Alexis Rose's Blog, page 10

Time to Press the Reset Button

When I react from a place fraught with anxiety

and heavy-leaden exhaustion.

When anger, frustration, and thick frenetic energy courses through

my body and mind, leaving me breathing hard, and tight as

if I had just run a marathon, top speed through

the seven gates of hell.

When I can’t stand to think, read, engage, or ground.

When that becomes my existence, my life, my scraggly mood than

I know that I need to press my Reset Button.

My Reset Button reminds me that I’m able:

To experience and not think

To listen and not speak

To allow time to play and laugh with glee

To rest and not judge

To connect with the trees, water, fire, and land

To leave worry and self-doubt behind

To Just Be

I just pressed the Reset Button…I can breathe!

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©words and photo: Alexis Rose

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

Parenting with PTSD

For most, there are times when parenting is overwhelming. Sprinkle in a newly diagnosed mental illness and you have a recipe for loneliness, isolation from other parents, depression, an enhanced fear of screwing up the kids, and an exhausting (sometimes bleak) future outlook.

Depending on the age of the children, there is a fluid process of deciding what to share, being careful not to overshare, while learning to cope with your illness. It’s important to let the children remain children. They may be old enough to help with caregiving needs, but there is a line between caregiving and placing them in a parenting or therapist role.

As I was coming to terms with my past and began to understand the effects that my trauma had in my everyday life, my world turned upside down. I felt terrible all the time, as the pain of the past oozed out in fierce emotional waves, that sometimes found me dissociating as the only way to cope.

Trying to maintain a semblance of family and what I thought it should still look like, had me feeling depressed and overwhelmed. It was hard to believe that things would get better and have a positive outlook that healing could happen.

Mental illness does not just affect one person, it affects the whole family. There is an ever-changing definition of “normal.”  My son called each stage, our new normal. He said that new scenarios that were initially confusing and scary (mom can’t work anymore, can’t be alone, or hop in the car to run to the grocery store) turned into regular life as the family adjusted.

Going through therapy for trauma and beginning to come to terms with a mental health illness can be a very lonely, confusing and scary existence. However, It does not have to be an alone existence. Find support!

Although we often feel we are hanging on by our last parental thread, it is an amazing show of strength to ask for help. I tip my hat, to people who risk asking for help, especially when it comes to parenting. It’s often hard to initially confide for fear of being judged.

I understand how frightening that can be! It was terrifying to let myself trust people enough to help me with parenting those first few years that I was in intense therapy. I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I wanted more than anything to maintain my sense of family and I needed a lot of feedback and support.

The old adage that it takes a village to raise a child was for me, ever-present while I was going through the worst of my symptoms. I learned that I had to learn to trust the process, ride the waves, and keep my eye on why I wanted to heal. I understood that in order to be the parent I wanted to be, I had to go traverse the rocky terrain of facing my past and learn to live with the effects of my trauma that manifests as PTSD.

Parenting is difficult. Parenting with a mental illness (or any illness) brings a whole new level of challenges. Recently, I’ve had some candid talks with my kids, who are now adults. I understand that when I got sick ten years ago, certain things were imprinted on their young minds. The unconditional love they felt was strong and steady, but the everyday routine of their lives was altered in a frenzy of unchartered, waves of an ever-changing family dynamic, and new normals.

My youngest went from feeling secure and living the life of a carefree teen to worrying about her mom’s health, the financial structure of her world, and the helplessness of watching me suffer through some pretty harrowing PTSD symptoms. That shaped her intense need/drive to get the best college education she can, to make the most money she can make in order to take care of her family in case we ever need anything again. That may sound altruistic, but she puts immense pressure on herself which is hard to watch sometimes. I believe that if she hadn’t seen me get so sick, that she would have picked another easy-going career.

I understand that due to my illness my kid’s sense of who they are, and what they need to do to feel comfortable in the world was probably altered when my complex PTSD manifested. That makes me sad, and I had to deal with a lot of guilt. That being said, even though they are affected by their past (like us all) I can see, and they tell me that they are okay mentally, emotionally, physically, and socially. They have gotten the support they need to live the best life for them right now.

