Tag Archive | feelings

Too Much On My Plate

A large (un)balanced platter filled with

stress
worry
money
kids
work
health
sick family
sick animal
doctors
lawyers
triggers
car(s) repairs
creating healthy boundaries
navigating PTSD symptoms
holidays
an unrelenting month-long illness

This plate just crashed

I think I’ll reach for a new and balanced smaller plate

©Alexis Rose, Image source: Google Images from source

Thank you for reading my books:  If I Could Tell You How It Feels,  and  Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph

 

Resting Between the Waves

I worked extremely hard the past nine years to understand that emotions and feelings come and go. I learned not to run from them, or try and cleave them off as if they were not happening.  I know that feelings and emotions are like waves on the ocean. Some of them are gentle ripples, and some feel as intense as a tsunami. The waves come and the waves go, each breaking on the shore and all are time-limited. 

So much emotion! I feel thankful, happy, I feel stunned. I feel tired, confused, scared and sometimes terrified. I feel a sense of peace, and connectedness to the world around me. I feel hope, and calm. I’m full of anxiety, sadness, doubt, and restlessness. I am up, I am down. I am content. 

I have learned to sit with the emotion. I understand that even the most intense feelings will ebb even though it sometimes feels like they take up all the space in my body, mind, and soul. 

I have found that I became an expert in riding the waves of emotion. In an almost automatic way, I can now say, “Yep, I’m feeling right now, I know it will pass, just sit with it, and it will be okay. I’m okay.” This is a hugely important skill that I had to develop for my health.

Admittedly, there are still times that when I feel the intense emotions begin to rise, I sometimes try for control. I want to balance perfectly and surf to the shore with ease. That’s not life, even the most eloquent and prophetic surfer wipes out. It’s okay, another set of emotional waves will come soon enough.  Sometimes gentle, sometimes stormy, sometimes hardly noticing the fleeting feelings. That’s normal, natural, human nature. 

But what happens between the waves?

That place where the waters are calm and it presents the option to rest.  To Just Be. The place where it’s okay to think, (just think), to let myself be open to opportunities instead of actively seeking them out. To try and not focus on filling time; thinking that if I’m not working on something, or towards something, that I am lazy, or irrelevant.

I’m beginning to learn to intentionally focus on the rest times and give myself a break. To let the wisdom of noticing, understanding impermanence, and to mindfully acknowledge the teachers who walk through my open doors, whatever their form.

Yesterday a friend was reading an article to me. She came to a line that had an incredibly profound effect on me. The line in the article read: When our heads are filled up with too much, too soon, there is no way to just be.  This exactly summed up my struggle with trying to conceptualize the concept of resting between the waves.

With a sense of calm, honoring the lull, with the wind creating a gentle breeze, I can say that at this moment…I feel grateful.

 

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph      

Silence

Dedicated to all the survivors I’ve met and the ones I’ve yet to meet along the way. For those who have found their voice and those who are still working on finding it. Silence can mean so many things…this is my interpretation of how the silence felt. 

The silence was the worst sometimes.

That moment when an abusive event ends.

The silence is sometimes the most uncomfortable part of being hurt.  It’s a strange feeling to see someone who has just hurt you in ways that are abhorrent just turn around and walk away.

Watching them leave. It felt as if they were also taking a little piece of my spirit with them leaving another tatter, another rip in my already shredded soul.

It wasn’t very often that my abusers would say anything when they are finished.

The feeling of invisibility was palpable.

No yelling, crying, blaming, scolding; they just simply finish and leave. It’s a rather powerless feeling because they don’t acknowledge me, or what they did.

That spirit shredding powerlessness left me with a dark heaviness.

I’m sure sometimes I was crying as they left.  I know I was certainly in enough pain physically, emotionally and psychologically to cry. But often I would just stare at them as they walked away.

Watching them go, I sometimes asked myself, why did that happen to me?

But other times, I silently observed as they moved away from me as if I didn’t exist.

As if what just happened didn’t really happen at all.

Their demeanor towards me was complete neutrality. It was as if I was a stranger who was just in their airspace, detached in a way, that if they saw me on the street in five minutes, they wouldn’t even remember who I was.

There was always that little while, no matter the place, the who, or the when something happened, that the “after” was accompanied by a thick silence.

