Triggered

Why is it that when I start following boundaries I set…

Or when I create more space…

Or pay loving attention to my body…

That my entire system freaks out?

It must mean I’m doing something wrong. I must not be doing this right. Or what if this entire experiment is flawed and ill-founded and I should go back to what I know?

 

I’ve been in therapy for a substantial amount of time at this point. I’ve done a lot of personal work on my own. Lots of books read, courses done, IG accounts followed and noted. I was making upward progress. So why this “sudden” decline?

 

I actually have some answers to these not-so-rhetorical questions. And some of the answers I hate a whole awful lot. So buckle up, buttercup. Here we go.

 

Answer the first: It’s not a decline, nor is it sudden. My awareness has grown around the issue at hand. I have gotten some victory over the issue and others surrounding it, which cleared enough space for me to see…oh man. It’s not just a cluttered room, we actually need to do demolition and rebuild the house.

Answer the second: I’m not using the same coping techniques anymore. So everything my body used to do to feel safe (read: really crappy, destructive behaviors and thought patterns) is no longer a) effective or b) attainable. So instead of my body being allowed to relax because I’ve used a coping strategy, I now have to do work. And if I do succumb to the coping strategy, it doesn’t feel as good anymore because I can now see how problematic it is itself.

 

So now that we have that established, here’s why it bothers me. Because I miss that feeling of freedom and elation that came with new growth. I don’t want to be stuck in the ugly part of the struggle. I am tired of being grouchy and low energy and not having enough spoons for people or work. I don’t want to resign myself to struggle, because while I’m good at struggling, I don’t want to reinforce that good things can only exist when I’m miserable. That’s bullshit and I’m over it.

It’s also bothering me, because I’m so very, very worried that people are judging me. That they’re seeing the choices I’m making and the fact that I’m still struggling is only a bright neon sign that I have, in fact, been making wrong choices. I feel like I can’t confide in people or acknowledge the struggle because I’ll just get my choices thrown in my face OR I’ll make people worry about the wrong things about me. These choices are an outpouring of growth. They may be contributing to the struggle, but they’re not the foundation of it, to be sure. And I should be allowed to mention issues without immediately calling my entire lifestyle into question.

 

But here’s what’s not fair: I’m living in fear and suspicion to protect myself from possible negative outcomes. I’m expecting people to treat me poorly because I’m not giving them the grace or the chance to do otherwise. I’m alienating and withdrawing because it’s easier than community and healthy boundaries. It’s easier than emotional resilience.

Here’s what I mean. I’ve recently(ish) discovered a stress response known as “Fawning.” Instead of freezing or fighting or fleeing in face of danger, fawning is the concept of detecting danger on the horizon and heading it off, by emotional manipulation and conforming. It’s a common reaction of empaths, who constantly monitor the energy in a situation and adjust their behavior accordingly so they don’t get hurt. These people are often low needs, seemingly easy to get along with, but nervous.

I fawn. I require outside validation on everything I do, because my internal system tells me constantly that I am in danger. I can’t rely on my gut, because it is immediately drowned out by other peoples’ responses to my course of action. It is better to not rock the boat and keep people happy than it is to do what I want. Heck. I don’t even know what I want often.

I realize that in recent past, I have felt heightened and panicky, but without a specific source. My body is upset, literally because I don’t have an outside mood telling me what to do. By not asking for input, by not letting my life be dictated by the supposed energy of the people I’m living with, I am effectively operating without my emotional rudder.

I have to decide what’s good for me. I don’t get to sacrifice my needs and console myself that it’s okay because at least everyone else is happy. Everyone else is not happy. Everyone else will never BE happy all at the same time. And it’s not my job to take care of that anymore. I can be responsible and kind in my relationships, but expecting to completely control other people’s mood is absolutely bonkers and I do not know why I thought I could do that. I still think that.

So yes. I have low to high level anxiety a lot right now. I’m struggling with my perceptions around my body. My sleep is all over the place. My ideations swing wildly from “I love how hard you try” to “When will you stop being such a fucking loser, you distasteful, disappointing piece of crap?” (notice how one of those needs a bit more fleshing out).

