One year. Yesterday marks one year since I got hurt. One year since I began living with a disability. One year of not always being in control. 2020 was definitely a year for the books by anyone’s measure. I truly am a phoenix rising from the ashes, although I’m not about to go all Ben Affleck and get a giant back tattoo.
I have spent a year battling and reflecting. I learned a lot about myself and the long term effects of trauma. Getting hurt marked the end of old Charlotte. A Charlotte who buried emotional pain, powered through all stress, and would never question a medical professional. A Charlotte who would never accept help from others even when she is drowning and completely incapable.
Can I transport your kids to and from school? Yes. Can I bring you dinner from Din Thai Fung? Yes. Can I drive you to your downtown doctor appointments? Yes. Can I just sit with you and be your friend right now? Yes. Would it be okay if I pray over you? Deep breathe. Okay……
I dug deep and allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of others. I stand in line at the grocery store, letting my hands shake. I let my head jerk back in the middle of staff meetings (and they are a zoom so EVERYONE sees and I can’t just hide in the back). I went camping with a large group of people who hadn’t seen me and participated even though I stuttered and let my body tremor along the way.
I’m most self-conscious in professional settings when I meet new people. They don’t know the “before” Charlotte. I feel like I have to prove myself. I immediately apologize for what they see (the need to apologize is probably something I will eventually work on in therapy) and explain that it’s a functional movement disorder, but really, no really, I’m fine.
Along the way in 2020, I allowed myself to take sick leave (I NEVER take sick leave unless I’m pregnant). Shortly after I returned to teaching, schools nationwide went into remote learning. An upside to teaching from home besides wearing leggings, is I could take time to practice breathing, to rest.
Teaching from home, also meant I lived/worked/parented at home with a house full of children with ADHD. The end of 2019 and start of 2020 saw two kids diagnosed with autism. I parented the fuck out of 2020! That’s all there is to that and I eagerly await the return of all my children to full time school even if one just happens to be in my class this year.
I went to physical therapy. There I began to understand the “why” of my disorder. I learned to breathe correctly and gain some control over the disorder.
Based on conversations with my physical therapist at the Neuroscience Institute, I started EMDR therapy. It is one of the hardest things I have ever done. People ask how I am doing. I always say, “I’m okay. I doing the hard work to get better.” Every week I reprocess the pain — the fear, terror, rejection, neglect. Every week I gear up to cry and allow the pain to be released through shakes and tremors. Sometimes it’s too much and we stop.
I became a student. I read and learned more about the nervous system, functional movement disorders, and trauma. During November and December I read 3 books that brought me new understanding.
The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk (warning: it’s a bit of a dry read)
My whole life I’ve always been able to dig deep and power through. Teaching stress? Dig Deep. Power Through. Parenting Stress? Dig deep. Power Through. Living in a constant state of fear for my first 18+ years? Dig deep power through.
My brain allowed me to hide the stress, the pain. My body held it and remembered it. My whole life people have commented on how tense my shoulders were. I was breathing backwards. My body held all the pain, the anxiety, the stress. The lidocaine toxicity was the triggering event for the functional movement disorder. It was sort of like the flood gates unleashed everything my body had been holding in.
Now I can no longer hide my stress or power through. If I say I’m fine, my body is a terrible secret keeper.
“I’m fine. Really. Totally cool.” Oh yeah? Wink wink wink . Snarl facial tremor, snarl facial tremor. Mouth flutters rapidly. Jazz hands dance.
“Well, I’m a little stressed. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Gonna have to do better than that. Arms begin to flail violently. Head swings back. Squinty face, chimpanzee smile.
Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents and Recovering from Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson
These are the best books I have ever read when it comes to understanding trauma and dealing with difficult parents. It isn’t about labeling your parents with a psychological diagnosis. The books explain the different types of emotionally immature parents (I’m lucky and I got 2 emotionally immature parents, they are just different flavors) and handbooks for setting boundaries. Lots and lots of anecdotes. Reading them, there were times I felt pulled into some one’s drama, unable to figure out what to do. It let me practice what to say and do. They are the first book in YEARS that I read with a highlighter.
Many times I cried as I read the books. I’ve felt so lost as to how to deal with my parents. Felt like I would be judged if I didn’t bail them out of their repeatedly bad decision making. The book was able to outline so clearly the toxic dynamics that have held me hostage. For the first time I didn’t feel trapped by them.
My therapist is very familiar with these books (she recommended Body Keeps the Score). As I read them, we were able to talk about them and incorporate the strategies suggested in Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents. Literally, I would flip the book open during our therapy sessions.
I began to feel empowered. The phoenix.
I blew up my life upon publishing chapter 36. It was like ripping off a band-aid. My entire life changed in that moment. It’s been a gut wrenching 4 months. Someday I will share, but it’s still too raw. However with a lot of love and support, I learned to set boundaries. Problems that had felt unsolvable, simply dissolved. People in my life noted the slight change in my demeanor — I was calmer, less intense.
In recent weeks, my body jerks have intensified (although generally my speech is a little better). Unfortunately, my body likes to prevent me from sleeping or even falling asleep. After several days without sleep, functioning gets more difficult. I will finally sleep for a night and then the cycle repeats itself.
I see Dr. McHH in a couple of days. I will definitely discuss the whole not sleeping thing. I had hoped Dr. McHH wouldn’t notice it was time for my annual, but he personally emailed me. I had been waiting for the reminder form letter that I could then toss on the counter and forget for awhile. No such luck.
As much as I enjoy our time together,
- I have a propensity for fainting during blood draws (and I KNOW he is going to want blood).
- I’ve been through so much. It can be hard/exhausting to briefly summarize. He’s seen me when I bring my kids in for check-ups. I see Dr. McHH eye my jazz hands and notice my stutter. I can tell he is genuinely concerned and I don’t want him to feel bad.
- He might want to try and retrieve those lost IUD strings…..
One year. I’m not the same person who started the year. I’m mentally stronger and yet more more vulnerable. My goal for 2021 is to stop mourning my disability. I try to put on a brave face, but that doesn’t mean I don’t allow the sadness to creep in and take over. I have fears about my future, that my disability will limit my options due to prejudice. When I am not worried about myself, I worried about my kids and the impact of their neuro-diverse minds on their futures. I hold onto the hope that 2020 was the start of something based on new understandings.
One freaking long ass year.
Comments
great blog but some pictures will make it better