Alexis Rose's Blog, page 7

Riding the Winds of Change

I experienced a profound and precious moment the other day. My kids are grown and have flown from the nest. They are making their way in the world and creating their own lives as adults with a lot of fortitude and grace. My youngest lives in a different state and is back for a few weeks this summer. From another room, I heard my kids talking to each other at the table. The easy cadence of siblings who had become friends brought a smile to my face. I closed my eyes for a moment and realized that lately, I have been riding the winds of change.

Change is a fact of life. Our bodies change, as do our cognitive abilities. Our circumstances change, the weather changes and so do the seasons. We change our minds, our clothes and our cell phones. Sometimes we embrace change, but sometimes change can feel daunting. The fear of the unknown and the anticipation of what might be can be paralyzing; the feeling of vulnerability can prevent us from moving forward.

But change is inevitable. I have been through an enormous amount of change in the past two years. Some of it was unanticipated and frightening, while some of it has been purposeful and has brought about a sense of freedom and peace.

Typically, when I enter a new decade I think about the goals I want to achieve for the next ten years. I am approaching a “big” birthday in August and instead of thinking about goals, I find myself thinking about what wonderful possibilities will open up in the next phase of life.

As retirement gets closer for some, and we experience the natural cycle of parents and in-laws passing away, the conversations I have with my friends has changed. Sometimes turning to the inevitable health scares we may be experiencing, as we collectively hold our breaths for one another until we hear the results of the test.

And still, many of us, including myself, feel ageless. We feel more confident about our bodies, and claim that confidence with the ease that alluded us in our younger decades. No longer trying to live up to society’s version of what size is beautiful.

I noticed that I’ve learned to embrace my ability to say, “no.” I’m calmer and much more confident in my writing and when I’m asked to speak to groups. I’ve learned to discern what is a fit for me as I continue to help support survivors of trauma and bring awareness to living with PTSD.

Change has brought the gift of new friends and has deepened the roots of long-time friendships. Change provides perspective. It has prepared me to understand when to let go, and when to fight. It has also taught me a great deal about self-respect and self-compassion. Beautiful, painful, and thought-provoking lessons.

I realize that nothing stays constant; there is always change, and that brings a sense of freedom and empowerment. Of late, that freedom has brought a sense of calmness. I’ve realized that part of experiencing a very lived life is catching the current and riding the winds of change.

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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      

The Juxtaposition

Breathe in

Breathe out

Surrender and release

Illness led me to rest

But I forgot to breathe

Triggers led me to

grounding techniques

But I forgot to exhale

Life situations led me

to worry

take action

then anxiously wait

exhausted, but whole

Wisdom reminded me this will pass

Just Breathe

Just Be

I

breathed in

breathed out

surrendered and released

The after comes as it always does

I rest confused by the intensity; the crescendo

of symptoms, of noise, and of fear

Fear of the illness

because I know it will strike again

often without warning

It lifts

leaving behind fogginess, relief

fatigue and acceptance

The mindfulness of acceptance

The exhaustion of acceptance

For me, living with PTSD

is the juxtaposition between

illness and health

danger and safety

surrender and release

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©Alexis Rose, image source: Pexels.com

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

Embers of the Afterglow

Turning around to see

where I had been

I noticed the sun tending to

the embers of the afterglow.

Etching the memory deep

into my mind, my body and my soul

I walk away.

Deeply, yet gently inhaling

I feel myself fill up with strength and courage

knowing

that this, right now,  is a perfect moment.

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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      

 

 

 

 

I’m Not Going Down Easy

You can swarm my dreams

You can mimic those long ago days

by the sound of the wind.

The calendar can read the same date

making me look over my shoulder

in shades of black and white.

Year after Year

you can remind me that I never

received the memo that it’s over.

That I was released from twenty years of tyranny.

Go ahead and remind me that I’m still waiting.

That all the IQ points don’t matter

when it comes to stored fear in the body.

You hold me in a grip of fear for Now? Then? When?

You make me want to crawl out of

this anxiety-ridden body and mind

and watch it crumple on the floor.

Fighting the messages, programming designed

to keep the illness safely tucked in the cells

of my body and mind.

Alert, ready for the next time.

You’ll have your way with me.

You’ll make my life uncomfortable

for days and weeks at a time.