And it’s because I’m breaking somatic habits. I’m untraining behaviors that I’ve practiced since childhood to keep myself safe (btw, we all do this. You don’t have to come from a dangerous, problematic home to feel unsafe. “Unsafe” comes in a myriad of forms). I’m rewriting mental pathways that tell me I’m not good enough and I don’t deserve happiness because I know those happened in the first place to soften disappointment and grief. I’m breathing and moving and thinking and crying.

So really, it’s no wonder my body feels like a nervous wreck. It’s entire structure for being okay is being systematically eradicated. I’m telling it that people pleasing doesn’t work and it DOES actually feel worse when I go back to it.

I lashed out at a friend today because their situation mirrored part of my own. My intention was to help correct a mindset that isn’t being helpful and is holding them back from feeling successful. I thought I was being calm and rational and sympathetic. What I actually did was kick them when they were down.

I did it because their issue triggered how I feel about my own situation. That I’m trapped and can’t win. But only I get to determine what winning looks like. I’m in control of what I choose to spend time and energy on. Other people don’t get to dictate my life with their displeasure or input or manipulation or kind intentions…And I am so dang angry that I don’t just get to suffer anymore. Parts of me would rather continue down the path of shoving down me and only existing for other people’s approval, because then my suffering means something.

But I have to stop trying to help myself by “helping” other people. Especially when they don’t ask for it. Especially when it goes against what I know I need to do for myself. Especially when I’m doing it to get that little high from martyrdom. Because the sooner I stop trying to shape shift into the impossible position of pleasing everyone, the sooner they get to be free of that nonsense to. No one else deserves the responsibility of making choices for me.

I get to be me.

I get to be free.

I get to be happy. When I’m struggling. Growing. Changing. On bad days. On anxiety days. During sleepless nights. During beautiful sunsets and soft cuddles and productive days at work.

I am my own responsibility. I’m mine. It’s me.

Overwhelmed

I stay overwhelmed.

It’s not a character trait I value. I’m trying to remember that being busy isn’t winning me any awards. That holiness is not dictated by how little I sleep or how much I worry, but rather the opposite. That adding count after count to my resume isn’t making me a better, happier, or more worthy individual.

I’ve been simplifying for years. I’m cutting out extra activities, quitting extra jobs, donating clothes. But somehow things keep seeping in the cracks.

If you’re an enneagram buff, you’ll appreciate that I’m a 5 that’s constantly fragmenting to a 7 in stress. To manage my issues, I add more and more jobs, take on extra service projects, and burrow down obsessive knowledge holes to try to feel more secure and competent. And all I get in return is exhaustion and more stress (and some pretty darn interesting trivia).

I’m trying to make it on as few freelancing jobs as possible. I’m trying to get in 20 hours of work a week. And that should be easy. I literally work all the time. And I’m struggling to actually clock 20 hours. This has been frustrating me for weeks now and I’m livid and embarrassed and so discouraged.

So I’m trying to pay attention to where my time is going. What am I doing that is taking up so much of my day? The answer isn’t super interesting. My day is disappearing on Instagram, but also somewhere else. The somewhere else is the problem. Because I can’t quite figure out what it is. I’m basically disappearing mentally for long stretches of time.

It’s not a fugue state. I’m not that interesting. But I realized I’m struggling to work because I can’t concentrate and I keep trying to numb (hence the mindless Instagram scrolling) but I can’t tell what I’m trying to numb.

I feel like I could say it’s Pop’s death that has me so messed up and I don’t think I would be lying. But I have two judgmental objections: how long am I allowed to have that as an excuse and if that’s the problem, then why don’t I feel more sad? Here’s why those questions are judgy. Loss of a loved one normally takes more than 1000 days to reorient into “normal” life. So no, it’s not too soon. But tell that to our employment system that only allows for 4 bereavement days (although my employer is great. This is not about him). And the second question is judgy because I have a crappy relationship with my emotions. Grief is expressed by spacing out and inability to concentrate. And I have that going on in spades.

