A walk in the meadow this morning…As I meander so do my thoughts.
I made a friend…within me.
Sitting on the patio this morning with coffee, I soak in the beauty around me as hummingbirds zoned in behind my head to the feeder. A web only a few away is laced between the Hostas with the largest spider I’ve ever seen. It seemed apropos to how I’ve been feeling….
I tend to want to run. Solace is right where I am.
I wanted to leave, go somewhere, anywhere. To a store. To a movie. But my body is still weak after so much dis-ease. So I stay. And I’m better to the point where I can again walk the meadow, and during slow easy laps, I unwind. I begin to let in the beauty and peace around me.
I let a tear fall for the feelings that come and go about the people I love and their hurts and losses; my one younger brother for instance, who lost his 30 year old daughter two years ago due to an overdose. And the tear for me who cannot be close to him, the death seemingly driving us further away from each other.
And maybe a tear for the upheaval I go through because my tendency even now is to react to things with urgency, as if life or death, as if it has to fixed right now. And with this tendency, that shall probably remain, because childhood offered much of the same, life or death horrors which maimed my ability to be calm— because I was in a life or death situation—is something about me that just is. I don’t have to hate it, but be gentle…try to accept the damage done and show love instead of rejection.
I am not stuck in a web, but master of it.
Here it comes. The DOWN. So I must work harder to keep afloat. Last winter seemed the best of all winters. It was the coldest in my memory. And maybe it had to do with hunkering down by the coal stove, then bundling up for the laps in the meadow that could only happen with snowshoes due to the depth of the snow. No way could one walk that path hip deep with snow. Or maybe because I had the pleasure on not having to go out to scrape off my windshield and drive hazardous roads.
And the frozen snap of trees in sub-zero temps, feeling alone but not lonely by the solid creek, as if I were an Eskimo out trapping. If I dealt with my usual winter depression, it didn’t feel as if so. But I also worked hard to maintain that OK-ness, every day, sometimes every moment.
So I need to get back to work on it, the normal every day work. Pain and medical things blew that out of the water. Moments of happiness and peace surely remain, over-riding the challenges. I remember peace on the beach, as my wool blanket encased me, warming my body chilled from fighting off disease, as others bathed on the sandy beach; yet I felt wrapped in love and warmth watching my son play with his children, my husband at my side in the shade, the medicine taking effect.
And though this last scare left me wobbling in fear and pain, the miracle of medications to treat such things is certainly a testament to the tenacity and brilliance of the human race, always moving forward, finding answers, discovering cures. Just look at a skyscraper. Humans are such wondrous creatures. But as I heal slowly, I can work once again on the everyday things, and am grateful.
I went through so much extra pain during this last episode due to my own mind-set. I had this idea in my mind of the graceful person who handles disease without a complaint. I could name one, a fellow blogger, Janet. And another, my friend Sue, who died a few years ago of cancer, with never a complaint and only a smile. I fail, and fail miserably. I am not a hero. I am not silent about pain and fear. I fall apart. But that’s OK. I am held up when I fall down by others, and am grateful.
What if I wasn’t such a schizo-nutball? I mean really. I have meditated now for almost 15 years, a half hour daily. And it has helped greatly, more than helped, I honestly believe it has mended my broken brain but some rabid parts remain. I still tend to go off the deep end easily, go from calm to full-on anxiousness immediately, taking a dive off a cliff. Yet the new found self-love and compassion tempers my tendency to beat myself up for it, almost.
Medical people upset me. I’m scared and don’t see them enough to feel comfortable. When I do meet a Doc that I like the office sucks, and more pointedly, makes errors that threaten lives. Or I like an office’s capability but the Doc needs to seek out a career in research, not any place where people are involved.
My GYN, who I do love, put me on an Estrogen product in hopes to ward off further episodes of UTI’s. I’ve had three in the last year after never having any. This is not via the oral route as that product has been linked with cancer so is no longer commonly given. I search the web after my first application, worried and scared about putting any product in or on my body.
The web gives conflicting information about whether topical estrogen is effective in warding off UTI’s. So with superior intelligence I think, what if I eat more estrogen? Then I won’t have to take this product for the rest of my life. I use soy milk on my daily bran cereal adding 6 tablespoons of various seeds jammed packed with estrogen.