It may take a village to raise a child, but it takes a world of acceptance to understand that 1 in 4 people struggle with a mental illness. With emotional support, parents with a mental illness can raise well-adjusted children. Children that one day will fly from the nest, carrying into the world a strong base of unconditional love and support, and the knowledge that it is okay to ask for help.

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Photo by Peignault Laurent on Unsplash

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

Finding Peace in your Inner Landscape

An inner landscape is a life you lead inside of yourself; a place no one else can go unless invited. Although it looks different for each of us, all inner landscapes have this in common: they are a place of refuge. If you look deep enough, you will be able to find images of your inner landscape in your mind; your own place of power and peace.

Today is a day where being able to tap into my inner landscape and find peace is how I need to stay grounded.

My inner landscape is multi-dimensional and serves more than one purpose depending on how I need to restore, rest, empower and breathe. One part of my inner landscape is a field of flowers. That’s where I go when I need to feel at peace. It’s a place where I can rest and restore my inner resources because I feel safe and protected there, with very little noise coming from the busy monkey-mind that tends to nag at me during the day.

Mostly my inner landscape is peaceful, warm and sunny; although, I also have a cliff I go to that is rugged and barren. There is one leaf-less tree there with a few wisps of grass growing up around it, but otherwise, it is bare. The cliff is jagged, gray and very rocky with the sound of a turbulent sea splashing thunderous waves against the rocks. That’s the inner landscape I go to when my life is stormy and I’m dealing with challenges that I’m not quite ready to confront.

When I’m there, I hear my inner voice of self-doubt, self-judgment, and shame. It’s a place I go to when I know I need to look at things about myself that are comfortably uncomfortable but I’m not yet ready to change. I sit on the edge of my cliff and listen to the water crashing up against the rocks. Even though it is a place I go to when my life is stormy, I love my rocky cliffs and the crashing water that surrounds me.

My inner landscape is different from my happy place.

My happy place is where I go to help me face the typical stresses of daily life. Sitting in a traffic jam, going to the dentist, standing in a long line sends me to my happy place. That quick take a deep breath to stave off the frustration place that we go to. My inner landscape is a place I go to for reflection. A place where I go deep inside of myself.

Can you visualize your inner landscape, your own place where of power and peace?

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Image: Pixabay

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

 

The Paradox of Sharing

I watched a travel show the other day where the host went to a country where I had also visited. The show was fabulous and I was completely engaged. Although about five minutes into the episode I noticed that there was also a part of me that was thoughtfully activated. Although I was enjoying the repartee the host was having with the locals, an uneasy quiet settled deep inside because the memories of what happened to me, were the opposite of what was being shown on screen as a happy tourist destination. For sure, the places that he was promoting ARE  happy tourist destinations, they just weren’t for me. I was forced to travel to that location, and that experience forever changed how I view the world.

As I watched the episode, I felt validated that the places I had remembered going to were the places he was also visiting. I would say aloud, “I was there, and there, and There! It felt like a shared experience. Except that my experiences were dark and I met people who did not have my best interest at heart or people who looked through me as if I was invisible.

This had me thinking about the paradox of sharing. The definition that I’m using for my thought process is, A situation or thing that combines contradictory features or qualities. 

As a trauma survivor, we learn pretty quick what we can share and not share with our family and friends. I have always been of the mind, that this is absolutely healthy, and I want my support to have good healthy boundaries. I want to keep a semblance of “normalcy” in my everyday life. I definitely share, but only tell the most intimate and shocking parts of my trauma to my therapist. I have a therapist to help me process, accept, and teach me the tools to live with the effects of my trauma.

