I seem to be getting over a hump, making a breakthrough, in my trauma recovery.
A start was recognizing I was recovering from trauma--that recognition happened only a few months ago. Zounds!
This morning I awoke with my usual feeling of dread. Today it was attached to a paper that's due today, fearing that E will be upset if I don't finish it. I wanted to luxuriate in the sensual comfort of semi-sleepiness with Eric beside me in bed ... but couldn't, because of the unshakeable dread.
I knew from experience what to do to break up the dread. I sat up and gave attention to the trauma-associated sensations in the right side of my body. For the first time, I directed myself to give meditative attention to the sensation, to use my powers of meditative concentration. This is just a slightly different approach than usual, just a tiny bit different. I gave attention to the sensations and allowed them to flow, letting go of each one as it morphed into the next. I allowed my body to move as it wished, following its urges. Negative thoughts came streaming by as usual, and I dismissed each one as it arrived. But before dismissing it, I put words to it; this somehow seemed important. The stream of thoughts was so repetitive and so familiar--they were all messages I've heard in my mind throughout my life in multitudinous situations--and today it was easier than ever before to know, with little doubt, that they were not to be heeded. There is not enough time ... this is hopeless ... this is a waste of time ... you should be doing something else ... something bad is about to happen ... you don't know what you're doing ... you've done this long enough ... it's not OK to go any deeper; it's time to come out now ... it's time to move along ...
As I proceeded it became more and more clear that these messages are associated with what happened to me as an infant, with whatever experience I was re-living in my body and psyche. My intuition is that the experience happened at an age somewhere between 3 and 18 months ... probably closer to 3 months. Soon, it was obvious to me that my dread, my anxiety, had very little to do with the paper that is due today.
From time to time I brought to mind an image of my mother as a young woman hovering above me and looking down on me with an unhappy face. Bringing to mind this image intensifies my entire experience. My breathing quickens ... fear, pleasure, sadness, and longing all increase simultaneously. And anger. I want to eat her, I want to injure her, I want to destroy her. I want to shake her and make her come to her senses.
At 6:30 I heard Z getting up, and remembered we had a 6:45 date to go running. I hadn't put it in my mind that I would do this, because she'd cancelled our last three dates, and when I saw her yesterday she hadn't mentioned anything about this morning to me. I didn't want to go running at this point; I wanted to continue with this inner work. But when I realized Z was probably getting ready for running, I tore myself away from what I was doing and went to find her to confirm. At the same time, I felt resentment: why should I force myself to get up when she felt free to cancel the last three dates? Then I realized I was acting out a habit that isn't serving me: forcing myself to adhere to commitments more steadfastly than is actually called for, for fear of punishment. I felt a modicum of new freedom from the practice I had just been doing, and I realized I wasn't so afraid of punishment now. I went back to bed.
I spent a total of an hour doing this inner work this morning: paying close attention to the sensations associated with trauma, moving with them, dismissing negative messages. Allowing, allowing, allowing. I felt less fear and more boldness than ever before. Not a great deal more than before -- but I did feel as though I'd gathered some sort of critical mass.
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