The object of writing is to write to yourself, to let yourself know what you’ve been trying to avoid.”
The Body Keeps the Score -Bessel Van Der Kolk
Been away a bit. Still writing plenty but haven’t had much time to sit and put anything into a keyboard, or maybe I haven’t made time? I went and connected with some old friends and did some professional development, I’ve had some urgent family matters to attend to and I’ve also been taking some other deep dives into the CPTSD journey. So, while I’ve been away, I haven’t been quite as available to myself, and I realized while driving yesterday and listening to “The Body Keeps the Score” for the 5th or 6th time, that not stopping to write isn’t good for me. For one, I get stuck in a serious negative feedback loop, focused on the loss and pain around my relationship and all the things I don’t know about what I did, and while I know it’s healthy to accept and acknowledge that pain, running through what-ifs and maybes keeps me very stuck. I love her, I miss her, I regret what happened and I still hope to repair it one day. For another, I don’t open myself up to looking at other parts of me that I need to accept and work on, writing has given me that window into my own repair and healing and I need to do it more not less. So, here are some thoughts I’ve been rolling around my head for the last few weeks, one of the striking things for me is the realization that I couldn’t or didn’t know how to ask for or accept help. Help that may have prevented all the pain I inflicted on myself and others, on the world around me, and I am trying to figure out why. I think this is a huge problem for many in my shoes, knowing we are losing, but not knowing how to say it. I don’t profess to have any answers here, it’s just my insight.
As far back as Christmas time 2019, and maybe even before, I had one or two friends who had been through their own serious trauma and associated crashes encouraging me to get help. Encouraging CBT, EMDR and other modalities of trauma therapy to help me lighten the load and be a happier, better human. I resisted. I had a ton of excuses and told myself, and my friends, a ton of lies:
“I had this”
“I could manage”
“I didn’t need help”
“Other people have it far worse than I do, my problems aren’t real.”
I’m sure there were others but these are the ones that come to mind. Anyway, I’ve been looking hard in the mirror, beyond the mirror and deep into myself about the real reasons I couldn’t tell someone I was broken, I wasn’t ok, I needed help. Maybe something I found will help someone else reach out, maybe it will help someone to accept help before they fall off the ledge as I did. Maybe I can prevent someone from causing the hurt that I caused.
I think the big one is embarrassment and shame, ok that’s two but they’re related. I believed the lie I was telling myself and the world, I was strong and capable, I could manage my shit and I had managed my shit, this was just another bump in a long bumpy road. I would manage the immediate threat by the skin of my teeth and then find time to go do a reset. Bullshit. I was afraid to admit I might not be the unflappable force, that I could show some weakness and vulnerability. People might respect me less or think me less capable or incapable altogether. I might not get the job or leadership role, I may not be accepted, or even worse, they may reject me.
And let’s just get the 900 lb. gorilla out in the open. I spent my life projecting as a tough, capable, calm under pressure, able to deal with anything and everything in any situation. Nobody could fuck with me and no situation could get to me. I could manage any and all challenges. I can’t possibly need help, I got this, it would be self-defeating to admit I need help. Not only wold others think less of me, but I would think less of myself.
So what else? Social stigmas are real. Despite our best efforts, we have a long way to go in the world of mental health. in this world that celebrates and rewards survivors and survival it’s extremely hard to admit you are broken or suffering, that you require assistance or help, that you are lost and confused. Losing control of your thoughts, emotions and eventually your actions. I’ve never felt so alone in a room full of people I trust and care about, than I did when I realized I needed help and could say “No, I’m not ok” or “Can you help me?”.
One of the problems with the armor I was wearing, is you start to lose track of the lie and reality. When things are good, or you are numb, you start to believe you can and will survive everything. You feel stronger and more capable than you really are and you don’t realize how fragile the foundation you are standing on is. When you start to break, you lose the thing that was keeping you functional, that false front lets you down, you are afraid to face the people who love you, you are afraid to let them see you without the mask, you are afraid to say “I can’t do this anymore” you are afraid to let them down. You’ve already let yourself down, how can you let down the people you love?
I think in the end though, I just didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t know who to ask. Despite the availability of information and offers for help, saying “I need help” was too much, I couldn’t find the courage to utter the words to people I deeply care about and love, to people who can’t speak to me now because I came apart so hard. In hindsight, saying I need help, being vulnerable and open to help, would’ve cost me far less than I had to spend to get here.
I’m learning and growing daily. The gift of hindsight is a beautiful, yet horrifying way to learn. to see the damage you did because you lacked the tools the utter something so simple.
“I’m not ok, I’m not fine, I need help.”