But, sometimes its hard to not be able to really participate in a conversation about a shared travel destination, holiday traditions, past birthdays, or just childhood observations. I have traveled to many, many places in my life. When someone talks about taking a tour of the swamps of the south, I may have also gone to the exact same region. I didn’t see Alligators peeking their eyes above the water, I experienced other things. Let me tell you, that if I share even a bit of what I experienced there, it is an instant conversation stopper.  Where I find myself enjoying the persons’ vacation tales, they wind up feeling uncomfortable that the underbelly of what people are capable of, is darkening the joy of a fun-in-the-sun travel destination. It’s a paradox when it comes to sharing.

Now I have had a plethora of really good, priceless, life-changing, wonderful experiences in my life that I can freely share and relate to my friends, family, and people on the street. I really don’t have a shortage of those at all. What has me thinking about this, is that sometimes when I’m having a conversation with someone about birthdays or family of origin traditions, I would like to share my experiences too. Not for shock value, but because they are my experiences. That is the extent of it. To me, I would sometimes like to say, Oh yeah, I remember when I was sixteen and …, but that is simply not an appropriate share. For me, it was just my life, for others it is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. There have been many appropriate times and places that I have shared, but it is usually not in the middle of a lighthearted walk down memory lane.

This is simply my observation the last few days after watching that travel show. Survivors of trauma, just like people who live with chronic pain and illness learn to adapt. I do believe that people who are in a friendship/relationship want to hear other’s experiences. The responsibility is on us to navigate our lives and share our stories. It helps those close to us understand the lens we look at the world through, and why we may respond to things the way we do. I know that the feedback I get from people, is, “Oh that makes a lot of sense now!”

I wonder, as I write this, that maybe this paradox in sharing is just human nature. Our different life experiences and how we feel about them may be what determines whether we share or stay silent. Are we afraid of being a “Debby Downer?” Or are do we say, “Wow, well you know what happened to me on my birthdays every year?” I don’t know the answer. I’m not sure what most people do. I’m curious, what do you do?[image error]

Photo by Korney Violin on Unsplash

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

 

 

 

Perspective in Minus 10 Degrees

This morning when I woke up, I thought about all the things I needed to get done today.  The list of chores, errands, and the title for a new book I am thinking about writing swirling into a nice time-managed schedule.

With my mind in full active mode, I tried to settle down and set an intention for the day. Setting an intention is something I usually do before I  get out of bed. I grabbed my phone to jot down my to-do list and to check the temperature to see how cold it was outside. I was greeted with negative 10 degrees.

That’s cold! Even for Minnesota, that’s cold! I live in the cities, not in the hinterlands.  My to-do list in my mind immediately quieted, and my intention for the day became clear. Just Be, Just Stop, Just Sit, Just Rest and Breathe!

I also gained some perspective:  My family and friends are all safe and sound living in homes with working furnaces. Our critters are indoor animals (although, I very much felt for my dog this morning when I let her out). It’s a clear day, the sun is shining bright and there is no wind. No Wind is a gift believe me!

It will do me a world of good to rest today. I have just begun to feel better after a three-month-long illness, and an Everest size mountain of stress. My Mantra since the beginning of the year is to listen to my inner self and to have trust and faith in the process. I have continued to learn not to react, but to sit, observe, and then respond. That’s a lot of introspection for 8:00 in the morning!

Minus 10 degrees can provide excellent perspective.

Disclaimer: Minnesotans tend to have a lot of chutzpah when it comes to weather. We are made of tough stuff living in the north. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few hours when I actually do decide to run an errand or two, I’ll  hear myself say, “Meh, it’s not too bad, at least there’s no wind, and look the sun is shining.”

Take a peek at the lows that are in store for us in the next few days! I yearn for summer to see the 90’s and a few 100’s.

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Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

The Story We Tell Ourselves

Am I enough? Am I worthy? Do I contribute to some greater good?   What impossibly high standard do I still hold myself compared to what I would think reasonable of another person?



What story am I telling myself? 

Will people like me if they really know me? Would they run away? Am I too opinionated or am I not judgmental enough? Am I engaged or is it okay to rest, retreat and just be? 

What kind of please others, what will they think of me kind of expectations do I have of myself? 

