right right, I snap back into myself, I can grab his shoulder rather than fall over. "Hold this," he says, handing me a weight. "Hold it out from your body like this." "I can't" I say. "You can," he says. Will I hurt myself? He's never hurt me. I hold it. Tired. "Turn over," he says as I'm on the table, like he's talking to a dog. He must do this all day, tell people to do this, do that, half bored. There's no edge to it, just a clear expectation that I obey. I bristle. And why not turn over? Am I against turning over? Is turning over a violation of the Geneva Convention? I want to tell him off with a choice curse word. I turn over. Is this ok? "Yes," says the therapist in my head.
"Squeeze your butt cheek," he says, poking my butt. Butt cheek? What butt cheek? I don't have a butt cheek. "HannahOne!" He pokes my shoulder hard. "Sit up." I sit up. "Go get some water." I go get water. "Lie down." I lie down. ""Squeeze this butt cheek." I squeeze it. "Give me your leg." What? "Relax this leg, let me move it." He asks me, "Is this ok?" Yes. "Is this ok?" Yes. "Still too tight in the hamstring," he says. "Go stretch against the wall for two minutes." He sits down to type notes. What is he typing? Will he call the police? "Client still too tight in hamstring," I tell myself. Why would he call the police? I am tired and want to go home. I stretch and tell him, "I'm tired." "You worked hard today," he says. Today? He taps me on the shoulder. "You ok to drive?" Yes. He knows me, I remind myself. It's fine if I'm in and out. This is the system we created, poke me in the shoulder, tell me to go get water. And he's never hurt me, I've only ever made progress. Besides, there's seven other people in this room. I count them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5--- "We're on for Tuesday?" he says. Tuesday? "Why don't you sit for ten minutes?" he says, handing me a towel. "Just sit. Then drive." I bristle. I want to tell him off. He can tell. Sitting is against the Geneva Convention. He smirks at me. "Sit, HannahOne." I sit. Minutes go by and I'm snapping back. I can feel the water I'm drinking, I can feel my butt cheeks on the hard floor. "I'm heading out," I say, as he tells the client on the table, "Turn over." He nods over his shoulder, "Are you ok?" Yes. "See you Tuesday." Yes. I want to try again.
I hired a man to fix my sink. I'm home alone. Same thoughts. Will he touch me? Will he ask? Will I smile? or not smile? Shake his hand? I smile and shake his hand, holding the dog with the other hand. "She's a nice dog," I say, semi-reassuringly, with an edge. I hold back so he goes upstairs first. To the kitchen, to the sink. What will I say? There's a man in my house. "Here's the sink!" I say stupidly as we both look at the sink. "I'll be in the other room, holler if you need me," I say, and run to my room and shut the door. Should I lock it? Will he come in anyway? Will he ask first? He calls from the kitchen, "M'am?" M'am!? I'm a m'am. right, right, I'm a middle aged m'am. I come back to the kitchen and look at him for the first time. He looks like a baby. He must be twenty years old. "All set," he says. "Cash, check or credit?" right, right, I have money now. I'll pay with credit so he doesn't have my address. He already has my address, he's standing in my house. I drop the credit card. We both go to pick it up. I let him pick it up so we don't crash heads. He hands it to me and his fingers touch my palm. Is that ok? "Yes," says the therapist inside my head. Ok. He goes downstairs, turns to shake my hand. Is that ok? "Yes," says the therapist inside my head. "Bye, doggie," he says, to the dog I'm still gripping. I shut the door behind him, too hard, lock it.
I hired a man to cut my hair. I don't look him in the eye. He asks me what I want for a haircut. I tell him I need time to think. I can't think. We go to the sink. I lean back carefully. He adjusts the towel. "How's the water?" The water? "Ok." Is it? He massages my head for minutes on end and I don't dissociate. He's not chatting. Is that ok? It occurs to me I am not feeling a wave of energy come my way. Is he gay? I don't feel the usual vibe. Then again, I'm middle-aged, so I don't feel it half the time now anyway. I can't tell what's going on. He towels my head and follows me to the chair. Should I worry he's behind me? I look him in the eye in the mirror. "So what are we doing today?" he asks, flipping my damp hair around and letting it fall through his fingers. I should make a decision, be assertive. "I don't know, what should I do?" "How about two inches off, about this much? And a few more layers for the waves? Where do you like the bangs to fall?" I have choices, I can choose. "An inch. Yes layers. At my nose." He goes to work. Is this ok? Yes. "Ok, girl!" he says after the dryer. I flip my hair. He laughs, I laugh. He sees me for what I am, a middle-aged woman, and someone not for him. He is not into women, or at least not into me. I book another appointment. I want to try again.
