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Nice to see you here .

One of the keys in my cptsd horror trip involved a mother situation similar to your story. I don't know if I'll ever achieve the "happy" part, but I'm doing better at reaching an acceptance level that's allowing me to gain a fresh perspective again.

I've actually, in one form or another, been working on recovery for over 40 years. Discovering this forum has been huge in helping me feel less alone and discovering more healing.

So that's my wish for you--settle in, look around, and create that "something better" you've dreamed about finding.

I've subscribed (free via email) to a weekly series of writing prompts called "The Writer's Journey Roadmap" put together by Laura Davis of Santa Cruz, California. Davis is an abuse survivor herself and has been offering writing programs for several years.

While somewhat oriented to those interested in the writing craft, Davis's material usually touches on topics highly relevant to those pursuing healing and recovery in their lives. She invites responses to the prompts, and some of the responses people send in reflect deeply on this journey we're sharing.

Her site is: http://lauradavis.net/

Thank you for posting about this, Multicolour. I relate well to your hurt at not finding empathetic people who don't put others down. I live in a very remote area--nice people around, but also a "macho-dacho" mentality that treats topics like cptsd/ptsd with scorn and ridicule. In fact, these people disguise a lot of their own pain that way, but I no longer care what the "understanding" part of me wants to say; it just hurts that I can't communicate something important to me. It's invalidating, as you point out.

So I look elsewhere for help; even live therapists are few and very far between in these parts. I did, however, find one website that's been helpful, both in the writing I like to do but especially for the insights I find there, so I'll discuss that a bit and hope you give it a look.

I've subscribed (free via email) to a weekly series of writing prompts called "The Writer's Journey Roadmap" put together by Laura Davis of Santa Cruz, California. Davis is an abuse survivor herself and has been running writing programs for several years.

I find her writing prompts extremely useful. She also offers writing retreats and trips designed for writers. My experience has been just the writing prompts, and they often reflect on issues that abuse victims can relate to. Besides the prompts themselves, she encourages people to respond with their own takes. There's some good, heartfelt reflections in there.

Her site is: http://lauradavis.net/

The details of her various programs are all described there.

Meanwhile, take good care; the journey's rough, but there are bright spots if we look. 

For me, this ride with cptsd is like a multi-headed monster, with endless surprises. Just when it seems that some of it's better, that you feel you've solved a piece of the puzzle or moved past it, another rushes in to fill the void. It's like a constant waiting for the next challenge.

Nasty, pervasive persistent. Those are words which come to mind in trying to explain what most surprises me about this. How it can hang on and take over everything I do or say or feel. Like a moving craggy iceberg with peaks and valleys rising and falling among the waves. And it won't melt.

There's also the feeling of being on top of things one day, and feeling swamped the next.

Another surprising element is the sheer exhaustion, even when physically I've done very little to be tired. But I have this constant urge to sleep  ; paradoxically I can't/don't sleep very well at all, even in the most peaceful environment one could ever want for it. Still I'm exhausted beyond tired.

Finally there's just the disappointment of it all. After all the grief, anger, rage, and resentment it's ongoing and never ceases. Then I imagine all the what ifs and...well, imagination is one thing, but when this desperate longing is  all that I can ever have, it's disappointing. Then the hope disappears too, and all I want to do is give up, cry, or just numb out.

Just a dreamer. Not a failure (although I used to think so) but thoroughly disheartened. Familiar. No surprises.

VeryFoggy, what resonates deeply is your pointing to an awareness/realization by saying: "...I decided to start treating CPTSD as a friend, my best friend, and as a warning system...instead of fighting it or running from it." A worthy, challenging friend, no less!

Bravely accepting this friendship of an injured self seems to be a key to developing the awareness that Walker describes as a positive trait inherent in the so-called "freeze" type. But it probably applies to all once the labels are set aside.

Your experience suggests how the tendency to be hyper-vigilant can transform into a more comfortable sort of awareness that, despite roadblocks, can actually be useful in finding a way through. No longer a person's dire enemy, the new and unlikely friend called cptsd becomes one's best ally.

It's tempting to want the quick fix, but as you point out: "...it took me two years of dedicated persistent dogged effort and lots and lots of time."

Thanks again for all your pointers in finding one's way through what often seems so hopeless. 

Hi Rehana,

You seem to have found a key to unlocking the door to recovery. I spent umpteen years on detours while searching for answers to my own youthful "nightmare" years. I tried tons of reading, workshops, groups, techniques, therapies, anti-therapies, personality studies, etc. I sought to magically transform the pain, anxiety, blame, and shame into an instant and total cure. But none of these grand strategies were grounded in the simple acceptance you've described so well.

