The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

When I returned to London a few weeks ago spring had literally exploded all over the place. It was insane. In my garden our magnolia tree was bursting with pink flowers, the cherry in the corner dropping little white petals like it was gently snowing and although the daffodils had passed, the purple and white muscari bulbs (had to look that up) were everywhere - as if intentional! I had forgotten what spring can look like, feel like. London might have some of the shittiest weather months on end, but it does rival any other country’s spring symphony for sure.

And, it must be said, there was a LOT of sunshine. It’s pretty simple for this LA girl; when the sun shines my mind sees the possibilities of the day, the promise of it all, and everything seems a little lighter. My Belfast born husband doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but seeing the light makes me feel the light. And these past two weeks were filled with blue skies and sunshine. The ground around us is transitioning from winter as each day passes, and I have discovered a slow and gradual transition within me as well. Time is that great healer we all know well, it helps you not be so reactionary, helps you inhabit the ‘pause’.

When there’s a trauma it’s much like a open wound. Raw, aching, everything that touches it or even comes near it, hurts, aggravates, stings, and you want to recoil and retreat. The triggers for my trauma with the house were coming from every direction in the beginning and so it was easier not to engage as much, lower my chances of more pain. I even missed out on what felt like a once in a lifetime celebration because I was too depleted and just couldn’t push. But now, with a bit of space, I’m noticing the scar tissue my body is placing around the wound. Along with the scab that hardens and will eventually fall off - if I don’t pick at it - the scar tissue developed is a natural protective layer against further pain. And yet therein lies the paradox; it is this scar tissue that at first is a positive bodily response to help heal, but eventually it has to get broken down, processed out, and discarded otherwise there could be a different type of pain later on.

Time is helping distinguish between the deep sadness that took root and the desire to move on; how to honor the sadness without becoming depressed or unbearably vulnerable. A friend shared with me how her two year battle with bladder issues made her phobic of any travel that wasn’t close to a hospital, literally reducing her movements to big cities. Another friend’s entire body still breaks out into a sweat the moment she hears a fire engine. I’ve been questioned myself if I’m moving on fast enough. I suppose the honest answer is I don’t know. I have never been in this situation before and all I can do is confront the emotions that come up and recognize my responses to life as it unfolds. I do know I’m able to observe the triggers that once set me off into floods of tears with more perspective now, almost sitting back and watching it happen without falling apart. And my adjuster tells me I’m understanding the language of insurance companies in a much more profound way (although I’m not so sure I feel great about that!).

But my well remains pretty empty and I feel significantly more sensitive which I’ve got to get a hold of. I recently had a terrible confrontation and I felt myself getting smaller and smaller by the minute. It was a pretty unjust scenario as I saw it and frankly, it’s my achilles heal not to be understood. I realized mid-way through this experience that I just couldn’t fight, not now. My chest is still tight, the inhalers on my desk remain a daily reminder of how allergies plus stress make it so I can’t breathe properly, and I had to step aside from defending myself in order to really defend myself. Wow what a life lesson for me! ‘Moving on’ from the fire isn’t just about less crying and fewer triggers. It’s about understanding my loss, shedding some of the externals that gave me my identity, and reminding myself daily, hourly if needed, of all the opportunity for wonderment that exists all the time; filling up that well so my chest relaxes again and I don’t have to be in fight or flight anymore.

I so appreciate this space to share my thoughts, big and small, as I know I’m not alone in this struggle. Everyone has a story to tell and a way to relate to the good, the bad and the ugly. There is so much strength in community, it is worth every effort to build it, nurture it, treasure it. Thank you:)