Alexis Rose's Blog, page 13

Together We Will Dance In The Sun

When we hear I’m sorry, and we release each other from needless pain

I’ll help you color in your tattered soul with the colors of the rainbow.

Together we’ll run through the fields of flowers that we dreamed of when we shivered in the nights.

We’ll risk making a wish, and imagine that we break the chains

reject the monikers, and run into the sunlight

dive into the ocean waves, and laugh out loud.

We’ll forgive ourselves for the pain and suffering that we saw

and that we endured.

We’ll understand that being an object, a tool, a creature

is words that they said and that they are lies.

Then you and I will understand that we are real people.

Made out of the same star stuff as all the other people in the world.

With skin, and a heart, and a soul.

If we can learn to trust each other

then we can let go of the skeleton hands that try to pull us down.

The ghosts that visit our sleep

will dissipate and we can close our eyes, and exhale before sleep.

Although we may carry the scars we will be one, whole, harmonious, safe.

I don’t know how long it will take.

I don’t know how to trust you and have you trust me.

But I’m committed to figuring it out.

The faces of evil have not won.

I want to live in the light, blinders off, whole and peaceful.

You get to have the same thing.

And one day when we trust each other, and the rain has stopped

together we will dance in the sun.

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©Alexis Rose, Photo by Tevin Trinh 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    

From Protection to Art

Over an eight-year time span, I unpacked secrets hidden deep in my mind. Some secrets were repressed and some were just sitting in storage, never meant to be unpacked to see the light of day. But for me, I had to make the choice to face, process, accept, and resolve my past so I could continue to heal.

Throughout those eight years, I had given my therapist many, many things that I had saved from my childhood. Some of the items were pictures, a baggie of dirt, rocks, pieces of jewelry, gifts that identified places I had been, and a wooden baseball bat.

I saved all these things because I thought they were proof of what happened to me. I thought they were my smoking guns. My therapist described them as my breadcrumbs. He believed I unconsciously (and consciously) kept these mementos to help lead me back to my repressed past. When I would bring my “breadcrumbs” to him we would talk about them in detail. I got to a point with each one that I no longer needed them in my house. 

One day I brought him a heavy, professional grade bat that had been in my childhood home since the 70’s. This bat was my protection against the people I thought would come for me in the middle of the night. From the time I was young and for many decades since then, that bat lay under my bed.

The day I brought the bat to my therapist’s office I felt ready to relinquish it. I knew I had to learn to trust that I was safe in my home from past perpetrators. We talked a lot about the bat, and that day, feeling extreme anxiety, I left it with him and successfully learned how to fall asleep without that professional Brooks Robinson bat under my bed.

That was four years ago…

Last night I met with my former therapist for a quick post-therapeutic check-in. After 8 1/2 years of intense therapy, I still reach out from time to time. When we met he said, “I have something for you.” He handed me a piece of that old bat that he has sculpted into a wonderful and practical piece of art.

I was stunned! I just assumed he got rid of it. I didn’t think I would ever see any of my breadcrumbs again. They had met their purpose. I was able to give them to someone who completely “witnessed” my story and taught me the tools to feel safe.

Also, one day after giving him the last of my hidden items, (not the bat) he said, calmy but very assured, “There is your smoking gun.” That was the moment I felt free from needing anything to prove the what, where, who and how of my past.

Even though I felt immense relief when I gave up my squirreled away mementos, there were a couple of items that I still thought about every now and then. The things that I felt had empowered me. The bat was definitely one of them. I knew I needed to give these things up to release the hold they had on me, and their association with the past, but every now and then I had a bit of nostalgia for some of the things that helped me feel safe.

Holding this beautiful piece of polished wood in my hand yesterday I felt so many emotions. I felt cared about, I felt a safe connection to someone who knows my whole story, I felt elated that I could see this transformed bat for its new purpose, and I felt a little like I got a piece of my warrior super-power armor back. I don’t need it to protect me any longer, but it’s a wonderful feeling to look back with pride for how far I’ve come and to also acknowledge all the fabulous ways my mind helped me create a sense of safety during decades of living in fear.

From a hurt child’s object of protection into a practical piece of art, my professional Brookes Robinson wooden bat will continue to provide me with a sense of peace.

 

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

 

 

Patiently, She Waits

She’s not

a creature

invisible

Nobody with no-body

She’s the inner child

She’s not

unloveable

disposable

forgettable

She’s the little girl inside

She’s there

waiting

visible

huggable

She’s there

quietly, patiently longing

to become part of the whole

Somebody with a-body

She’ll wait

She’s listening

If you whisper

you’ll feel her smile

when you touch your heart.

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©Alexis Rose. Image Source, Pexels

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

 

 

The Moon Holds the Secrets

The moon holds the secrets

of the trees

whispering in the night.

[image error] ©Alexis Rose, photographer: Shelley Bauer from the collaboration: Of Earth and Sky

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

 

What Would You Suggest?

I have the privilege of presenting to a  Human Services class at a local college in a couple of weeks.  I’m extremely grateful and also honored to be asked to talk to these students, because some of them may become (or already are) professionals in the mental health field. I’m determined to help destigmatize mental illness, particularly PTSD, by speaking and writing openly about living with this disorder.

I’ll be talking about the definition of PTSD, some common symptoms, how I’m able to live a full, and purposeful life, even though I sometimes still struggle with multiple symptoms, resources, etc.

I’m really excited about two topics that I have been asked to address during my presentation.

What to say and/or not to say to someone with PTSD (or mental illness)?
How professionals can better help people who they work with? 

I definitely have my ideas, but I thought about how wonderfully interactive and positive the blogging community is when it comes to comments. I would love to know how you would answer these questions. Either of the questions.