Pawing at, and choking as the skeleton hands of the past rise up;

Those bony cold hands gripping tight around my neck.

You make me question all reality

You, you nasty PTSD

You try, and sometimes succeed

at chipping away at my health for days and weeks at a time

leaving me wobbly, unsteady, and questioning.

But

As I’ve told you before, I’m telling you again

with the same resolve as the fiercest warrior

“Go ahead and try to swallow me, you nasty PTSD

I will never go down without a fight.”

The storm will pass

My illness and I will again find a way to cohabitate.

It will lurk quietly; resting, retreated

And I’ll find comfort in the knowledge that when it emerges again

and the cold begins to ooze up my spine

that I’ll never go down easy.

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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 Dirt Underneath My Nails

The bright flowing energy of life

that courses through

those oft talked about chakras

aligning my body, mind, and soul

sometimes feel clogged.

They say it’s normal

to have places that are stuck.

Let’s start there!

Let’s open it up so you can breathe, unfold, flow, feel whole.

But it’s clogged…with dirt.

Those life-force channels

sometimes get mired in the sludge of messages and beliefs

from a long ago past.

Enmeshed in the lies that were told to my soul.

The truth of their lies evidenced in the

dirt underneath my nails.

Wait; This is a triggering time of year

I’m being pulled into a vortex of memory and shame.

Name it

Feel it

Change the narrative

Get help!

My life-force begins to circulate again

with bright colors and free-flowing qi

I feel the power of being in the now ~

the wind, sun, heat and throat clearing water.

Looking down, scanning, grounding

I see the dirt of the earth underneath my nails

and go and wash my hands.

[image error]©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      

 

The Shadow-Side

The shadow cocoons us

with the promise

of flat light and invisible details.

Sometimes looming ahead

sidled up next to us, stretching behind

living inside us all; The Shadow-side

It’s not necessarily a dark, dank

scary place to be ignored.

It is simply the Yin to our Yang.

A place where peace is felt from

the adventures of yesterdays

or a spark is ignited

for the risks of tomorrows.

The whispers of things we think

we don’t want to do or hear.

Patiently waiting for the light

so we can hear the things we need to know.

It can cloak us in a protective incubator

or feel as if it will swallow us

in the depths of grief, and despair.

Bending, changing, pulling, letting go, dissipating.

Its fluidity is as impermanent as all the other quirks

and talents that make up the whole of who we are.

We can learn to befriend, listen and hear

the messages whispered from our shadow-side.

Listen

Can you hear?

It’s time to turn your face towards the sun.

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©Alexis Rose, 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      

 

 

Okay Universe, I’m listening!

It’s finally Spring and gorgeous where I live. We endured a brutal winter, and a snowstorm in April, but now there is a definite shift and it’s Spring. Yesterday, to celebrate the warmth, I took my dog for a car ride.  Besides noticing all the other dogs smiling with their heads hanging out of their car windows, I took note of all the people out for a walk. As I passed a certain intersection I said aloud, “I hope you’re doing okay!” It was a shout-out to someone I haven’t consciously thought about in quite some time. He is always in my heart, but I haven’t seen or talked to him in over ten years.

This morning, I bounded out of bed and was compelled to go for a walk. Right now, right then, no waiting until after morning coffee or breakfast, I just needed to go for a walk. I grabbed the dog and out the door, we went. As we were rounding the corner a truck stopped on the side of the road. A man got out, and said, “Alexis, is that you?” I was stunned! The person who got out of the truck was the good Samaritan who helped my daughter after she was hit by a car while crossing the street eleven years ago. The person I was thinking about yesterday, the one I sent out the message of,  “I hope you’re doing okay.”

Was this just a bizarre coincidence? Maybe! We both live in the same city so perhaps it was bound to happen. But it hadn’t happened in all these years until this morning.

I’ve had a trying and unsettling two weeks. Feelings and emotions that I had continued to minimize throughout my healing process have found their way to the surface leaving me with a choice. Continue to repress, or begin to honor what is bubbling to the surface. It may sound like an easy decision, but it wasn’t for me.

I knew I wouldn’t be retraumatizing myself or opening old wounds, but I would be revisiting some feelings and emotions at a much deeper level. That’s not a comfortable exercise. The result is more healing, but it’s never easy for me to work through the truth of my past.