There's a perception that acceptance equals surrender...as in "it wasn't really so bad" or "they had reasons for what they did", and all the other cliches absolving the abusers. Acceptance doesn't justify or forgive any of that; it only acknowledges that the "stuff" happened; it had cruel effects and serious wounds but acceptance turns the corner to dealing with that in the present.

Accepting the past we can also accept that healing is possible, though it might not happen the way one expects. Acceptance is an allowance, an invitation to consider that recovery and healing might even exceed expectations. And I'm speaking as someone known for pessimism.

This observation of yours is spot-on: "I was trying too hard to heal. I realize now that it is much easier to just be in the recovery, without trying to categorize or organize your healing."

A lot of recovery talk seems to get hung up on words...cure; illness; disorder; it's a long list. They're only a map of the territory, though; we find the way out on our own. As you pointed out: "This is where self-trust finally has room to grow."

Partly due to age and isolation, I don't logically sense where I can go anymore. But with acceptance of then, now, and down the road--hey, it's still a worthwhile trek here in the land of recovery.

Thanks--good to see you here.

Pay no attention to appearing;
Being is alone important.

...Andre Gide

Samantha19,

I too often feel like, nice as people are, the other shoe is bound to fall. Maybe they'll freak that I like green and they like red, it can be as simple and stupid as that. I never give myself the benefit of the doubt; they're right, I'm wrong, I run from fear that I'll hurt their feelings even more when they find out I don't always like yellow, either.


It's as you say, mostly a habit. But it's pernicious in its staying power. I have no sure-fire answers, per usual. But I have tried something that sometimes helps; and feel bad when I forget it—but I'm always looking for reasons to beat myself up (another habit...sigh).

I'm pretty much retired now, but I used to be an actor, amongst other jobs (all of them involving people-contact, surprisingly). One day, anxious as usual before a performance, I started just to silently say "peace" on the in-breath; and "love" on the exhale. Sometimes I'd reverse the order; what seemed to matter more wasn't any precise order, just that I put those two words in play. It seemed to diminish the fear somewhat, at least for that while, but it was what I needed when I needed it.


So maybe next time you can try that? As another saying I ran across once puts it, try "playing with options". Actually, I think the playing part serves us better than calling everything work or technique. Playing, even as just a word, has a better feel for me, anyway. Peace/love;love/peace. Play with options.

Telling others has been a mixed bag for me. I consider myself shy; although most others don't. I'm actually a good conversationalist, once I'm engaged, or have to be. I can be quite funny and extremely witty, which I also recognize as a deflection from the inner pain I carry everywhere. Cptsd is such a cruel mixture of pain, shame, mistrust, self-blame, and gloom; I choose to deflect it more often than not, I guess. The grief runs deep.

But sometimes it happens/slips out, at least in bits and pieces. The challenge is still my response. And I've found that scary mix of pity, wonder, and blame from those I've let into what I don't always hide too well. All they know is something's wrong, bothers me.

I want, desperately, to fully trust, but I've been shattered by a couple of people, too; then the fear resets and I shrink again. I've told myself over and over I really want to trust and it always seems to happen that I step back again.

I'm getting better, I think. Not caring so much what anyone will do with what I tell them. Trouble is, my last "trustworthy" person was anything but, and they literally spurned me as if I'm some alien for feeling hyper-sensitive.

I guess the onus comes back to me. I know I feel better if I can share, and it seems to filter in sometimes with the simplest comment (e.g. "something bothering you?"). Fact is, inwardly at least I'm close to tears sometimes...there's so much I find triggering; sometimes the most mundane things can get me there.

It's a conundrum, but like other parts of recovery, I hope to find at least a balance, if not full peace, with what seems like someting I need to find a modicum of safety about. 

[we're all "little engines that could."]

Well put .

While we have different paths along this trail called recovery, you hit the key component by saying:

"I gained myself, the person I really am. I am finally me.  I am no longer a people pleasing perfect robot struggling to try to make insane crazy disordered people love me and respect me. I can accept now that they CAN'T love me..." And found that "I'm excited, content, inspired, thrilled, at peace, accepting, and trusting of myself to KNOW things."

That's huge, and the inspiration, thrill, and peace shines through in your courage to share that story, reminding us that we're all "little engines that could."

Thanks again, and congratulations.

[why]

Boatsetsailrose asked: "Would u like to share about your forest?"