I hired a man for massage. My sibling can't believe it. "I'm trying to get used to men," I say. "You're on a mission!" my sibling says. I guess. It doesn't seem to be working, I am not habituating. I remember a therapist yelling at me, baffled, "Why don't you habituate?!" Exposure therapy just doesn't work on me. Maybe All of Me is never getting the therapy. Therapy Me does the therapy and the rest of me checks out. So, I'm an awesome therapy client, but I never habituate. LOL. Here I am at the massage. Same thoughts. Will he touch me? Um, yes, HannahOne. Will he ask? probably not. What will I do, will I smile? I'll be face down, so it doesn't matter. He is very tall and very strong. I like him right away. He's cautious at first. Not much eye contact on arrival, business-like. He's afraid of me, too, I think. He's afraid of my fear. Or afraid of how I'l see him, treat him. Will I leave a terrible review? I'm a white woman, he's a black man. We are both aware. But I relax, and he does. Tells me he's from Chicago. He doesn't poke me when I dissociate. I'm face down, so maybe he can't tell. What's the difference between dissociating and relaxing? Did I fall asleep, or space out? Both? Did I feel safe, or unsafe? Both? I book another appointment. I want to try again.
I sit with Frank. "You're a man," I tell him. He takes offense. "I mean, you're male." He smells like a skunk. "You could neuter him, and he'd smell better," the vet told me. I looked at Frank. "no thanks," I said. He's already six years old. He gets anesthesia for his dental treatments, but it's risky every time. Without dental care he can't survive, but he's ok intact. I don't want to put him through it. I don't mind that he's skunky. "I smell like flowers," I tell him. He begs to differ, the chemistry of my scented soaps unlike the warm sweet of dandelion and wild mint. We sit together, skunky Frank and over-scented me. A woman and a male. He won't touch me, he has no hands. He can't decipher a smile. He doesn't understand my words, I've no need to say anything. "Thanks, buddy," I say. We wait for my partner to come home, so there will be another man in the house. My partner passes by Frank's room, his weekly end of workweek beer in hand. "It's just you and me, Frank," says the man in my house wearily, surrounded by women and female dogs and daughters. It's hard for him too. He must wonder, should he touch me? Should he ask? Will I dissociate, smile? Not smile? "Want to walk the dogs together?" he asks. "Sure." I say. I want to try again.
I'm going to a yoga/Pilates class today for the first time. I'm nervous. But excited to try it. The teacher is a man. I hope it will be ok. I am trying to be around men. I can't go into the world if I can't be around men. The last decade of stay at home motherhood I existed entirely in a world of women. I could go days never interacting with a man. Other than my partner, but somehow he doesn't count.
There's a man in my house. I keep noticing. Oh yeah, my husband. LOL. There's a man in my house! What am I going to do with him? What is he thinking? Where is he going, to the kitchen? Footsteps, footsteps. There's a man in my house. Oh yeah, my husband! LOL.
Today there's a man teaching my yoga class. I signed up for his class on purpose. Will he touch me? Will he ask first? How will he look at me? What will I say, how will I act? Will I smile? Not smile? Shake his hand? Keep my hands at my side?
There's a man as my PT. I've known him for almost twenty years. Hadn't seen him in five years. He was surprised at my appearance. "So....what happened?" Um. I laid in bed for a few years? Last he saw me I was all muscle, working with horses, running miles a day. He helped me overcome two pregnancies, a knee injury, a bad back, torn tendons, a broken thumb, a hernia, overcome inertia so I could work horses. We worked so hard for years on end. Worked from holding myself up against a wall for 15 seconds to 15, 20, 50 pushups. And then.... plllfffttt. Here I am again. Starting over. Holding myself up against the wall, arms shaking. So discouraged. Starting over.