That night I wake with sharp pains in the lower left abdomen. This goes on for a week before I begin to realize something is not right. It hurts, and while meditating, when I’m most in my body and centered, there is pain. I have disconnected from the pain as I often do, though at others times am exquisitely sensitive to it; like seeing a bruise and never knowing how it got there.
We go to the ER but after an hour I go home to bed and call the new MD in the morning. I am trying yet another doctor, about number 10 in just about as many years. That last one I left because after waiting a half hour I walked down the hall to the bathroom and heard the nurse on the phone ordering a full course breakfast for all the staff, about seven very long orders; what kind of toast, over easy, scrambled, hash browns on one, etc. I was incensed, and walked out.
I’m already impressed with the new office because the woman at the desk was busy, efficient and got to the facts immediately then back to her work extremely focused. Samuel went in with me so I’d have his opinion of my new doctor too. Before I even got back to the desk after seeing the doctor, they had already put in my scripts to the pharmacy, ordered my x-ray, (we decided to wait for the CT because the diagnosis of diverticulitis was fairly clear anyway), and my bloodwork labs were also done, laying there ready for me. They don’t fool around and they certainly have no time to break for breakfast.
Yes, I believe I gave myself this immediate problem, which if unresolved could have led to life threatening complications like a perforated bowel. So why? Why can’t I be calm like Samuel? Why do I fall off the deep end? Especially where my body is concerned. Lack of control of what my body is doing, so I panic? Things going on inside that I don’t understand?
I try to fix things by going over-board, like the seeds… I just cannot maintain equilibrium. As a nurse, why don’t I know these things? I can be objective, calm, and use better judgement for others. For me? Whacko. I mean, 6 tablespoons of seeds? Now I see my error. I didn’t then. A teaspoon or so of seeds are fine, but this amount can gather in pockets of the colon. Pockets can form for many people over the age of 50 and usually is not problem. But if foods can’t get through, they are trapped along with waste material and bacteria forms leading to inflammation and infection.
I am feeling better, on a clear liquid diet, which rests the affected area. It’s just hard to believe my actions sometimes. I will chalk it off to a broken brain. Some of it I just can’t mend.
Author of SHATTERED, a memoir of childhood sexual abuse
A childhood sexual abuse survivor's resurrection through God's amazing redemptive power and grace.
A Complicated Life by M. Watkins
A story of child abuse and recovery
Motherhood and mental health: survival and selfcare
Claiming boyhood, staring down sexual abuse
LEND A HAND - END THE STIGMA
Breaking the silence
Writing about the psychodynamic process as it happens in my quest to heal from childhood trauma, attachment issues and a Narcissistic mother.
A background and current detailing of my life.
If I could say anything to my younger self, it would be you are beautiful, you are strong, and you are a survivor! So, pick up your head baby, you're gonna be alright.
My fight with PTSD,BDD, Anxiety & Depression
"Each tear is a poet, a healer, a teacher."
My Personal Journey as a Trauma Survivor
Warrior, Survior and taker of no BS
Affirming Trauma Survivors On Their Journey Through Goddess Spirituality
Learning to live after surviving your childhood
Learning to Own our Power
- the stories of my life -
Hope, Encouragement, Insights, Sharing
Thriving survivor of childhood sexual abuse
A mother and housewife, who has survived childhood abuse from a sibling. I've experienced a lot of trauma in my life and I'm just trying to be okay and complete.
Sometimes, the things we try to throw away are the most important
Writing the words that can't be spoken.
healing through writing
Finding a voice after childhood abuse and living with PTSD
"I now see how owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do." Brené Brown
No, I don't believe in line breaks.
My recovery from childhood sexual abuse
Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced. -Lucille Ball
Child abuse touched my soul
How I managed to forgive and how I moved on but will never forget
Healthywayz- Achievable Incremental Aims to Health
Conquering one random question at a time
I like my partners like I like my coffee: able to wake me without pissing me off.
That Exceeds Understanding
Trauma, Love, and Relationships
I am on a journey; a journey to heal through my voice - surving life after sexual abuse
when no one understands we need to help each other...
#PTSD #PTSS #Anxiety #Depression #Survivor #Healing