I’ve tried giving myself time and space to feel it. So I can move on and be productive and make money. And it didn’t work. I’m trying not to stuff my emotions or compartmentalize too hard. And that’s not working either. So instead, my work is in the garbage, I can’t stand to do just about anything, and I’m experiencing a resurgence of depression because my perception of my worth is tied to my productivity and understanding of scarcity.

I’m overwhelmed. And I’m tired of it.

Apocalypse Now

This morning, I woke up. And I was able to breathe.
It was amazing.

Sadly, my health went downhill. But it was a beautiful moment.

SO after I got over the disappointment that my health was deteriorating and played in the snow (basically I looked like a bunny on crack), and got some homework done, the real excitement began. And by that: chaos.
Let me set the scene: I had just come back from a lovely dinner with my roommates and Burgundy at the snack shop. I had also splurged and bought a grapefruit Izze.

Back in the dorm, I am drinking the rest of my Izze, and calling O when all of a sudden I have a huge muscle spasm and knock Izze onto Evan. Evan is my laptop, in case y’all have forgotten.
Evan does not like soda, for some reason. I’m still baffled as to why, but there it is. Cold hard truth.

I get Evan turned off and the battery out of the back of him while I’m still continuing to calmly carry on a conversation with O. As I get the hairdryer plugged in (nobody freak out: I do know what I’m doing, the hairdryer was kept on low and cool the entire time), I turn with the hairdryer in my hand and knock my favorite mug into the sink.
And manage to break the handle off it. So, I put Evan on hold, because he’s off and therefore hopefully not being any more damaged than what has already occurred and start looking for my super glue. Which I finally find after looking in every possible place. It was where it belonged. Which is where I checked first.

I am still talking to O at this point.

I get the glue out and try to put the handle back together only to realize there’s not enough glue to put a pinhead back on, much less an actual handle on a coffee mug. So I set the mug to the side, calmly breathing to keep my blood pressure down. At this point, Burgundy comes in, and I can tell she needs to talk to me.

Therefore I tell O I’m going to have to call her back because the Apocalypse has started. Burgundy has some news for me. At this point, I should back up a bit and fill you in on some history: Burgundy, Unicorn, I and two guys were going off campus for the evening to hang out. Here at the Bob, you must have odd numbers and unevenly matched so that no possible besmirching of characters can happen.

Unicorn is feeling ill again tonight, though, so after we get back, we arrange to get Twigg to go with us in her place. Minor problem: Twigg has already left to go to a friend’s house, cook dinner and chill THERE for the evening. And since she has no wifi, I cannot text her. Instead, I text her friend. Who then talks to Sarah. And then texts me back. And I text the guy who is coordinating this. We finally negotiate a time, a pick up place and all the players in motion. This is roughly simultaneous with me spilling Izze.

So then Burgundy comes in and says that she has a big test tomorrow and feels bad about this, but she’d really like to skip out, is that okay? And for real: it’s fine. But I now need to go back through the hoops again, text Twigg’s friend, tell her to just stay at the friend’s house, notify the boy and tell him to just go have fun with his male friend, and we were all going to just wait here.
Okay.
Great.
Now we’re just down to me and Evan.

I manage to unscrew the back of Evan, and pry him open enough to sop out most of the Izze and blow dry his innards. I then screwed his back back in place (praise the Lord for the screwdriver set Dad left here), and prayed really really hard.
And miraculously, Evan turned on. After I put in his battery, of course. His mousepad is still a bit persnickety. So we’ll have to wait to see if he’s truly safe, but at any rate, he is functioning. Praise God.

After that much drama, I threw my hands up at schoolwork and decided that valentines were all I was good for. So I put together a butt load of valentines, sent them on their way and called my sister back.
She was very understanding, bless her sweet soul.

I think it’s time for bed now, though, because honestly, I can’t handle this kind of stress and torture in my life. What will I do when I have children.
I have no idea.

But that’s another problem for another day.
Good night, everyone.
Happy Valentine’s Day Eve.