Part of healing from PTSD is being able to tell your story as much as you need to and want too. That takes a tremendous amount of trust in the person you are talking too. I have a lot of attachment issues as a result of my trauma. Trust is hard; even with a wonderful therapist.

I kept questioning, why is this happening now? Why am I having these feelings? Why do I want to share my story? I already shared it, processed it, shared it again and processed more. Then I stopped.

I’ve written a couple of posts lately, wondering if  I was shaming myself into silence again. My therapist kept reassuring me that it’s okay. I’ll know if and when I need to go deeper. I didn’t think I would ever want to go deeper. But apparently, my mind and body are ready. My PTSD symptoms have left me feeling terrible and I don’t want to feel this way anymore.

The other day, my therapist asked me, “do you trust me?” I didn’t even hesitate, I answered, “Yes, yes I completely trust you.” She then said,” I was safe, she was safe, the people I know and love are safe, and that it’s okay.”  I believe her. I know the nature of PTSD. Sometimes symptoms will be greater than other times. But, I also know that some of my symptoms will lessen if I do a little more work.

I don’t know why now is the time to work on these emotions and beliefs. But, I do know this: When my daughter got hit by the car, that was the “event” that broke the illusion that I could control my snow-globe world I had created. When I hung up the phone after talking to her in the ambulance, that is when I heard the sound of glass breaking in my head and had the most intense flashback of myself sitting alone at a tiny airport. When I got to the hospital 20 minutes later to be with my daughter, I met the person who ran across four lanes of traffic to help her. When my daughter recovered from her injuries that is when I could no longer repress my past and I began to heal. I have healed a lot, and I live the best life I can with complex PTSD. Yet, some things are bubbling to the surface.

Maybe the why now doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters, is that its time. My body, mind, and spirit are telling me that it will be okay.  That all conspiring universe knew ten years ago, that I was ready and it was time to begin to heal, and I trust that it knows now.

So, Okay Universe, I’m listening!

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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      

Even With The Daisy’s and Weeds, It’s Still My Life

I went to the doctor the other day because I was hoping she would tell me I was suffering from some sort of vitamin deficiency or a thyroid problem. I made the appointment after some revelations I had in therapy the past few weeks. Not new memories, just a new awareness of how much I minimized, squashed down and refused to process some pretty epic feelings.  In a vague attempt to sidestep working through this, and to find a comfortable state denial, I went to the doctor wanting to hear I would feel better with a regimen of vitamins.

My doctor is fabulous. I’m extremely lucky to have a medical doctor and a therapist who understand the nuances of PTSD. She listened calmly as I anxiously rattled off all the reasons I thought I was sick. She agreed that it’s better to come in and make sure everything is okay, but she really didn’t think anything was wrong. To be sure, she ran the blood tests anyway. Good news, everything came back normal. All my numbers were nicely in the middle range. That was actually a huge relief, although there was a tiny part of me, that wished that everything I was feeling could be resolved with a boost of vitamins each morning.

There is a common expression that explains what it’s like to live with PTSD.  “PTSD: It’s not the person refusing to let go of the past, but the past refusing to let go of the person.”

One of the questions that people often ask is, “Are you sure you want to remember your past?” Or a common statement is, “Just let the past go.” Both of these are said and/or asked without malice.  I understand both the question and the statement. Most trauma survivors understand the intention behind these statements. They are meant to protect the person from suffering and bad memories which can be re-traumatizing. Also to remind survivors that it is okay to live in the present moment.

Going through trauma therapy, we work very hard to understand our symptoms so we can live in the present. We often have safety plans, distress tolerance tools, and grounding techniques that bring us back to the here-and-now. We learn to hear the birds singing, children playing, feel our feet on the ground, and though we may not feel safe, we begin to understand that we are safe, and no one can hurt us (like that) again.

We are empowered by the fact that we are survivors and celebrate resilience. And yet, with all that knowledge, and practice, and bringing ourselves back to the present moment, PTSD has skeleton hands that grab you and pull you into the past. It is the nature of the illness.

When I’m asked, “Are you sure you want to remember your past?” I say to myself, and sometimes to the person (depending on my mood), “How would you feel if you had big swatches of your life missing?” I’m not talking about little memories of places, or people that come and go, I’m talking sometimes years and years, blacked out. Imagine the feeling of knowing that you are alive because you are here, but you have no real congruent memories to make sense of yourself, your wholeness as a person. And, often when you do have flashes of the past, your emotions,  feelings, and a very protective mind stop you from remembering.

