So, I wasn't expecting the little "air-pocket on the plane" feeling, when it showed up on Saturday. I had awakened to a feeling of sheer joy. My inner joy is back. It is rebuilding a foundation deep inside. It comes bubbling up like an artisan well. I allow it. It feels good. To have a "block" of the sun, to notice sad music began to scroll through my mind as thoughts of "what if I fall into the abyss of depression again" began to surface.
My level of anxiety, which was previously flat-lined began to increase over the course of the day. I panicked. All of a sudden, there I was, pigtails, maybe three or four years old, standing at the feet of one parent or the other, Mama or Daddy. I wanted, I needed, I was begging to be lifted up.
I emailed my therapist. I am learning to fly solo. I am learning to fill my own bucket. And sometimes, I need a coach. I need a surrogate to fill in the gaps. She is that person for me. So, my conversation via email went like this.
I am feeling really hopeful and content. I feel that there is an excitement brewing for something positive, even though I don't know what. Maybe because I am working toward the goal of finding me and my next adventure.
In the midst of this, I feel an unsettling anxiety (not huge) but it has built throughout the day. The thoughts of "what if I plummet into depression again? What if I feel like a lost kid again? What if I see my wounded self again for what it was?"
I don't want to feel that I have abandoned the little me again. Yet I am so enjoying the beauty of who I am becoming.
I guess I just need to know if this is normal. And I need to know that even though we have taken some training wheels off this ride, you are close enough to help me slow down before I crash.
Does that make sense?
She responded:
Yes. Makes sense. Know that how you feel will follow what you think about. I would be shocked if the automatic negative/anxious thoughts just disappeared. It's a journey. Keep redirecting to the new, the thoughts that feel good. Just because you think it doesn't make it true.
And yes, I'm here.
The
amazing relief that went through me was as real as the initial feeling
of being picked up by my parents at three and four years old. This is
how it resonated through me.
Thank you... For responding
with directions. I will follow them. Thank you for reassurance and for
"lifting me". It may sound corny to ask for it. And I have decided
not to be ashamed by it.
I find it interesting that I
have the same emotional reaction inside when you respond after I get the
nerve to ask, that I did when I was little. I was so little I would
raise my arms to be "lifted" and I'm not even sure my hands touched
either of them at the waist. But to be lifted up and to wrap my arms
around shoulders that held me, felt safer than anything I know.
I
don't know if we even have words for some of the feelings we experience
as adults while healing through some of the worst traumas of our
lives. I am unsure what to call the way I am transported to safety
without sounding like I am on a Star Trek Episode. What I do know is
the familiar, safe, security that I feel when my heart opens wide up and
a three year old blonde with a little dress and pigtails steps out of
it. She is brave and courageous. And she is willing to step forward,
arms raised and ask to be lifted into the arms of breath-taking safety.
And, if I continue to watch her, she will wrap her tiny arms right back
around the shoulders or neck of that security, lay her head on the
shoulder of that safe place and thank that person who "lifts" her from
whatever scary memory chooses to scurry through her mind.
Being lifted is all it takes to banish the negative thought process from the ebb and flow. One day, I'm going to be a "lifter".
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