Somewhere between the Atlantic and Pacific but it resembles your dream of Scotland when you say: "...being with the dark nights and the stars...And being with the trees and maybe seeing an eagle - if love to see an eagle." That's my daily experience.

Indeed, I'm in a 'green, dark forest too silent to be real', to borrow a line from an old song. It's isolated--but I wanted it that way. Eagles, bears, deer, owls, fox, fishers, martens, coyotes or wolves (they kind of swap territories some years; I prefer the 'yotes, they're much better singers, especially in chorus!).

There's humans about the area, even a nearby indoor/outdoor theatre setup I was once employed by and where I still have some slight involvement. Much of the population here consists of summer residents from metro areas with lake cottages scattered around the many lakes. The year-round residents include a sizable "first nations/native" contingent.

Been here 40 years, had doubts about being so alone until I'd remember why I did this...the cptsd footprints are all over the why I chose this path, and I finally accepted that the pluses outweighed the minuses. There's several large wilderness areas and pristine rivers nearby. Not to say I'll stay here; just 99% sure it's probably going to be the case.

The good--peace, quiet, beauty. Media? Lots of good radio, actually. Tons to read--my book collection is bigger than many small town libraries (and I don't have to drive to 'em ).

The not-so-good--hard to find accessible friends; had 4 who died couple years ago. They found me, as I don't reach out (classic cptsd freeze type). Inability to trust, all that.

What some would insist is lonely is just part of the equation--I needed it when I came here, still feel I do. I used to get out to different places, as I was also an actor--spent several winters in a city, then here in the summer. Like the cultural stuff available in cities, so it's a trade-off. City life might be nice in some respects--used to travel to find T's there (had 9, I think); on the other hand, living here constitutes a sort of on-going therapy all by itself. Couple T's even inquired if I'd ever rent to other clients they had.

So I'll stop, but my forest life is...different. My only surprise might be how pervasive the cptsd stuff has been; there's drawbacks to any paradise, it seems.

I've found it helpful to use imagery or symbolism to aid the process of getting in touch with my inner self. 

One favourite symbol involves a  a word-picture I kind of tuck in my heart somewhere for when I need a little boost. I've camped lots, and have often used what's known as a candle-lantern. It's tin or brass, with a door inside which the candle is placed. There's tiny piercings all around the tin exterior, so even with the door shut and the wind howling, enough air gets in to keep the candle lit. Of course, if it's calm enough, you can fully open the door and enjoy the peaceful light.

The candle represents the spirit/soul/inner self, whatever it's called; with the lantern's door shut, even the fiercest storm can't extinguish it.

So light your candle, tuck it inside the lantern, close the door; and know it's always there and can't blow out, as in fact you are that protected candle.

I have other symbols and metaphors, but that one helps lots when I'm really down. It'd be fun to hear of a symbol/metaphor that's helped you "weather the storm."

Below is a pic of the lantern.

 

[being]

My heart sings to:
...Celtic/folk music;
...some classical music;
...creating good vibes for someone via words/actions/music;
...sharing information/insight/wisdom with someone;
...wilderness, esp. forests/rivers;
...books
...peaceful ambiance/passionate equanimity

So what makes my heart sing may be more about being than doing and/or a combo of the doing springing from the being.

"If you travel far enough, one day you will recognize yourself coming down the road to meet yourself. And you will say—YES!"
--Marion Woodman

Boatsetsailrose wrote: "I...get fed up with 'working on myself ' and at these times I want to add insult to injury and use something to numb;" and "when I look objectively I seem like an empty shell who is in distress ..."

That's a tendency I have, especially after the 'working on myself' part unravels. I want to understand so much, and kind of wander shotgun around this/that/other and frustrate myself, when the reality is probably I'm just tired of the whole trip. "Empty shell" is an apt description for something so indecipherable.

Afterwards, I realize this was an opening and it's okay. It's okay to pull back, forget about this elusive search for self. Notice I said afterwards, 'cause I get so frantic while in search mode I forget the open part. Open implies space, and it doesn't need immediate filling. That's usually my realization later; unfortunately it doesn't always match the reality at the time it goes off the rails.

For me, it's that okay realization that's made some difference. Judging myself at having missed the boat on this self-understanding business doesn't help. Maybe the numbness is really an invitation to relax, put the books back for a while, stop analyzing my journals, and just be; no judgements, just be, just let stuff happen. Speaking of books, though, I'm reminded of a favourite which is titled simply "The Importance of Being Idle." Yep.