Alexis Rose's Blog, page 6

My mind is tired of mindfulness

There was a moment a couple of weeks ago when I became extremely angry at mindfulness. Extreme stress had taken an emotional and physical toll on my body in a way that I hadn’t experienced before, alarming all the health-care professionals in my life, which in turn alarmed me. At first, I was concerned, scared and confused. Then I got angry!  I heard myself say sarcastically, “Well I’m glad I spent all these years in a mindfulness, yoga and meditation practice. Look where that got me!” Then I laughed at my venomous response to fear, and at the absurdity (and the truth) of those words.

I’ve had a very steady and intentional mindfulness practice for over twenty-five years. I started it years ago when I needed to change the way I was dealing with tremendous stress and hopelessness. I had two very young children at the time and needed to find a way to stay present when all I wanted to do was run away physically, emotionally, and mentally. Twenty-five years ago, mindfulness was not mainstream, but that didn’t matter to me. I quietly sought out teachers, read books, and practiced what I learned. It became a way of life for me and I found in the silence of my struggle it kept me steady and fairly calm.

It isn’t lost on me that I found myself weary and angry the other day towards the very thing that helped me find solace all those years ago.  Sometimes fear will do that.

Over the years as I’ve learned to live and find ways to manage the symptoms of complex PTSD, I found an important part of my healing was learning to live mindfully with intention. At times managing symptoms while living mindfully felt incongruent; a paradox. I wondered if my desire to live a life that was mindful and felt meaningful to me would always be shadowed by how I have to cope day-to-day with my PTSD? Could I find a middle ground? To my surprise, I could find a middle ground and I felt like I was able to carve out a purposeful life that I lived with intention.

Then I experienced what chronic, and pervasive stress can do to one’s health. It was more than just the platitude that stress does terrible things to your body. I am in the throes of living what unrelenting stress has done to my body. Some of it has resolved, but there is still some lingering damage. As I sit in silence and let the thoughts come, I realize that if I had not been practicing all these years, that I may not be here today, or I may be curled up in a corner rocking. I am both on the mend physically, and I’m definitely not in the corner.

I try to honor being awake. The connectedness we have to all things, the impermanence of the moments both perfect and non-perfect, the beauty, the wonder, and the power of being present. I believe that sometimes I will grow weary and tired, and maybe I’ll misdirect my fear towards the very thing that is helping me heal. Perhaps that is also part of the practice of mindfulness.

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Photo by Ashley Batz 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      

 

The Brand New Day

I got trapped in the shadow-side

the clouds enveloping me

oozing fingers of the past

creeping along my spine

For months I couldn’t find

the brand new day ~ I drifted

feeling so alone and lonely

grasping white-knuckled

to the real-

to the right now truth of I am not alone

I knew that I was cared-for

as I wept tears of fear, pain & despair

even through the stony darkness, I felt the love

I could hear that I was missed and needed

In the dark, before the dawn, I hear

this will pass~it always does

the voice of a brand new day reassuring me

that it isn’t extinct

Today the dark shade went up, the sun pointed the way

bursting through the tangle of weeds

I entered the garden

which grew out of friendship

trust, and tender care



The delicate petals that hold my secrets

were gently and safely urging

let go, it’s over

breathe in the colors of peace

It’s a brand new day

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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      

Doubt

I see you standing, lurking behind the tree

I feel your presence, hear the shallow breaths

whispers that are prickly on my arm and neck hair

I smell the over-ripe coat and hat as you approach

and I think, it doesn’t seem that long ago that I last saw you

Then I hear that familiar knock on my self-esteem’s door

I would like to say that self-doubt comes uninvited

but that would not  be honest

most definitely unwanted

but I believe unconsciously invited

I open the door, and with its hat in hand

I invite doubt in for a cup of tea

and listen as it tells me what it thinks of me

Outwardly, to others, it appears ” I’m fine”