Alone, with my mind now telling me, “okay, it’s over; stand up, clean up, unconsciously compartmentalize what just happened, and move on to survive whatever comes next.

The silence can be the worst sometimes.

image source: Pixabay

Thank you for reading my new book, If I Could Tell You How It Feels, available in both ebook and paperback from Amazon.

A Reservoir of Left-Over Feelings

I once felt I was an object walking around, keenly disguised as a human. A thin veneer of skin covering the hurt, pain, and sorrow that lay underneath. Now I know that I am a whole person who was objectified.

I love this feeling, this knowledge, this acceptance. It took me nine long years to get to this point and I make sure I acknowledge my hard work.  It’s a hard-earned, middle finger to my perpetrators that they couldn’t take my humanity, my person-ness from me.  Where I once had no memory of a past, I now have a congruent, truthful timeline and, even though it’s an awful truth,  it’s mine, it’s my past, and for me, it’s much better than living with blinders on. 

However, learning to live with my past has left me with a large reservoir of left-over feelings. It’s been very gratifying to have worked through all the memories and the feeling/emotions associated with the memories, but I found that there are feelings associated with living with the truth of my trauma. The feelings that can occasionally bubble up at different times are anxiety, depression, desperation, fear, numb, violated, insignificant, grief, alone, unloved, neglected, shock, pain, confusion, anger, afraid, dirty, sadness, rejected, confusion, disgust, small, loneliness, ugly, abandoned, disappointed, hopeless, betrayed.

The feelings can be more prevalent some days, especially when I get triggered and have flashbacks or the anniversary times of the year. They are there, even though I have dealt with and processed the memories. I have dealt with the traumas but these feeling are byproducts of the abuse. The feelings don’t just leave because I have talked about them, written, used art, or emoted over them. It’s okay, I have learned that feelings are time-limited and are like sets of waves, and I have learned to ride them like an expert surfer.

I  also feel lots of love, hope, happiness, contentment, support, and trust, and for that, I am grateful. It makes me smile.

I used to tell myself that if I could take a strainer and scoop out the byproduct of my past I would.  I thought scooping them away meant more room happiness, contentment, hope, and love.  Those feelings are what drives my desire to live. But then I realized that it’s important to have and feel those left over feelings. I wasn’t able to experience them the first four decades of my life. They were repressed, never to be taken out. Now I know that it is a very important part of my healing process, and they cannot be talked, or drawn away. They have to be felt.

I no longer expect that I won’t have feelings about what happened in my life. I’m much more whole, living without the denial of my past. I continue to accept that sometimes the reservoir will get stirred up and wavy, while also remembering to rest and enjoy the calm waters when the waves are still, and peaceful. I will let the byproduct of my past continue to come to the surface, knowing that eventually that feeling will spill over and float away, taken by the currents. Yet I stay firmly grounded, living with blinders off, owning my past, my truth, flying free of the silence that held me hostage. 

image source: Pixabay

Thank you for reading my memoir, Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph

 

Surfing the Waves of Emotions

So much emotion!

I feel thankful, I feel happy, I feel stunned.

I feel tired, I feel confused, I feel scared and sometimes terrified.

I feel a sense of peace and connectedness to the world around me.

I feel hope, I feel calm.

I’m full of anxiety, fear, doubt, restlessness.

I am up, I am down, I am happy and I am sad. I feel fear, I am content. 

I feel so many emotions that sometimes I’m not sure how to deal with any of them. So instead of trying to deal with them, I let each one pass through me as they come.

Emotions; We all have them, and they come and go like waves. Some of them are little sets of gentle ripples and some are as intense as a tsunami. Waves come and waves go, each breaking on the shore and each is time-limited. 

I have learned to sit with the emotion, to understand that even the most intense feelings will soon ebb, even though it sometimes feels like they take up all the space in my body, mind, and soul. There is even room to feel more than one thing!

When I feel the intense emotions begin to rise, I sometimes try for control. I want to balance perfectly and ride them to the shore with ease. That’s not life, even the most eloquent and prophetic surfer wipes out. It’s okay, another set of emotional waves will come soon enough.  Sometimes gentle, sometimes stormy, sometimes hardly noticing the fleeting feelings. That’s normal, natural, human nature. 

I feel grateful.

surfer-1034603_1280

image source: pixabay

Thank you for reading my memoir, Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph