Ripples, Waves and Tsunamis

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” - Rumi

I’m thinking that maybe there is no end to this process – there is no end to refinement. This is how the Universe has chosen to refine me. So be it . . . and the revelations will no doubt continue. 

The swelling of emotions subsided long enough for me to feel as if I have some grounding. It’s been hitting me in waves now and sometimes I am able to stand on the shore watching the waves lap at my feet. On good days, it’s a ripple effect; the pain is still there, but it’s containable. 

 

Sometimes I hope for a place of solitude . . .  some form of escape.

Sometimes I find myself hit with a wave of emotion that is so strong I can’t sort out what’s what. I don’t know what’s upsetting me. I don’t know the source of my anguish, only that it’s there and it’s time for me to face it and sift through until I find something that makes sense. I have a full arsenal of things that could be the cause, but there’s really only a few pieces that fit within a specific experience.

In all things, I do my best to act with love. For me, this means putting myself aside at times. It means putting on a smile when all I want to do is cry. It means listening to someone else’s heartache when I’m working through my own and trying to help them solve their problems. It's not easy. True story.

There it is. The aching.

I’ve been getting better at allowing myself to cry. For a long time I didn’t and with this wave of pain has come a force of trembling that I can’t control. I’ve been turning this over in my mind the last few days. As it turns out there is a scientific explanation . . .  and I can now say that studying anatomy and neuroscience wasn’t a full waste of time in the long run.

We share a very basic primitive area of the brain with our mammalian brethren. These are known as the reptilian and limbic brains. This area of the brain is a storehouse of emotional memory and is instantly activated the moment we sense any danger. The amygdala does not wait for instructions from the cognitive, conscious sectors of the brain. It simply acts. In fact, the amygdala allows us to act before we know why by triggering a biochemical cascade. I could describe this, but I’ll spare you. Basically, it’s a quick injection of various stress hormones into the bloodstream. 

What does this look like? You may wonder. The result is a hyper alertness that we’ve all come to know as the fight or flight response. This state of awareness is intense; it’s a dramatic jolt of energy similar to the thrill of an amusement park ride, bungee humping, or general jitters before performing.

 This is on my bucket list of things to do. Okay .  . it's really bungee jumping - but skydiving will be added.

Scientists are now adding a third type of response: freeze. Think of a deer in headlights. The freeze response is activated when there is no hope, meaning nothing proactive can be done to save oneself. This is an unconscious and instinctual immobility reflex. Disassociation is a common coping mechanism in the event of a freeze response, which is a mental form of physically separating ourselves from the threat.

This freeze response overrides any feasible possibility of fighting or running. This feeling of helplessness is strongly linked as a precursor to the development of PTSD. Unlike the fight or flight response, there is no release of energy from the triggered build up of stress chemicals. Our mammalian kin, acting with the same brain as the human species when responding to stress have ways of discharging this energy when the perceived threat is gone: they tremble, shake shudder, perspire and take a series of deep breaths when the trembling has passed.

 Is it over? I keep asking even though I know the answer.

 . . .  and there you have it. I’m getting in touch with the mammalian part of my brain – the I didn't acknowledge when all of this starting manifesting in ways I didn’t understand. The threat(s) are gone; I have to let the emotions come out now.

I remember my very first therapist telling me that this process would be like stirring a pot: the stuff from the bottom makes its way to the surface. It’s true. I do not like it, but I know the band-aids won't last forever.

I don’t know why, but thoughts and memories of my mother have surfaced. Part of her has made me. Part of her is in my genetic code. She scares me and I’m terrified of being her. While I can accept these fears and I can accept how her actions have dramatically affected my sense of security, identity, stability and will likely be present in any relationship I attempt to form – I acknowledge that I have to learn to forgive so I can let go. Maybe it's not even that; maybe I just need to let go. The hard part for me here is that when it comes to her, I don’t know how. I’m a bit lost at the moment.

Not only lost, but kind of at a standstill. Where do I go from here? 

I found myself once again crying and trembling and as much as I fought to control it, it wouldn’t be contained. I had to ask myself again, “Where is this coming from?” When I feel connected to someone emotionally and then there’s a day or two of nothing but silence, the feelings of abandonment resurface. At last I was able to make a connection: I felt the same way I did as a little girl when she left me with strangers,  when she left me for good in Georgia and her presence that was in and out of my life for what felt like an eternity as a child. Still, I remember desperately wanting her to love me. She never did.

For now there will crying and trembling. I accept it –  in waves, ripples or tsunamis. 

 I like to think we all get to visit this place at least once.

“Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” - Rumi