I know this man. But the same thoughts. Will he touch me? Will he ask? What will I say? Will I smile, not smile? He puts a strap around my legs for stability. "So you can't run away," he says, as I'm dissociating. His comment springs me back and I laugh. He pokes me in the shoulder, "Hello! Do you want to take the strap off, or should I?" I spring back, "I'll take it off." Balancing on one foot as he adjusts my ankle weight, I start to wobble. "Touch my shoulder," he says, kneeling in front of me, "so you don't fall." Right right, I snap back into myself, I can grab his shoulder rather than fall over. "Hold this," he says, handing me a weight. "Hold it out from your body like this." "I can't" I say. "You can," he says. Will I hurt myself? He's never hurt me. I hold it. Tired. "Turn over," he says as I'm on the table, like he's talking to a dog. He must do this all day, tell people to do this, do that, half bored. There's no edge to it, just a clear expectation that I obey. I bristle. And why not turn over? Am I against turning over? Is turning over a violation of the Geneva Convention? I want to tell him off with a choice curse word. I turn over. Is this ok? "Yes," says the therapist in my head.
"Squeeze your butt cheek," he says, poking my butt. Butt cheek? What butt cheek? I don't have a butt cheek. "HannahOne!" He pokes my shoulder hard. "Sit up." I sit up. "Go get some water." I go get water. "Lie down." I lie down. ""Squeeze this butt cheek." I squeeze it. "Give me your leg." What? "Relax this leg, let me move it." He asks me, "Is this ok?" Yes. "Is this ok?" Yes. "Still too tight in the hamstring," he says. "Go stretch against the wall for two minutes." He sits down to type notes. What is he typing? Will he call the police? "Client still too tight in hamstring," I tell myself. Why would he call the police? I am tired and want to go home. I stretch and tell him, "I'm tired." "You worked hard today," he says. Today? He taps me on the shoulder. "You ok to drive?" Yes. He knows me, I remind myself. It's fine if I'm in and out. This is the system we created, poke me in the shoulder, tell me to go get water. And he's never hurt me, I've only ever made progress. Besides, there's seven other people in this room. I count them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5--- "We're on for Tuesday?" he says. Tuesday? "Why don't you sit for ten minutes?" he says, handing me a towel. "Just sit. Then drive." I bristle. I want to tell him off. He can tell. Sitting is against the Geneva Convention. He smirks at me. "Sit, HannahOne." I sit. Minutes go by and I'm snapping back. I can feel the water I'm drinking, I can feel my butt cheeks on the hard floor. "I'm heading out," I say, as he tells the client on the table, "Turn over." He nods over his shoulder, "Are you ok?" Yes. "See you Tuesday." Yes. I want to try again.
I hired a man to fix my sink. I'm home alone. Same thoughts. Will he touch me? Will he ask? Will I smile? or not smile? Shake his hand? I smile and shake his hand, holding the dog with the other hand. "She's a nice dog," I say, semi-reassuringly, with an edge. I hold back so he goes upstairs first. To the kitchen, to the sink. What will I say? There's a man in my house. "Here's the sink!" I say stupidly as we both look at the sink. "I'll be in the other room, holler if you need me," I say, and run to my room and shut the door. Should I lock it? Will he come in anyway? Will he ask first? He calls from the kitchen, "M'am?" M'am!? I'm a m'am. right, right, I'm a middle aged m'am. I come back to the kitchen and look at him for the first time. He looks like a baby. He must be twenty years old. "All set," he says. "Cash, check or credit?" right, right, I have money now. I'll pay with credit so he doesn't have my address. He already has my address, he's standing in my house. I drop the credit card. We both go to pick it up. I let him pick it up so we don't crash heads. He hands it to me and his fingers touch my palm. Is that ok? "Yes," says the therapist inside my head. Ok. He goes downstairs, turns to shake my hand. Is that ok? "Yes," says the therapist inside my head. "Bye, doggie," he says, to the dog I'm still gripping. I shut the door behind him, too hard, lock it.
