Being my own shoulders

I am not OK right now. But I’m also pretty OK admitting that.

I had a significantly large emotional meltdown on Monday. One of the biggest / deepest / most all-encompassing moments of falling apart that I’ve had in a while. To be honest, it was probably overdue. As much as I try to practice all of the things I help others with, I still do a lot of holding myself together with tape and glue. I encourage people to come talk to me when they’re struggling, but I can’t do the same for myself because somewhere I believe that my struggles are less important. And would only be a burden.

I’ve been working with a somatic therapist for about six months now (although I haven’t seen her since October, so, there’s that), because I know that when I over-rely on thinking my way through things, I often make them worse. I’ve been trying to pay more attention to how big emotions show up in my body, rather than just focusing on my head.

Monday, in my body, felt like an avalanche.

Like every doubt, fear, insecurity, longing, loneliness, just cascaded down from my eyes through my throat to the pit of my stomach, but instead of filling it with boulders and heaviness, the avalanche left me feeling completely empty.

Brady was out at a work event Monday night, so I was home with the kids when the biggest wave hit. (Or maybe that’s when I felt like it was finally safe to allow it to hit. I’m not totally sure.) Thank goodness my kids are old enough to take care of themselves for a while, because when I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, I went upstairs to my bedroom, walked into my closet, closed the door, turned off the lights, and just laid there on the carpet, letting it all out. After a few minutes, I was able to refocus and try to think (there’s my head again) about what support I needed in that moment. I don’t have anyone to talk to (who isn’t paid to listen), so I went to another place that feels safe:

Meditation.

(Jeff Warren—if you ever read this—your voice has gotten me through more shit than I can even begin to describe. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.)

I spent the next 15 minutes focusing on my breath, on my heartbeat, on the sensation of my hands on the floor. I followed the guided prompts and turned toward the sadness and emptiness instead of away from it. I asked it questions. I watched it grow bigger, and then subside a little. And yeah, all of that felt like I was breaking fucking open. But the fact that I knew it would hurt, and I did it anyway, means I’ve actually come a long way from where I was a few years ago.

Did that magically solve everything? Yeah, no.
Did it give me a little bit of comfort that at least I know what inner and outer resources I can turn to when I feel like everything is falling apart? Yes. Absolutely.

There’s some part of this that I am having a hard time with, though. The inner resources are me: what I’ve learned, what I try to practice, and what I know is true. And the outer resources are an app and a paid therapist. Which still leaves me pretty much alone when it comes to having other people in my life who can help me navigate these emotional floods. I’m the only one I can count on. And that just makes me feel empty all over again.

I don’t really do much poetry or song-writing these days, but while I was sitting there in the pitch dark in my closet, I started stringing together some lyrics in a soulful, gospel-style way that honestly, I have no idea where it came from.

I can be my own shoulders. I can be my own arms.
I can carry my weathered body through this storm.

I can give my own comfort. I can sing my own song.
I can carry my tattered body through this storm.

I can find my own moonlight. I can bring my own dawn.
I can carry my tearstained body through this storm.

I ended up singing this to myself, over and over, for the next few hours. Like a lullaby, or a hymn. And I’ve been singing it on and off ever since.

I’m questioning a lot of things right now. What’s my value? Where do it fit in? Does anyone give a shit? I am bone-tired from coming home every day to clean up the physical mess in my house, and the emotional mess of my teenage daughter’s hormone + ADHD-induced breakdowns, after spending all day at work cleaning up other people’s messes there, too. I try to speak up, to bring ideas to the table, to ask critical and thoughtful questions. And more and more I am starting to believe that none of that matters. I come home and try to have a conversation with my husband, but his face is in his phone. So I put on my PJs, I crawl into bed, and last night, anyway, I sing myself to sleep.

I’m proud of myself for being able to recognize what I’m feeling, and not trying to run away from it. Even if I did run, where would I go?