Slowing Down When Foggy Brain Rolls In

Confessions of a conscientious woman not acting so conscientiously:

* A few days ago my son pointed out that the fourteen thank you notes I had written and was about to post had the stamp on the left side and the return address on the right.   (Should you ever wonder, the USPS will send letters like that, as long as the addressee is legible and clear.  Who knew?)

*Later that day I called another carpool mom to work out a plan for the next day, only to remember mid-conversation that she had called me the day before and we had figured it out.

* I blew off my son's orthodontist appointment, even though I had answered the reminder call the day before.

 Mr. W disregarded a boundary of mine by going somewhere that put him in contact with persons of questionable influence from the past. He was jerky and proud about it. "I have to live. I can't live in fear of you. I'm fine. I knew you would freak out over this."

I felt the established trauma pathways taking over. My brain was foggy and my body felt shaky and tense and hopeless and hollow and teary. I felt like an observer looking at myself and noting my reaction as it happened.

I went to auto-pilot with an old pain relief strategy of mine.  When things were tough, I would put on my metaphorical hard had, find a huge job in the house or yard, dive in and stay busy.  This was my coping mechanism for so many years.

I tried to unpack from a weekend trip, catch up on laundry and bills and go running, which made everything worse.

Years ago I took a ferry around the San Juan Islands and we got into some thick fog. I was disappointed that I was in such a beautiful place and gray mist was all I could see out the window. The captain blew the fog horn every few minutes, and he slowed the boat way down. He didn't increase the speed so he could get through the fog as quickly as possible; he took his time. The trauma fog slows my brain down, too. And I need time.

I sat down and forced myself to do practically nothing.  I made myself a sandwich. I tried to take it easy and to give my thinking brain the rest of the day off.

But, there was a battle in my head, and I had to tell the invisible people to shut up a dozen times. They wouldn't let me be still. It's like I don't love me enough to give myself compassion and a little loving treatment.

I like this quote by Melodie Beattie:


"The idea of giving ourselves what we want and need can be confusing, especially if we have spent many years not knowing that it's okay to take care of ourselves.  Taking our energy and focus off others and their responsibilities and placing that energy on to ourselves and our responsibilities is a recovery behavior that can be acquired.  We learn it by daily practice."  - Melodie Beattie