I hired a man to cut my hair. I don't look him in the eye. He asks me what I want for a haircut. I tell him I need time to think. I can't think. We go to the sink. I lean back carefully. He adjusts the towel. "How's the water?" The water? "Ok." Is it? He massages my head for minutes on end and I don't dissociate. He's not chatting. Is that ok? It occurs to me I am not feeling a wave of energy come my way. Is he gay? I don't feel the usual vibe. Then again, I'm middle-aged, so I don't feel it half the time now anyway. I can't tell what's going on. He towels my head and follows me to the chair. Should I worry he's behind me? I look him in the eye in the mirror. "So what are we doing today?" he asks, flipping my damp hair around and letting it fall through his fingers. I should make a decision, be assertive. "I don't know, what should I do?" "How about two inches off, about this much? And a few more layers for the waves? Where do you like the bangs to fall?" I have choices, I can choose. "An inch. Yes layers. At my nose." He goes to work. Is this ok? Yes. "Ok, girl!" he says after the dryer. I flip my hair. He laughs, I laugh. He sees me for what I am, a middle-aged woman, and someone not for him. He is not into women, or at least not into me. I book another appointment. I want to try again.
I hired a man for massage. My sibling can't believe it. "I'm trying to get used to men," I say. "You're on a mission!" my sibling says. I guess. It doesn't seem to be working, I am not habituating. I remember a therapist yelling at me, baffled, "Why don't you habituate?!" Exposure therapy just doesn't work on me. Maybe All of Me is never getting the therapy. Therapy Me does the therapy and the rest of me checks out. So, I'm an awesome therapy client, but I never habituate. LOL. Here I am at the massage. Same thoughts. Will he touch me? Um, yes, HannahOne. Will he ask? probably not. What will I do, will I smile? I'll be face down, so it doesn't matter. He is very tall and very strong. I like him right away. He's cautious at first. Not much eye contact on arrival, business-like. He's afraid of me, too, I think. He's afraid of my fear. Or afraid of how I'l see him, treat him. Will I leave a terrible review? I'm a white woman, he's a black man. We are both aware. But I relax, and he does. Tells me he's from Chicago. He doesn't poke me when I dissociate. I'm face down, so maybe he can't tell. What's the difference between dissociating and relaxing? Did I fall asleep, or space out? Both? Did I feel safe, or unsafe? Both? I book another appointment. I want to try again.
I sit with Frank. "You're a man," I tell him. He takes offense. "I mean, you're male." He smells like a skunk. "You could neuter him, and he'd smell better," the vet told me. I looked at Frank. "no thanks," I said. He's already six years old. He gets anesthesia for his dental treatments, but it's risky every time. Without dental care he can't survive, but he's ok intact. I don't want to put him through it. I don't mind that he's skunky. "I smell like flowers," I tell him. He begs to differ, the chemistry of my scented soaps unlike the warm sweet of dandelion and wild mint. We sit together, skunky Frank and over-scented me. A woman and a male. He won't touch me, he has no hands. He can't decipher a smile. He doesn't understand my words, I've no need to say anything. "Thanks, buddy," I say. We wait for my partner to come home, so there will be another man in the house. My partner passes by Frank's room, his weekly end of workweek beer in hand. "It's just you and me, Frank," says the man in my house wearily, surrounded by women and female dogs and daughters. It's hard for him too. He must wonder, should he touch me? Should he ask? Will I dissociate, smile? Not smile? "Want to walk the dogs together?" he asks. "Sure." I say. I want to try again.
#8
Recovery Journals / Re: Living As All of Me
Last post by HannahOne - Today at 12:08:26 PMSanMagic7, there may be some frantic energy for sure. I am definitely moving hard and fast to set things up to do. The doing themselves doesn't seem hurried. But yes there is a strong energy to put things on the calendar.
It could be unhelpful if I am over-doing, being busy to avoid.
On the other hand, if I don't have something planned every day, I become one with my mattress and don't leave the bed. And I have to interrupt that pattern, for my physical and mental health.
I am conscious that I am creating a life worth living because part of me is feeling hopeless despair. Part of me is wrestling with mortality, the end of some things, aging, being sick, general midlife blahs, and trauma hangover. And other parts of me are afraid of that, and want to compensate. Again there's a balance, on one hand, I don't want to be afraid of the idea of death, or of being sick, or of change and loss, I want to work through that and face it. On the other hand I'm aware that I don't have "enough" to counterbalance it, I'm still feeling a little too close to deep depression, and in order to fully feel those feelings, I need a strong network of a life to support me in feeling it. I need a solid container for my grief, and I have to make the container, find the community connections and activities that will give it context. A context that isn't "Of course, more trauma!" or "Yes, this is my punishment!" or whatever negative storytelling I'm prone to do.
