Smashed

I had another session with my child self this morning after returning from my Friday stair run. I've been feeling really distressed when thinking about advocating on my Mom's behalf regarding her care in the dementia care home. So I looked at that distress and asked my child self what she had to say. I sat in the attic with my hugging pillow for about 30 minutes. The child self wasn't speaking very easily; in the middle she said, "let's not think about this anymore, let's go do something else." But I persevered in asking her what she had to say. Eventually I realized that there was something so terrifying in my consciousness, and so ever-present, that it was almost invisible to me. It was the sense that I was about to be smashed. OK, the sense that I'm about to be smashed is something I've been aware of, but the looming terror of it, I hadn't seen before. I didn't imagine pain, I didn't imagine the actual being smashed, but what I imagined was that I would be stopped cold in my tracks and silenced.