This ongoing pandemic and the dumpster fire that is 2020 have really stirred the pot for me emotionally. For the first time in my life, I feel ‘triggered’ on a fairly regular basis. Interesting that, but also an indicator that I had some serious undone shit to deal with.
After years of regular appointments with the same therapist, I decided to mix things up a bit and I started seeing a counselor who specializes in trauma.
That’s a difficult thing to own, that one has been traumatized. But there it is. A childhood rife with abuse and two marriages that, each in their own way, continued the pattern. And, not to be discounted, life with a terminal illness. The common thread–me.
EMDR is the modality being employed. My initial response was skepticism. And then, almost magically, it clicked. I had one of those aha moments very similar to when you find the missing piece of the puzzle that is key.
I now look forward to these sessions, simply because I know that as difficult as they can be they are helping me to get stronger. Like the 94 steps up to my studio.
Every couple of months I check in with the psychiatrist who referred me. We had a zoom meeting this morning and I assured her that all was going well. I specifically referenced the fact that my depression had lifted to the degree that I was no longer sleeping during the day; a go-to form of escape.
Hilariously (to me, at least) as soon as our meeting concluded, I was overcome with a desire to take a nap. Hoodie up, heating pad plugged in, I snuggled in for a cozy snooze. My dreams took me back to my childhood home, in a way that was both intriguing and comforting. And this was no brief rest–I dozed for a solid three and 1/2 hours.
I awakened feeling refreshed in the way that only a kick-ass nap can do.
Moral of the story, sometimes a girl just has to sleep it off. And tomorrow, I’ll be climbing those stairs.