Your input is greatly appreciated!

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

Where Fairies Dwell

As I gazed upon nature’s elegance

I came across the place

where fairies dwell.

I knew that this is where

they rest, and play, and smile.

A garden safely tucked

beside a hill

which grew out of

friendship, trust, and tender care.

I noticed the flash of light

as the fairies dashed behind the tree

that was holding strong

safe, waving for them to hide.

Filling my senses

with the wonder of the moment

I heard the wind singing

words of hope

harmonizing with the brothers and sisters

in the jeweled sanctuary of one.

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©Alexis Rose, image source: Pexels

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

An Inspirational New Book

Barbara is a fairly new member of our WordPress community. Her blog posts are honest, genuine, and her commitment to continued healing has been incredibly inspiring to me since we’ve connected.

Barbara just released her inspirational book, I Walk With A Limp available on Amazon. Click on the link to her blog (give her a follow too!) to read the details of her new book. https://iwalkwithalimp.com/

Gook Luck Barbara. I know this is what I will be reading this weekend!

Book Release: My New Book is Now Available on amazon.com

 

 

Will the Sky Fall?

The sky is a beautiful shade of deep blue.

The puffy white clouds move

at a meditative pace

changing shapes

as they roll overhead.

The waves of the sky.

Gazing at this wondrous expanse

I worry will the sky fall

if I say my truth out loud?

Will the sky fall?

Funny, it didn’t fall

when I journaled the words

and shared it with my confidant.

The sky didn’t fall on me

nor did it fall on her.

I once looked to the sky

for help, for escape.

I watched the clouds

move, and then turn dusty

but it was only the dust in my eyes.

I fell silent.

Today, as I sit with the truth

I know I don’t have to suffer.

I’m no longer completely silent

but sometimes the words get stuck in my throat.

Constricting, and pressing on my lungs.

Making it hard to talk, to speak my truth.

The old tapes press play:

Will the sky fall

if I speak, if I share?

Tentatively trusting

I surf the waves of the sky

just as I surf the waves of emotion.

The waves of life.

The sky is indeed beautiful today

Beautiful, alive, full of awareness and hope.

I know that the sky will not fall!

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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    

A Cloudy Week of PTSD

I want to wrap my myself in a soft comfy blanket and hang out in a room with puppies, feeling the happy, drooling puppy breath that brings smiles from oozing love.

I want to naturally exhale after taking a deep breath, and not having to consciously remind myself to breathe as I come out a flashback, nightmare.

I want to ease the pain in my body that I know is not really there; it’s just remnants, reminders of long ago.

I want to be able to have a conversation with someone and not feel like I’m standing behind a scrim of safety because right now, trust and feeling safe is at a premium.

I have to remember that this week is just a glitch and that sometimes I will find myself feeling like I am sliding into the abyss of symptoms.

I know that even though I am exhausted in mind, body, and spirit this week, I am still (and always will be) mega-tons stronger than any perpetrator that I’ve had the displeasure of encountering.

It’s been a cloudy week of PTSD!

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photo 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    

My Mind’s Junk-Drawer

We have a “junk-drawer” in our kitchen. It’s the drawer where coupons, batteries, a hammer, screwdriver, pliers, tape measures, a flashlight, matches, lighters, cat-nip,  and the assorted 1/2 used birthday candle packages lay scattered about. It’s a small drawer, but it seems, it has the room of Mary Poppins magic bag. It holds everything and when we (meaning my husband) tries to clean and organize it once in a while, it is amazing the gifts we find in there. We probably will never have to buy another tube of super-glue or a magnet again. I wouldn’t describe myself as fastidious, but I do have a place for everything, everything has a place in my home; the junk-drawer is the exception.

I have the wonderful ability to compartmentalize. In fact, one of the visuals that I used when my repressed memories started to emerge, was that the file cabinets burst their seams and the drawers came busting out. I could no longer close them, I had to begin to process my past. In fact, the last file-drawer, the one that was never to be opened, I  purposefully unlocked, went through it and was able to deal with the last of those compartmentalized locked up memories. I needed to go 100% in and not leave anything locked away. I wanted and needed to process my past.

It seems I have a junk drawer in my mind.  It’s different than the “monkey-mind” I get when I sit down to meditate. This is the place where random mind-spinning thoughts live when I try to sleep. Where self-doubt resides waiting to be pulled out, or the shoulds, or the why’s, or the did you remember to thoughts begin to spin.

One of the terrible symptoms of PTSD is nightmares. One of the tools to help increase your chances for better sleep is to practice good sleep hygiene. I usually listen to a podcast every night to help stave off the night jitters and stop my mind from churning. The other night I was laying there enjoying the breeze coming through the window, and BAM, an image from an old horror movie popped in my head.

Somehow that picture popped up in my minds-eye and wouldn’t leave. I even said aloud, “that’s dumb, go away now,”  and turned up the podcast that I was listening to, and interested in hearing.  But, in the junk drawer of my mind, that one clown turned into a whole posse and would not get out of my head.

That’s when I decided that I must have a junk drawer in my mind. It conveniently holds the random bits of life that unconsciously stray in, as well as the little things I toss in there with the verbiage, “I’ll just think about that later, I don’t have time right now.”

Just like the hammer, lighters, batteries, and other essentials in our house that have a small drawer in our kitchen, my minds junk drawer holds the messy side of my human nature. Sometimes I need to clean it out and organize the bits and pieces that are strewn about haphazardly. I’ll take the time to acknowledge and learn from whatever I stored in there, and sometimes toss out the “stuff” that I no longer need.

Does your mind have a junk drawer?

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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