Outwardly, I look strong and determined

I am strong and determined

But as self-doubt sips its tea

it slyly presses play; spinning old tapes

that drone familiar chants of, “You’re not good enough

not worthy, not well enough, not smart enough, give up”

the smell of fear and rejection hang in the air between us

I feel a sinister dark-dread

creep up my spine trying to blacken and shred my self-esteem

The grasp of my thinly held mantra

that my inner beauty, strength, and talent

far outweigh any deficits that I have

begins to fade as self-doubt asks to extend tea time

into a meal and a nice nap

I’ve heard enough, felt enough, spiraled enough

I can’t entertain it any longer, I’m done

I clear the tea, thank it for its visit and show self-doubt the door

As soon as it’s gone the air is clear, fresh

and I take control of internal thoughts about myself

and how I’m navigating the world around me

I give myself room to breathe, change, and grow

emerging once again from the shadows of the shame of  PTSD

As this bout of self-doubt fades onto a distant shore

I understand that I may again, hear this familiar knock on my door

and when I do, I’ll invite it in for a cup of tea

and listen with a loving, compassionate ear

These days the visits are shorter, and farther between

but I know that although unwanted, self-doubt does not come uninvited

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Artwork: Janet Rosauer

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

 

I’m Not Flying Solo…

It may look as if I’m flying solo

but I’m remembering to lean

into the wind, find comfort

in the safety of the clouds

and soar into the shadow light of the sky. 

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©From the Collaboration, Of Earth and Sky, Alexis Rose, photographer, Shelley Bauer

Thank you for reading my books:  If I Could Tell You How It Feels,  and  Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph available in both ebook and paperback from Amazon.

My Unchained Hands

They took my innocence at such a young age that I dreamed of climbing an apple tree and live like the squirrels.

They took my safety at such a young age that I wanted to live alone by a lake surrounded by cliffs so no one could find me, ever!

They took my choice to have my own interests at such a young age that I cringed when it came time for learning.  

They took my esteem and infused it with shame, humiliation, and embarrassment at such a young age that I wanted to become, and often felt invisible.

They took all those innate things away at such a young age that my ability to have trust, faith, security, self-esteem, hope or “person-ness” was stripped away.

Until it wasn’t!

Now “They” don’t have power over me.

Yes, there are effects from the trauma, but I prevail.

I no longer dream of living like a squirrel hidden high in a tree.

I’m open and free, dreaming of the turquoise sea

wave after gentle wave rocking me to sleep.

The more I heal the happier I am.

And when I lose my footing and start to fall

I reach out and grip the strong hands

of the many who share their strength and love

with a “chin-up girlfriend, we’ll get through this!”

I believe it, I trust it, yes, trust.

My person-ness is in tack

never to be stripped away again.

“They” took me away, I took me back

and when I nod good-night to the stars

and wake to the brand new day

I look at my hands, unchained

and know that I have prevailed.

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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

Since Seventeen

At seventeen the only thing that mattered

was driving our cars, watching the boys

and whispering don’t-tell-anyone secrets

we knew would never be shared

Singing our harmonies, and dancing with abandon

to the sold-out audience of the window’s reflection

candlesticks as microphones

best-friend laughter and coming of age dreams

The twenties bring spouses, children, houses, and change

At first scary, but different, and new

We’ll never grow apart

It happened so quick – those different paths

separated by the winds of change that we didn’t see

our words become sparse and shallow

Apart, we both trust

silently comforted that ours is a friendship

forged in forever-ness

intuitively we know to be patient with the wind

Life settled; together again

the forties knocked on the door

our conversations are deeper and different

until we heard that song

and instantly, the window once again becomes our stage

Another decade has come our way

our friendship once tested

is stronger than ever

We honor the waves of time

and are grateful for being patient with the wind

Her and Me ~ forever friends ~ since seventeen

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©Alexis Rose, image by Pixabay

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

When Darkness Calls

When the darkness makes it hard to breathe

hope is the involuntary breath I take to live

The call of the loon reaches my heart

the ray’s of the sun heats up my soul

hold on, hold on, have hope, faith, and trust

Encountering obstacles

knowing it’s a moment, it’s sometimes

hold on, have faith, and trust

Digging into emotional reserves

my fascia tight, begging to be stretched

I pull and loosen, standing tall

holding on, trusting

The obstacle seems the same

I’ve been here before

I wonder, have we all?

