Into the Quiet Now

Quashing Night Terrorism…

Friends, I recently traveled to celebrate my sister’s significant birthday milestone. It was a glorious week filled with so many laughs, too much food, dancing into the moon-lit night, chardonnay sips, clinking glasses, stories shared, whispers of love, and more laughter.

I returned to Texas with my heart full and my body in desperate need of sleep, swimming, and routine. I, once again, recommitted to my early morning swims in an effort to jiggle down the cobwebs of satiated gluttony and calm my overstimulated nervous system. Little did I recognize how overstimulated I was.

The early morning alarm was startling at first, but I convinced myself that the hardest part was simply throwing my legs out of the bed to land on the floor. The rest would become easier with each movement forward. It did. The blanketed silence of the hour breathed a peacefulness into my being. The darkness of the hour enveloped me as I drank my coffee while saying my prayers by the breakfast nook lights. I even managed to drive the I-35 corridor without choking the steering wheel while repeating mantras of ease in my head.

Day one done. Day two done. Day three arrived on the heels of a sleepless night. My resolve caved to the exhaustion and the beginning of internal negotiations. “I will go at noon… I will swim at the Y…. Okay,  I will go tomorrow….” Day four seemed to be a continuation of Day three except that the voices of negotiation escalated into voices of recrimination. “You are such a failure…You will never get better at this rate…Sleep is over rated, so shame on you for not going…”

My psyche began to flag. A sense of disassociation began to lay siege on my being. I could not identify what was keeping me from sleeping; and I could not put my arms around what I was feeling in my body outside of a sense of numbness perpetrated by a sinking sense of shame and failure.

Day five I was going to go swim no matter whether I had sleep or not. This was my resolve. At least it was my resolve until night terrors had me screaming, lurching, hitting, cursing, and wanting to kill in my afflicted dream world.

Day five I was lost to the night. Lost to such deep depression. Lost to a hidden scar I could not name.

As you all know, I have done a lot of healing work throughout my life. I know the questions to ask myself. I know to pause. I know to breathe. I know how to ground myself. I even know to ask for help, which I did. But I could not find a way out of this gravitational internal abyss.

Ed noticed. He asked if I was triggered. He asked if I was depressed. He tried to get me to talk about it. I deflected, denied, and deftly danced away from his advances.

I was numb to my feelings. I felt inept to understand what my feelings were, where they were coming from, or how to process them. And in that lost and lonely world, I felt one overarching emotion: fear.

Fear moved in wanting to establish its power over me. According to Aimee Apigian MD MS MPH, the leading medical expert on how life experiences get stored in the body, and accelerating the trauma-healing journey through her signature model and methodology, The Biology of Trauma,

“Fear born from a moment of intense pain and shock in our past has its power over our present life. Fear becomes our biology.”

In the words of Dutch psychiatrist and author, Dr. Bessel van der Kolk,

“Three elements of a trauma are an experience that is overwhelming, unbelievable, and unbearable.  Our mind and body’s instinct will be to numb, suppress, and avoid.  That is how we survive and get through experiences that are too painful for us to feel at that time.”

What had stirred my pot of fear? What had triggered the sleepless nights morphing into heart-crushing night terrors? What had stolen my lifeline?

I needed and wanted to be able to see what I could not see. I wanted to be able to see beyond just a narrow keyhole. I needed to take a deep dive into my scarred, scared woundedness. Oh, goodie…

In that yearning to understand and be understood, I knew I would need to pause. I would need to find quiet. A quiet to quell the voices raging in my head. The voices that had no voice, too. I would need self-compassion.

And, so, I sat in the silence. I sat in the stillness. No more hiding. I did not fight it. I was just quiet. Quiet. Waiting for the voice deep inside to come forward ensuring me that I was not alone. Not alone. And that is when I saw her. Little frightened Bess calling out from under a large pile of dirty unfolded clothes, hiding in the back-est back corner of her dark closet. She desperately wanted to be invisible, and she desperately wanted someone compassionate to find her, hold her, rock her, and love her.

Had I been reliving that part of my life the week before unconsciously while being with my family? Had I unconsciously been hiding while still wanting to be accepted? Had I been protecting myself from perceived, but not real, danger?

In that questioning stillness, I recognized that a viewpoint is just a view from a point and for my thoughts to shift, my perspective needed to shift. The call from last week’s newsletter Finding Forgiveness was calling me. Calling me to be accountable to the words and experiences I share each week with you. A call to see the really real and ground myself in the NOW, not the days of long ago. “Change your perspective and your thoughts will change,” according to author Neale Donald Walsch in his book series Conversations with God.

I took a breath (well really a lot of breaths) with my hand on my heart and sent love to that little girl hiding in the back-est back of her closet. I whispered words of safety to her. In my mind’s eye while tapping my chest rhythmically, I held her, rocked her, and stroked her long blonde hair covering her sweet young face.

I know the defenses I set up in the past to protect me were useful at that time. I know they rear up now in an effort to protect me where I have not learned to defend my deepest emotions or in situations that mimic the fears of old. They are only trying to protect the parts of me that were lost to the hits, inappropriate touches, verbal denigrations, and abandonment.

Looking deeper and honestly, I saw where I hid in plain sight throughout the week of celebrations. I saw where I used crutches to deflect attention away from myself. I saw how I became so small no one would see me or miss me. And I felt the toll in my body.

And with self-compassion, I shifted my perspective. I held on to my adult heart. I felt it beating. I felt my breath expanding my adult belly. In the quiet, I heard the birds calling to me. I saw the new blossoms populating our garden. I whispered love deep into my soul and it whispered it back. I was not alone. I was safe. I was held in the quiet. In… NOW.

As I have expressed, I share my experiences with you from the human side of a person who was deeply hurt by childhood and adolescent maltreatment in multiple forms. This early life adversity skewed my ability to see what is in front of me. Life, for me, and anyone touched my childhood maltreatment in any of its forms, is seen through a lens anxious for safety. Anxious for safe connection. Anxious for safe love.

Day six came. I did sleep. I checked Day six off as Done.

Yes, I am still struggling with night terrors. When I can, however, I am choosing self-compassion instead of judgement; and it is getting me to the pool. “Change your perspective and it will change your thoughts.” I am working on it one day at a time.

I leave you with this blessing from Irish poet, author, and mystic, John O’Donohue.

“May you listen to your longing to be free.
May the frames of your belonging be generous enough for your dreams.
May you arise each day with a voice of blessing whispering in your heart.
May you find harmony between your soul and your life.
May the sanctuary of your soul never become haunted.
May you know the eternal longing that lives in the heart of time.
May there be kindness in your gaze when you look within.
May you never place walls between the light and yourself.
May you allow the wild beauty of the invisible world
To gather you, mind you, and embrace you in belonging.”

Until next time, friends.