The biggest lesson I learned this year is that every body has a limit to the amount and duration of stress it can endure. Whether it’s physical, emotional, psychological, etc. Our minds are often stronger than our bodies, but every physical body has a breaking point before it shuts down and demands rest. Some people never reach their breaking point, which is great, and then some do. Shutting down looks different for everyone, and this is my personal experience.

“It takes tremendous energy to keep functioning while carrying the memory of terror, and the shame of utter weakness and vulnerability.” –Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D. from The Body Keeps The Score

I always knew I carried a lot of weight and stress, ever since I was a young girl. It began to manifest early in my childhood in the form of crushing anxiety and paranoia. This stemmed from trauma which I will get to in another post. The anxiety kept me up most nights in tears, as well and the fear that something bad would happen to me. I was always so—afraid. Naturally my nervous system began to become very taxed which showed up in other areas of my life. As I aged, I endured more hardships and emotional stress (as everyone does), thus filling up my cup even more. With more autonomy over my life, I found outlets that kept my cup from overflowing even though I was always on the verge of spilling.

Life kept piling things on, making the past few years VERY rough. After being raped, divorced, harassed, a rough ending to a relationship, and losing the very little dignity I had left at a job I worked so hard for, my body shut down and I fell into a very bad depression. I became very ill and lethargic, could barely pick up a barbell–my whole body would ache when I did so. The physical symptoms started first with the weakness and body aches, my hips locked up and I could barely get out of bed each morning. Then a severe respiratory sickness, hair loss, and lack of appetite. Not only did the body stiffness make it difficult to move well, but so did the complete and utter apathy for life that came shortly after the physical symptoms. When I wasn’t feeling well physically I kept going until my spirit shut down too.

For the first time in my adult life, I experienced depression. I thought I had before, but I quickly realized that was just sadness—which is a normal emotion that everyone feels. Depression is different, I felt nothing. I laid in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, desperate to feel an ounce of affection for my loved ones or to feel it in return. The small moments I would start to feel, I would just cry wondering what was happening to me and then go back to emptiness. Though I felt nothing, everything felt so heavy and the silence was deafening. I would look at my beloved boyfriend who wouldn’t leave my side through it, and wonder why he felt so far away. He was holding me in his arms but I felt like I couldn’t reach him at times. I lost my ability to connect and feel warmth, two things that have made me who I am.

After the wave of depression came the panic; I finally cracked. My mind, body, and spirit were at war. Every memory of terror and every mistake I made that I’ve spent my whole life avoiding or forgetting came rushing back to me as if I was being forced to watch a horrible movie. I felt so overwhelmed, complete sensory overload to a point where I couldn’t taste my food at times because what was going on inside my brain was consuming me. I felt like I was fighting for my life inside my own head because my rational brain was telling me I shouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling because many people have trauma (and my ex saying, “people choose to be depressed” kept replaying), and my emotional brain was struggling to deal with the weight I have been carrying my whole life. The visceral response I was having to this limbic system dysregulation started to become too much—but I sat with it—for the first time in my life. I sat with the discomfort, I sat with the confusion, the grief. Grief and I started to become friends. I’ve met her before, but would usually run in the opposite direction.

Carrying the memory of terror and grief without acknowledging and making friends with it came at a high price. It cost me relationships, my sense of self, my health. I am still sitting with it, with nothing left to pay. My only option now is to make friends with it and explore the fragmented experiences and rage that I had to keep a secret from myself for so long. Though I am just in the beginning stages, I at least know that all my post-traumatic reactions were efforts to save my life. I was never a bad person, I was just desperate and in pain. We are all doing the best that we can with the tools that we have.

Sitting with everything has allowed me to gain some sense of self back—this time a raw and humble version of myself. This extreme vulnerability is nerve racking, but I am here. I am present, and not running. Instead of feeling crushed, I now have new tools and a sense of direction. Most importantly I have hope.

***I share all of this because I believe that transparency and vulnerability helps others. Hearing and reading the stories of others helped me, and made me feel a little less crazy. Community and communication are vital to not just existing, but to living.***

Always with love, Jade