Winter Turns into Spring - The Blog

In the last two months, I’ve experienced one traumatic visual flashback with its painful emotional flashbacks and a call on the helpline, where I volunteer, brought to the surface more childhood's suffering. What was manageable gradually became overwhelming.

I’ve been experiencing sleepless nights or sleep filled with my recurring nightmares. In those dreams, I am always in a weird house with often abusive inhabitants whom I need to escape from. I am homeless and looking for my home. I lose my cat and can’t find her. I run to catch a plane I always miss, I have too much things to pack. I run around in circles, with fear and anxiety gnawing my stomach. What worries me the most is the gradual decrease of my appetite. The last time I’ve experienced such trauma, I starved myself and lost a lot of weight.  I am aware of  this pattern and I try to eat as much as I can. Sometimes, it is very little and I hold on to that.

I am reaching the point where no matter what I do (the little things that normally soothe me) doesn’t give me any break from my inner pain. The other day, I treated myself to new pjs (as I keep waking up drenched in sweat, I might need to buy a few more!) Did it cheer me up? No. But distraction isn’t the point, is it? I am supposed to acknowledge and sit with all the pain. My Inner Children’s pain. All I do is feel these intense emotional flashbacks with acceptance, with love and compassion as well as with frustration, fear and anxiety. There is also a lot of sadness and its friend, loneliness. I am holding all of these emotions at once. I now accept that, as a human being, it is natural to feel conflicted emotions. We aren’t meant to separate them and to put them in boxes, nicely stored. Life is messy. Our inner world reflects that. There is no good or bad stuff, there just is. I am grieving. Grieving isn’t linear, it is messy too! The spiritual guidance I keep receiving is: "This is about you loving yourself and giving yourself all the compassion you need right now."

In the park, I sat down, got a pen and notepad out, then, I asked my Inner Girls: “What is troubling you? I am here.” I started to write on their behalves: “Mum doesn’t want me. She hates me. She doesn’t love me. She wished I was dead. For a very long time, she made me believe it was because of me. I was her biggest mistake and disappointment.”

Now I know it wasn’t because of me but, it still hurts like hell. Last week, I had visual flashbacks of almost every instance when I was picked on, ridiculed, belittled, ignored and bullied, at home (Add to these sexual and physical abuse). There was no love. I grew up terrified, sad and alone and I lived my entire adult life as this little petrified and lonely girl. Only in the last few years, I had glimpses of the woman that I am.

I have also let my blame be directed to whom it really belongs to: my parents, my uncle, my big brother. Blame isn’t a dirty word or a sin. It is needed in order to heal. It is important to be outraged at the abuse that I was a victim of and from which I need to recover from. I am outraged on behalf of my Inner Girls. “I am sorry you are suffering so much. I am sorry you weren’t loved. I am sorry they didn’t give a shit about you.”

As a freelance journalist, I need my brain to come up with ideas but my brain keeps saying “No”. It is overloaded. Mrs Anxiety was whispering to me: “What if you can’t come up with anything anymore and your new born career prematurely stops?” What if I am really a fraud?  I felt such relief when my editor told me not to feel pressured to provide content: “Your health is more important.” I also reduced my hours at as a helpline and adming/training volunteer.  Unfortunately, during a training day for new volunteers, I got triggered and reacted quite abruptly. I thought I  handled it well but, I hadn't. My manager sat me down, expalining I had crossed a boundary but, most importantly, I am clearly unwell and need a break. "I am sorry for what happened, I didnt mean to hurt anyone. But I am ok to stay!" I was encouraged to go home, so I did. "I screwed up." I told myself. I felt bad and useless.

The next day, I was still in bed when myhelpine manager called to check up on me. There has been a meeting. They all noticed a gradual change in me. I was also praised for always being honest about my difficulties. They are not closing the door on me. They want to make sure I find the right role for me within the charity. Most importantly, I need to rest and ,whenever I feel ready to come back, they will put in place regular supervision. It felt like deja vu: I start volunteering, it feels good, I feel I have a purpose and then, the past catches up with me. For a few days or a few months, I am paralised with fear, loneliness and sadness.  I also recognise that, this time tough, I am well loved and supported. I am more open to the help that is offered too. For a split second I wanted to just give up but I understood it isnt about stopping everything altogether but make the necessary changes for my happiness and wellbeing.

My best friend came over a couple of times and joined me in bed, to watch Sex & The City. My other friends are also checking up on me on a daily basis. I feel like I am drowning most of the time. "How much pain can someone take? When does it end? This isn't living. This is barely surviving!" I am heard and understood. My friends are like the light house reminding me the shore is this way.

Sylvie

Please, feel free to share you own experience.