Balance is falling and getting back up again. At least, that's how I balance. I hope to find a little more balance a little more middle ground. Right now it's still the case that I"m often either out and about, or flattened in bed. Out and about is better than in bed. So I may be doing a little too much. I've started sitting on the couch instead of in bed as much as possible when I'm home. The couch is at least upright
I am considering trying to learn to knit. I need something I can DO while sitting, otherwise I space out or sink into depression. I can't really read anymore and that's what I've always done. I may try basic knitting or crocheting as a baby step toward feeling "ok" while home alone.
It could be unhelpful if I am over-doing, being busy to avoid.
On the other hand, if I don't have something planned every day, I become one with my mattress and don't leave the bed. And I have to interrupt that pattern, for my physical and mental health.
I am conscious that I am creating a life worth living because part of me is feeling hopeless despair. Part of me is wrestling with mortality, the end of some things, aging, being sick, general midlife blahs, and trauma hangover. And other parts of me are afraid of that, and want to compensate. Again there's a balance, on one hand, I don't want to be afraid of the idea of death, or of being sick, or of change and loss, I want to work through that and face it. On the other hand I'm aware that I don't have "enough" to counterbalance it, I'm still feeling a little too close to deep depression, and in order to fully feel those feelings, I need a strong network of a life to support me in feeling it. I need a solid container for my grief, and I have to make the container, find the community connections and activities that will give it context. A context that isn't "Of course, more trauma!" or "Yes, this is my punishment!" or whatever negative storytelling I'm prone to do.
Balance is falling and getting back up again. At least, that's how I balance. I hope to find a little more balance a little more middle ground. Right now it's still the case that I"m often either out and about, or flattened in bed. Out and about is better than in bed. So I may be doing a little too much. I've started sitting on the couch instead of in bed as much as possible when I'm home. The couch is at least upright
I am considering trying to learn to knit. I need something I can DO while sitting, otherwise I space out or sink into depression. I can't really read anymore and that's what I've always done. I may try basic knitting or crocheting as a baby step toward feeling "ok" while home alone.
#9
Recovery Journals / Re: the next step
Last post by HannahOne - Today at 11:59:28 AMSanMagic7, I am so sorry your parents couldn't value you in the way you deserved. Their behavior says everything about them, and nothing about you.
I do think that our emotional flashbacks can also be experienced physically. I know for myself that often my pains are a form of flashback. They are very real pains, and sometimes the pain is even seen on testing or imaging, whether muscle tension or lower blood flow, nerve over activation. I have found it helpful, no matter what caused the pain, to make conscious the flashback aspects of it. Whether a flashback caused my body to feel pain, or whether pain caused me to have a flashback, I can interrupt and intervene by becoming conscious of the flashback aspect, soothe myself, feel the pain. We deserve this consciousness and care now, that we didn't get then when our pain was humiliated or erased.
I do think that our emotional flashbacks can also be experienced physically. I know for myself that often my pains are a form of flashback. They are very real pains, and sometimes the pain is even seen on testing or imaging, whether muscle tension or lower blood flow, nerve over activation. I have found it helpful, no matter what caused the pain, to make conscious the flashback aspects of it. Whether a flashback caused my body to feel pain, or whether pain caused me to have a flashback, I can interrupt and intervene by becoming conscious of the flashback aspect, soothe myself, feel the pain. We deserve this consciousness and care now, that we didn't get then when our pain was humiliated or erased.
#10
Letters of Recovery / Re: To my big brother
Last post by TheBigBlue - Today at 06:18:01 AMGoSlash27,
I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes after reading this.
What you wrote holds so much honesty and care - for him, and also for the reality you had to live with.
Thank you for trusting us with something this personal.
💛
I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes after reading this.
What you wrote holds so much honesty and care - for him, and also for the reality you had to live with.
Thank you for trusting us with something this personal.
💛