Nervous
System: Before and After – The Fifth in a Series
TW:
trauma, childhood trauma. If this topic presents a challenge for you, perhaps
this piece isn’t for you.
It’s
been a minute since I’ve written one for this series. Mainly, it’s because since
September, life has been crazy and as is often the case, my commitment to
certain things fell by the wayside. This includes my dedication to practicing
nervous system regulation.
I
find it to be a chicken/egg situation in that I don’t know that if I’d have
found a way to keep up with it if the chaos wouldn’t have had such a large
impact. In any event, I’m back at it for a couple of weeks now.
If
you’re unfamiliar with why I do this, I encourage you to at least browse through
the others in this series
here on Substack. I’ve become kind of a nervous system regulation
evangelist after I realized that all the cognitive behavioral work I’d done to
heal trauma was woefully ineffective. The reason is because, as Dr. Besser van
der Kolk says, “the
body keeps the score.”
A
huge part of keeping your body and emotions – aka your nervous system – within
your Window
of Tolerance, a phrase coined by Dr. Dan Siegel, a psychiatrist who
realized that we all have a space where we feel safe and can therefore handle
chaos and stress without diving off the deep end due to our nervous systems are
completely overloaded.
Outside
that Window of Tolerance on the one end are the fight and flight aspects of
survival mode. And on the other are freeze and fawn – a recent addition to the
list of survival modes that is defined as people pleasing driven by the belief
that it’s what’s necessary to remain safe.
After
lots of research and intermittent practicing to pre-emptively calm my nervous
system, I decided I didn’t want to wait until I was triggered or overwhelmed to
do something, so I leveled up to doing neuro drill exercises once a day,
sometimes more. This allows me to manage everyday irritants, and even larger
events, in ways that don’t deplete me or cause harm to those around me.
But
then September of 2023 happened, and I let myself get completely derailed.
But
I’m back and want to share a recent experience in the Before and After format so
you can see the value in this powerful practice.
Backstory:
The
last six months have been a trial. I have my own health challenges, as does my
mom, for whom I’m a caregiver. Add to that financial stress, the burnout that
accompanies the realization that I’m neurodivergent and the stress I’ve absorbed
from the difficult circumstances friends are experiencing, and I’ve been more
often grumpy and irritable than not.
It’s
already been a full week and we’re only at Thursday. I am not sleeping well at
all due to the nerve pain caused by needing a hip replacement and the stress of
an impending surgery and the battle I’m in with the insurance company to pay for
it. This morning, I am exhausted, in pain and worried about so many things. I am
not looking forward to the long day ahead.
Before:
I
wake up feeling angry. And ashamed. On top of feeling resentful that there isn’t
anyone to help me today with all that’s on the agenda, I am filled with shame
over my financial situation. Inside I know I’m doing the best I can, but the
outward appearance reflected in my bank account screams “LOSER!”
Self-care
is my priority as I ask my body how I can move to ease the pain and make sure I
eat by 10 am so I can take vitamins and medicine. I’m out the door before noon
to pick up my mom for the first stop – the store to pick up some prescriptions
and a few groceries.
I
am antsy in the car while she’s in the store, my mind racing with all the work I
have to do to be ready for a presentation I’m doing in two weeks. I frantically
scroll through a newsletter I get filled with editors looking for article
pitches. The desperation about needing to make money is palpable. The familiar
fear creeps back in about not being able to pay the rent or the bills and the
tension in my body mounts.
I
get irritated with my mom as we load the trunk with everything she’s purchased.
I want to be kind, but I can’t. She responds to my frustration with her own and
we narrowly avoid a blow up.
We
head off to her doctor’s appointment, where I overstep, answering questions the
doctor asks her and she gets upset. I sulk, sucking in the anger I feel when I
am just trying to help. No matter how much I want to deny it, I know she is
right to ask me to let her speak for herself and the shame in me expands.
When
we finish there, we head to the hairdressers for the next appointment. We
usually get our hair done together, but this time I’ve said I don’t need to
because I don’t have the money. I am aware of the anger boiling in me from all
of this but am unable to do anything about it when provoked.
