I have no idea how I’m going to write about healing in psychotherapy. I keep waiting on God to give me an outline but it never comes. I’m beginning to understand I need to simply write where I am. So here I am.
Writing and posting to my blog while healing from PTSD are not easy. I just about pass out after those 30- and 31-day series because I crash and burn afterward. However, I absolutely refuse to cave in.
I’m driven. I can’t sit still and let this “disorder” order me around. I’m wired to perform at the pace of Silicon Valley, i.e., 12-hour workdays, work through lunch, sit at my desk until I get it done. Working weekends are always an option.
That’s not how He wants me to work any more but like any normal child, I ignored Him and tried it my way anyway.
Recently I started writing a book. I want it finished now but I keep hearing I have plenty of time. Go slow. I hate slow. For a week I sat at my desk composing for eight or more hours a day.
My wrists and shoulders started to hurt at first then the exhaustion set in. Well, pain is growth so suddenly “go slow” isn’t so bad. Maybe He really does know what is best for me.
Life in the slow lane
I have to learn His schedule for me, how to pace myself and figure out a reasonable “rest” schedule. It’s that ever elusive rhythm of rest. Just when I think I have it figured out, it escapes me.
I mean I have to pace EVERYTHING. I can’t do all my shopping in one day like I used to. I can’t go on a hike, grab groceries, come home, get a shower and do some gardening then whip up some dinner like I did before. Getting up at 5:30 a.m. to take dogs for a three-mile walk, going to work at a stressful job, followed by Bible study then home by 9:30 p.m.? Forget about it.
I’ve noticed that healing from PTSD means it’s harder to use my brain. I’m whip smart and street smart. However, when it comes to me, I’m clueless. What if one of my abusers was me? Absolutely likely because I abused my body for the sake of having a so-called life but what if life is best lived at a slower pace?
I wasn’t built for 80-hour work weeks and hours on end at my desk typing, photoshopping, editing audio/video, socializing around the web. I wasn’t made for shopping till I drop. Although that last thought is quite painful ‘cause I love me some shopping. Yeah, Amazon but I love touching fabric, smelling perfume and trying on things. Okay, I digress.
I can’t even drive the speed limit. I lock cruise control at 72 mph. “Life” and “slow” in the same sentence? Aw hell no but that’s what I’m learning. Slower is such a foreign concept. It seems unnatural.
What I really want
Twelve years of PTSD work and I still have days when I feel the same as when I started. At least I’m not seeing my therapist three times a week for seven hours in session. Yep, you read it right. I used to see him Monday and Friday mornings for two hours, and Wednesday nights were our three-hour sessions.
When finances dried up we dropped Mondays and Fridays and now only have Wednesday evenings. I schedule nothing on Thursdays because I’m death warmed over recovering from the night before. Some days it gets extended into Friday or even the entire weekend depending upon what popped up Wednesday night.
What I really want from therapy is for it to be over yet I want to be friends with my therapist, which apparently is ethically unsavory. He’s become my best friend, confidant and a loving father figure without the hugs, birthday cards, Christmas presents, bail out loans or whatever else good dads do.
Fortunately, the fact that I burnout after writing blog articles about my healing is a sign my writing has become a part of the healing process. This is a good thing.
So pardon me while I heal at His perfect pace for me. My imperfect brain is still adjusting but my heart grows stronger. Boricua Confidential is for anyone struggling as they heal. I’m struggling as I heal so this blog is as much for you as it is for me.
I promise my blog articles won’t be boring. They’ll be real and raw. Hopefully they induce healing in you.
I want it all and I want it now. God says, “Hurry up and wait.” “Okay,” I sheepishly reply.