Am I aging gracefully, or do my forehead wrinkles and sagging parts make me unattractive? Am I keeping healthy enough or still feeding into the impossible societal standards of weight, exercise, and beauty? 

What kind of pressure am I still putting on myself? 

Am I letting myself rest? Am I finding contentment in my everyday lived life, Am I acknowledging the love I have and the love I give? 

The answer is Yes…

Those moments when I allow the old tapes and self-judgment to seep in, what kind of story am I still telling myself? 

What kind of story are you telling yourself? 

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words and image: Alexis Rose

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

Triggers and Tools

Living with PTSD often means understanding that there are triggers, triggers everywhere. Coping with PTSD often means learning the tools to handle the triggers. 

Before I was diagnosed I had no idea what was wrong with me. I was quirky to my friends and family, but inside I felt out of control and crazy. I could tell that the people I was with didn’t react the same way I did to certain situations, but I couldn’t understand why.

People can sometimes sit down at a restaurant and marvel over the choices on the menu. I become anxious and lose my appetite because the choices are overwhelming. Walks in the woods typically are filled with deep breathing wonderment at the smells and sounds of leaves rustling and crunching. I would cringe and keep looking over my shoulder because the crunching meant someone was running behind me to catch me. 

The sound of distant fireworks is often a sound and a sign of summer festivals and fun. I bristle and remember a time when I heard guns or bombs. The beautiful full moons shining brightly in the sky brings a sense of awe.  I often feel left-over dread and fear for the rituals the solstices brought in a place long ago, but not so far away. 

These are just a few triggers that I have to manage to live with PTSD. 

I used to flounder and drown in the vortex of my symptoms, but now, I have the tools to help me cope. I understand that for me, there are triggers, triggers everywhere and I know the reasons why. Knowing the truth and understanding my past has been a huge help in managing my mental health. 

I understand what flashbacks are, and while they are terribly uncomfortable, I have the tools to cope with the aftermath. I have the tools to work through panic, anxiety, and fear. 

I have a plethora of distress tolerance tools and I have to employ them daily. There are days it feels like my full-time job is consciously finding something to ease the distress, but it is time well spent. 

I understand that going to a restaurant, grocery store, library, or a place with a lot of stimulation, brings some responsibility on my part. Perhaps I can look at the menu online and find something to eat before we get there. I may need to put a book on reserve and pick it up vs. wandering the shelves of the library and becoming overwhelmed by the choices. I have to communicate before my anxiety ramps up,  but I also need to remember and acknowledge if all is well, giving myself a mental pat-on-the-back. 

One of the tools that I’m appreciating the most right now, is that I’ve learned to enjoy the moments when I’m not symptomatic. I’m still hyper-vigilant and my startle response is off the hook sometimes, but I’m not necessarily waiting, or looking for someone or something to happen, and I can calm myself a lot quicker with my learned tools. 

Reminding myself I’m safe, understanding that my intense symptoms caused by triggers are time-limited and that I’m okay helps me live with PTSD. The tools help me cope and accept PTSD and all the symptoms that come with it. 

I was surprisingly triggered twice this week by separate events. One was a smell, and the other was a phone call from a long-ago friend. Somedays coping with triggers (especially if they come out of the blue) is a tricky dance and I find myself stunned by the experience. I feel clumsy and inept, but with continued practice Im hoping for a symbiotic relationship between triggers, triggers everywhere and the tools to calm and soothe. 

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Image source: Pixabay

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

Happy 1st Birthday to If I Could Tell You How It Feels

One year ago today my second book, If I Could Tell You How It Feels was published. It has been a wonderful year of new connections, and opportunities. I have a tremendous feeling of satisfaction that my books have been a source of information, relatability, and comfort for survivors of trauma, someone living with a mental or chronic illness, a professional working within the mental health industry, or someone simply interested in learning more about the intricacies of living and thriving with PTSD.

If I could tell you how it feels was the internal mantra that I used in my early days of therapy. Even though I yearned to share with friends and family how it felt to live with a past full of abuse and neglect, I couldn’t say the words.

