Intuition

Today was rough. Anxiety was an 11 most of the day and I found myself overstimulated and overwhelmed to a significant degree. My sympathetic nervous system really had me believing a saber toothed tiger was at my heels all day.

Enter movement. I’m a dancer, yogi, Pilates enthusiast and have been for many years as well as dabbled with other fitness styles and even a Brazilian martial arts called Capoeira. My body has a lot in its repertoire to move from. For my strength training today, I offered myself only one prompt, “feel every muscle work intentionally.” A wonderful idea I shall return to again. The day did not improve but I had 32 glorious minutes of improving functional strength with only my own guidance.

My plan was to do yoga before bed. Settle down after the day, maybe choose a nice grounding soothing practice. But when I descended upon the mat, I decided to continue my exploration of intuitive movement from earlier with a new prompt of “follow where the energy goes and breathe through every sensation intentionally.”

I found myself returning to improvisation cues from dance class and integrating yogic breath work seamlessly into my movement exploration. The air coming into my lungs started to feel more nourishing and expansive. It was a bit of a Yin Yoga, restorative, pranayama, Bartenneiff, improvisation mix and it was exactly what my nervous system needed to slough off the day. Truly I feel my nervous system has just been exfoliated. I am ready for sleep and grateful for the reminder of how nourishing and nurturing intuitive movement can be.

For some reason it’s been easier to write poetry here than anything else. Which is quite odd because before this blog, I hadn’t written poetry in 20+ years. Amateur hour right here.

Writing painful and complex experiences through poetry is a way to distance myself from the raw vulnerability to an audience. Oh the vulnerability is there – plain to see. But the vulnerability exists as a work of art rather than I am standing naked in front of you, sharing my heart. Although both are true. Maybe it’s an illusion.

I return to work tomorrow as the therapist. What started as a vacation ended in bereavement so I don’t feel refreshed going back. Indeed, I feel weary. It can be quite helpful, however, to “get out of your own head.” Many people use this as their number one coping skill. That friend who never talks about her life, but is always by your side while you cry – she might be avoiding her own feelings. I’m not that person. I avoid my feelings in other ways 😏 but when I am faced with the raw emotion of another, it does trigger my own particularly if my self care game is not on point. (Which was the reason for the vacation in the first place).

I am confident I will be present for my clients as the warm therapist they are used to. My confidence wanes, however when I imagine how I will feel emotionally at the end of the day. I worry I will feel depleted. It is already a rough time of year for me, now compounded by fresh grief.

Mindfulness is a good tool here and the old adage of not getting ahead of oneself. We’re going to put one foot in front of the other, moment by moment, holding steadfast to years of experience telling me everything is always eventually ok. The world will not collapse. I will be successful as a clinician and I will take extra care of me in the moments I’m not actively a therapist.

Psst. You don’t have to be a therapist to use the above tools to cope during your workday. Or your family gathering. Or your doctor’s appointment. Or your long commute. Take good care of yourself, one moment at a time. Don’t know how? Ask a friend, a mentor, or ya know.. find a therapist. ☺️

Honest Grief – Trigger warning

I lost my dad to suicide. Oh just jump right on in – that’s a hook. “It’s not a hook, be quiet.”

The thing is I understood. I never got angry with him for choosing to end his life. I have been angry with him while he was alive, but the very reasons I was angry during his life are the reasons I understood his suicide.

Oh you’re a saint – it was easy for you to move on then, huh? “To the contrary. I developed post traumatic grief. But I never questioned his motives.”

He was close to receiving a terminal diagnosis for his alcoholism. The death certificate cited Bipolar Disorder as secondary cause to the suicide. This was before I was a therapist (indeed it would be the catalyst to my becoming a therapist) and knew anything about the disorder. But I knew he was a troubled man. And I knew the relentless cycle of promises and failures that is addiction because I, too had been far too friendly with the bottle.

The most agonizing part of losing my father in that way is knowing he died alone, feeling unloved and hopeless.

I think I cried for three years straight. I couldn’t go to funerals, couldn’t hear the word suicide, couldn’t go to recovery meetings, couldn’t be around men with similar features, couldn’t smell alcohol of any kind, couldn’t hear certain songs, had flashbacks for 8 years (yes they just ended – I think).

Complicated by other trauma . “Yes, shh. That’s another blog.”

Dance proved to be my saving grace, and I was a fairly new dancer then (side note you don’t have to start dancing at age 3 to be a performer). Improvisation and composition helped me express what I couldn’t put language to. Because with grief, language doesn’t make sense. Grief is a deep, guttural emotion – it isn’t logical and can’t be healed using the prefrontal cortex. We must feel it.

So I went to therapy. I think losing him in that manner gave me some sort of permission to go and face my demons. Of course I had no idea I was opening Pandora’s baggage.

Good job, I see what you did there. “Now you’re complimenting me? Hush.”

I would then go on to learn my empathy for his pain came from a real place of understanding as I learned about Bipolar Disorder. If you’ve followed any of my blog you’ll know the apple didn’t fall far for me.

You need to wrap this up, kid. “I’m aware. My story doesn’t end there, so how does one…”

My journey begins there, really. 27 years to find a path out of self destruction. I miss my dad so much it still aches everyday but him dying may have saved my life. And pushed me toward helping others. I hope he is smiling down on me. I sure hope I’ve made him proud.

I love you Daddy. Always be your girl. I know you’re at peace.

The mindfulness buzzword

Maybe you have heard it, maybe you haven’t. Mindfulness is simply the act of being in the present moment. I had a dance professor who would constantly tell me to be in the moment and I had no idea what she was talking about. Turns out the language didn’t quite hit my brain. She was referring to being fully embodied and not lost in the clouds, the past, or the future. A novel concept for me at the time.

So how does one “get in the present moment?” A simple way and a way that really assists in calming anxiety is by focusing on making your breathing rhythmic. Make the inhale as long as the exhale. And then use your senses. What do you see right around you? What do you hear? What do you smell? What sensations are you aware of in your body at this moment? Ask yourself one or two of these questions and then stay with them and explore the answers. Your mind will wander – that’s ok, just call it gently back to the senses without judgment.

That’s the other key feature of mindfulness. Experiencing without judging – negative or positive. Try to describe your present moment without using judging words. Talk about textures and details and not about value words such as like, pretty, ugly, dislike.

There is a reason this is called mindfulness PRACTICE. It takes time, it’s a process and it definitely takes practice to improve your skills.