She
says something that inadvertently lights the fuse and no matter how hard I try
to stay silent, I can’t. I say something in a way that is unkind; she reacts.
Then I say something else, and the cord is lit and blazes toward the bomb
waiting to explode. We fight, loud and angry, and when we arrive, I stay in the
car feeling hurt and unloved while she heads into the shop.
Like
a brooding toddler, I enter twenty minutes later to a cheerful hello from
Cheryl, who owns the salon. I fake a smile and sit in an empty chair, playing on
my phone. I am quiet for the next half hour, until my mother is finished and
then we drive the forty minutes home in silence, our only parting words when we
arrive at her place a terse “love you.”
I
drive home, filled with more shame. I didn’t even know that was possible, but it
is. I barely hold it together as I make my way through the lobby of the building
to the elevator. When my front door is shut, I break down, sobbing and screaming
about all that is wrong in my life. I eat things that don’t honor the commitment
I’ve made to my body and collapse in bed, binge watching something until I fall
asleep.
After:
I
wake up and put on my favorite meditation music to do my neuro drills and spend
some time listening to the voice inside that too often is blurred by the wall of
white noise produced by my mind. I’m in pain, but I get out of bed and obey what
I heard my body say last night – yoga.
I
find a 20-minute chair yoga video on YouTube and even though the stretching and
movement feels good, it is not comfortable. Proud of myself for taking care of
me first (well I still played on social media for fifteen minutes before I put
on the meditation music, but… progress), I make some coffee and cut up a Pink
Lady and eat it with peanut butter. I enjoy every morsel.
I
am tired as I head to the parking lot and drive the half hour to my mom’s. I see
how tired she is when she comes through the back door of her building, and I
smile and ask how she feels. We drive to the grocery store, and I get some work
done on my phone while she’s shopping. We get her purchases into the trunk
without a hitch and head off to the doctor’s appointment.
We
laugh remembering the first time we ever went to this doctor’s office because
the man who took my keys at the valet was wearing a plain t-shirt and cargo
shorts and we joked that we were going to end up on the evening news:
Middle-aged lady gets car stolen by valet dupe.
In
the examination room, I admit the feelings I have about my financial situation
and share with her the reality. When I ask if she’s willing to cash a check for
me that won’t be good for a month when I receive the payment for an article I
wrote, she doesn’t hesitate to write me one.
The
doctor comes in and I step on her toes a few times, answering his questions
instead of waiting for her to respond. After the third time, she tells me in no
uncertain terms to let her speak. When the doctor leaves the room, I apologize.
I’m sorry. Period. No excuses about how I was just concerned or trying to help.
I can tell she’s still upset but I don’t feel the need to explain myself or make
it worse by continuing to apologize.
We
have a pleasant ride out to the hair salon, talking about what we’ve watched
lately and sharing insights we’ve each received from our respective journeys in
this matrix of life. Inside, Cheryl gives us both a cheery hello and asks each
of us what we’re having done.
“I’m
good,” I say.
“No,”
my mother says. “Our hair is important. I’ll get it.” I immediately tear up. She
comes over and hugs me and I tell her I feel like such a loser not even having
the money to pay for my own haircut. “We need to stick together,” she
whispers.
I
fight my default setting of feeling pitied when someone does something nice for
me. I remember that this is the Universe using her as the means to give me what
I want and my whole mood changes. The three of us talk and laugh for the next
two hours and when we’re back in the car, we both admit how hungry we are.
We
settle on a restaurant, and I say, “I’ll just put mine on a credit card.”
“That’s
not necessary,” she responds.
We
have a lovely dinner, joke with the two men sitting at a table nearby who
clearly are regulars, and the check is paid. The drive to her place is quick. We
are both tired, but we exchange authentic “I love you’s” and I thank her again
for everything.
On
the drive home, I have the time to contemplate the difference between this
experience and what could have happened had I not returned to my practice and I
am so grateful to have made it through this long day in a way that was real and
vulnerable, and filled with gratitude.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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