My mind wouldn’t let me repress my memories any longer. I knew intuitively that I needed to know my past. I needed a timeline of my life. I didn’t want darkness any longer. I wanted to live, not just survive.  I understood the truth would be painful. Traumatic memories are painful. But for me, in order to get some control over some of my most severe symptoms I needed to uncover my past, my truth.

It was hard, excruciatingly painful at times, but worth it! I still have symptoms, but now I can name them. And it turns out that I also have some feelings that I wasn’t ready to process before now. I understand where they come from, and why they are happening. I feel confident in the tools I’ve acquired and know I will be able to move through the current waves.

But in all honesty,  I took some time after I went to the doctor and asked myself, “Are You sure you want to delve into these feelings and emotions?  To poke around healing the inner child? And I say back, to myself with  love and affection (and a dash of denial), “Yes, I do want to do this work, and remember, because, Whether it Daisy’s or Weeds it’s still my life.”

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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

Hope from the Flowers

Buried

feeling as if I’m suffocating

thinking that it’s just a season

it’s long, it’s hard

but time-limited, like the seasons.

On guard from the howling, swirling wind

sounding like echos of the past

sinister laughs

then silence

dark, deep silence.

It could be worse

It’s only weather…weather the storm

I’ll forget the destruction

bury it deep, make it smaller

Until I discover it wasn’t

a storm that passed

it was me!

Invisible to the pain

the ruination of a person

a body, mind, soul

a girl, a woman

who wasn’t allowed to own her body.

Anxious, panicked

crying to myself, and asking

What do I do?

Why won’t this go away?

Why must the skeleton hands of the past

grab me and keep trying to pull me down?

Suddenly; it’s quiet

a lull in the blizzard winds

a pause in the crackling trees.

Looking down I see

bits of green making their way

through the snow.

The crocus and tulips

know to bloom again

they are determined to ignore

the storms, the cold, the wind

It is their purpose to bloom and grow.

I realize that I can take this lesson from the flowers.

I can persevere and grow

to speak, and speak again

to feel

to heal

to breathe in the gift, this gift of hope

hope from the flowers.

[image error]©Alexis Rose, 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      

Metamorphosis of a Healing Journey

The topic of transformation, metamorphosis, growth, change, (insert whatever word works for your personal journey) has been front and center for me lately. Most of us want to grow and change.  It’s hard; no one said it was going to be easy. But rarely do people talk about the absolute pain one feels when emotional wounds get ripped open in order to process, heal and grow.

It’s a lonely journey because no one else can go inside of you and heal those wounds or take away the rawness. You have to be the one to walk through it.

However, it certainly doesn’t have to be an “alone” journey. We can find therapists, support groups, friends, family, books, even blogs so we are surrounded by the support we need. In fact, I think it’s imperative to find people who absolutely “get it” and can relate with empathy when we are in the process of transforming, and becoming the person we want to be.

It doesn’t have to be a shattered past that motivates a person to grow and change. Growth and change are important to continue to do for the rest of our lives. Some people may find themselves at a spiritual crossroads, others may find themselves feeling empty after dedicating years to a career, and some people are simply unable to feel content, knowing that there is some road not yet taken that is calling for them to explore. Whatever the motivation, the transformation to a new way of being from the inside can be painful and sometimes scary.

I have said to a few people, that I believe if we could interview a caterpillar as they transform into a butterfly and ask them, how it feels, they would tell us it is excruciatingly painful. They are completely changing from the inside out. The end result is beautiful; Butterflies are beautiful!

I knew what I had to do in order to heal the wounds of my past. I knew what I wanted my internal life to look like, and I made a commitment to myself that I was going to do whatever it took to heal; continue healing. But I wasn’t prepared for the loneliness of the journey. Now I understand that without self-compassion, acceptance, and support it would be impossible to continue healing and growing.

When I feel that pain of loneliness, I remember why I chose to face the past, process what happened, understand my PTSD, find others who are also on a healing journey, and remind myself, the metamorphosis of a personal legend begins when you accept who you were, who you are now, and who you will be.

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Image from the collaboration: Of Earth and Sky by 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