The painful memories and shame of my trauma were palpable. That shame kept me from exclaiming, “I’m a survivor!”

I felt the safest hiding behind the mask of what I thought was “normal.” One day, in answer to my friend’s question of how it felt to live with PTSD, I wrote a poem and risked the vulnerability of sharing it with family and close friends.

Soon writing became my way of expressing how it feels to try and cope with, relate to, and safely express my feelings. What I couldn’t verbalize, I found I could write. I can confidently say that writing was the light from the darkness of PTSD. It still is!

I never, in my wildest dreams knew the world of connection that awaited me from writing both my memoir, Untangled and If I Could Tell You How It Feels. Not only have I connected with survivors and mental health professionals, but I also have connected with many interesting people from all walks of life, and with varying interests from around the world. I’m a better person because of all these connections. There are some people I’ve met that have changed my life. I’m grateful and humbled every day when someone buys my books, reaches out to me through email, my blog, Facebook, or writes a positive review on Amazon.

To the wonderful followers of my blog, your support and encouragement for my writing have been amazing. You have definitely been instrumental in my book sales and in helping spread the word to your own blog followers.

Happy Birthday to If I Could Tell You How It Feels!

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Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

Transience

The past 3 1/2 years of blogging have been wonderful! I never imagined myself as a blogger. In fact, when I first began to blog I really thought blogging was largely about sharing recipes or travel pictures for family and friends. Wow, I was so wrong!  I absolutely enjoy bloggers who share recipes and travel adventures. I look forward to reading their posts and make a point to follow as many as I can. But the range of bloggers and endless topics is an amazing peek into worlds and connections that are priceless.

I didn’t think I would find myself in the niche of a mental health blogger. Maybe it’s not really a niche. Maybe my posts just fall into that category because, besides my poetry, that’s the part of my life I write about; I have the most passion to write about. The truth is, that the community here on WordPress has become a part of my healing journey.

Writing and connecting with so many other bloggers from around the world has opened my eyes to something I feel I know for sure: We want to feel happiness, we want to be seen, and we want to be heard. Whatever that looks like or feels like is completely individualized.

We have a community.  It’s open and it grows and it is inclusive. The country where we write from, the time of day or night, the topics from just a hello, to deep thoughts and feelings are welcome. People are interesting…we may not think we are, but we are! We are also transient.

I found myself thinking about that transience a lot the past few days. We weave in and out of each other’s lives by virtue of a post. We cheer each other’s victory’s, good recipes, beautiful pictures, job searches, and day-to-day musings. We provide support for our health issues, our fears, our struggles, and our disappointments. We write opinions and comments, and “likes’ when we want to make sure that someone knows that they have been seen and heard.

It doesn’t really matter to me if we have been following each other for three years or three days, I find I’m invested. I have a full life outside of blogging, and I’m also a blogger. If I didn’t find a connection, I wouldn’t be doing this. I take the time to read through the posts, as I hope people take the time to read through mine. Sometimes we find a solid connection, sometimes it’s fleeting, sometimes it’s just a respectful read.

I understand the transience of social media and blogging. I understand the impermanence of people coming in and out of our lives. Some of them become our teachers, some of them become cautionary tales, some of them we find are our neighbors and we become friends. It’s a strange and wonderful world.

As I find myself thinking the last few days of bloggers who have passed away or those who have simply moved on to other things in their lives, or the ones who have cried out for help and went silent, I feel a sense of peace. For a moment in time, we have provided each other (whether your following is 1 or 10,000) with a way to be seen, be heard, and to connect.

Thank You to all who take the time to follow me!

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Photo by Slava Bowman on Unsplash

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

 

Always in our Hearts

As the rain gently falls

we remember those who are 

with us in our hearts.

They will always be a part of us.

With a silent prayer, we honor

their heart, their soul, their essence

by tending to the flowers in the earth.

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©Alexis Rose, image source: Pixabay

 

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph