I am struggling through the realization that I often don’t have help getting my needs met, and therefore have to do that for myself most of the time. I’ve been helping other people meet their needs recently without having that provided to me, and working through the issue in an attempt to understand, gain clarity, be able to articulate the issue to myself, be prepared to articulate it to others, and deal with the aftermath of a trigger that was the emotional equivalent of getting kicked down the stairs yesterday is just…a lot.
I was really close to reaching my first weight milestone earlier this week, but I didn’t stick to the eating patterns necessary to keep going that direction. I had plans to do an hour-long yoga session today – a big deal for me because that’s not a comfortable space for me right now – and I could barely get through a 20-minute session. I was upset and cursing by minute 17.
And my body won’t do it.
I have the experience of contracting when I’m triggered. Physically, mentally, emotionally – I go into a ball when I’m overwhelmed by my trauma neuron paths lighting up. I’ve lost a lot of flexibility from nearly six years of this, and my once-easy forward fold in half is now a bit of a rounded fold forward, among other things. I have trouble clasping my hands behind my back, trouble moving my legs in ways that require flexibility in my hips, etc. I keep practicing yoga in the hope that I can regain flexibility, and combat the effects on my body that I’ve been noticing.
I was really hoping that yoga would be easier today, but it’s not. I was hoping a lot of things would be easier today, but they’re not. And after struggling through the 20 minutes with little patience for myself and not a lot left in the tank, I’m ready to give up.
What I’ve really valued about being part of the blogging community are the stories y’all tell of not giving up, of keeping on as best you can as you battle through your mental health circumstances, whatever those look like. Which is why I’m not giving up today. Even if it’s ugly, even if I have to pause to rest, I’m going to do it. Because somewhere under all of the PTSD I want to do it for me.