Knowing that this is the path

It’s okay…it’s fleeting…it’s life…for now

holding hope, having faith, feeling unabashed trust

When the darkness cries at morning light

I close my eyes and deeply breathe

and gently say, hold on, hold on

breathe deep, hold on

[image error]©Alexis Rose, Photo by Michael Shannon 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      

 

Changing the metaphor of my healing journey

For the first eight years that I was going through intensive therapy, myself and my therapist used the metaphor that I was climbing a mountain. I never realized how rocky, dangerous, and enormous that mountain range would become.  It was an intense and exhausting climb to loosen and try to break the grip of oppressive mental and emotional pain. Eventually, after summiting many peaks I found I had descended to the other side. I stood there, surveying what I had accomplished and began walking down the trail. Respecting the process I had just gone through, I knew that using the metaphor of climbing a mountain was perfect for me at the time.

For the past 12 years, I have been incorporating acupuncture into my self-care, and to help me manage my PTSD symptoms. When I was going through the worst of processing my trauma and felt exhausted and powerless, I remember my acupuncturist saying to me, “For years, you have been running from the tiger through the woods with a broken leg. Now you are in the meadow, the tiger is pacing far from you, and your caregivers are standing like sentries, guarding you as you rest and heal.” I will never forget when he said that to me. I felt safe, and that I was protected from the fear of telling the truth, from believing the lie that the truth must always remain buried. His reassurance that day reminded me to trust the process and continue the climb, now with an added image of resting in a meadow, protected from the tiger.

I have now been on my healing journey for 10 years. I no longer see the therapist that I climbed the metaphorical mountain range with. He took me as far as he could go, and our therapeutic relationship ended over two years ago. I have been seeing a new therapist for the past 16-months and it’s been a wonderful experience. She has taught me ways of acceptance and self-compassion that I never dreamed would ever be possible. It was the next step I needed to take, and the trajectory of my healing has been amazing.

I just went through a very difficult Spring. It happens; the triggers can get the best of me and pull me down for a while until I gain my footing. When I needed some reassurance my therapist reminded me (as she has often done the past 16-months) that I had successfully fought the tiger and won. She has been telling me for over a year, that I’m a warrior, a goddess who sits on the tiger and rides it proudly. I had never told her about my acupuncturist and the tiger metaphor he used all those years ago because she was using it differently. Her words and visuals are completely different. The tiger is my friend and provides me with the strength I need. I can sit on it and relax with my lotus flowers in my hands, and exhale breaths of safety.

My healing process has been an incredible test of pain, fear, exhaustion, and strength. It’s interesting for me to recognize that the metaphors I use to help me heal have changed along the way. Each metaphor, and visual providing me with what I need to live my life with courage, and resilience.

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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      

image source: Pixabay

Dance to the Music of the Earth

Dance to the music of the Earth

Move to the flow of the rain

Close your eyes and sway with the wind

Stomp in the puddles ~ lift your arms ~ let it go

Scream, pull, laugh hysterically, smile, cry

Don’t look, just move

Feel that? That’s You ~ Rooted~Empowered

Dance to the music of the Earth

We are rooted as one

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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      

 

 

 

 

Turns Out, I Am Enough

I assumed our love would last forever

so I forgave the silence

I gave you space

which became an echoing chasm

I pretended it’s just for now

until I realized this is

how it will be

My heart full as the lush trees

feels sore and thirsting

as if I walked through

the dustiest of deserts with no water

Stuck in stasis

knowing this is the choice I make

for now

a glimmer of hope – was that a smile?

No, it was a grimace

Reality predicts continued silence

I want to hear the roar of the waves

see the sun rise and set

breathe in the air of rugged peaks

I wanted to do that with you

Instead, you chose silence

We both know it’s not the number of words

that creates silence

it’s the elusive disengagement

A ghost

between two worlds

no plan to live or problem solve

Surrendering

I live in the silence

making hard decisions

alone, feeling the loss

Finally understanding

that you don’t share

desires, hopes or dreams

maybe you don’t have them

It was always me that wanted more

Love’s illusion

tricking myself into believing

that time would break the silence

and I would be enough

It turns out that I Am Enough

You were the lucky one ~ You had it all

You left ~ silently ~ Or maybe you’re still here?

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©Alexis Rose, Photo by Derek Truninger 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