I am tired. God, I am so tired. For two whole months now, I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, simply because I feel like I have no other choice. If I sit down, I cry. No, that’s putting it too beautifully. I break. Or rather, I think I’m going to break—it's more like that. My pain is too big, too unbearable. And so, I just keep moving. The things I do then seem really constructive at first glance, really good, and that’s also the lie I tell myself at the time. I’m just young—36, not 70. I’m finally living again. But it’s too much, and I’m tired. Scared and tired. I’ve been spending more time downtown again—all for constructive purposes, sure—especially at night. The power of a city at night is not to be underestimated. I can feel it pulling at me; I feel the trauma waking up again. Because in that city, during those nights, I went through terrible things. The city scares me. Not during the day anymore, though it used to be that way too. But at night, the city still terrifies me.
Things have been hard lately. I’m in survival mode, just trying to make the absolute best of it. I’m doing everything I can to avoid feeling, but it’s starting to catch up with me. I haven’t embroidered in weeks either, and that’s not good for me. I just couldn’t do it anymore. There was so much restless energy in my body that embroidery felt too quiet. And when I forced myself to do it, to slow down and find peace, I would cry. The pain was too big. The pain is too big.
Yesterday, I realized how desperately I’ve been trying to maintain control over my life. By taking financial responsibility, by being social, and by forcing myself to get out there. But man, I feel tired, and unsafe. I feel emotionally unsafe. I long for peace. Peace, quiet, rest. Just leave me alone. But not too much, because then I feel lonely again. Then my safe nest turns into a prison, and that’s not the goal either.
Sometimes I get into these moods, these sudden waves. I’ll think I need more social contact, that I need to see more people. Then I do it, and I feel good. Alive, vibrant, bursting with life, completely alive. People applaud me for it, too. "Way to go, Nathalie! It’s so good that you’re getting out of the house!" And they're right, because they see a happy, vibrant version of me. But nobody sees the cost. Because the price of being social, of going out at night and then needing hours to calm my mind—not getting into bed before 1:00 AM (even if the gathering, even a perfectly innocent Bible study group, ended at 9:00 PM)—is high. Too high?
Maybe I need to learn to walk before I can run. Because these past few weeks, I’ve done a lot, changed a lot. Yesterday, I finally let go of the thing that kept me busiest during the day—the thing that kept me distracted so I wouldn’t have to feel anything. I’m done with it; I want to rest again. Yesterday, I picked up embroidery again. A tote bag with little plants on it. For the first half-hour, it was nice, rewarding, and peaceful. Wonderful, fun, good. And then came the tears. The grief, the pain. It all came pouring out. And that sucks. But it’s necessary, because I just can’t do this anymore. It has to come out. It has to be felt and lived through. I can’t keep running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Right now, I also have two new social events every week: a church that is new to me, and that home group (the Bible study I mentioned earlier). It’s amazing, fun, and uplifting. But it’s also a lot of stimuli. A lot to see, to hear, to feel, to process. Too much? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be able to process it better once I learn to find peace during the day again.
Other people aren’t like me. Other people go to work, have hobbies, meet up with friends. But I am not "other people." I am Nathalie, a person with PTSD. That is no small thing, and above all, it's something I need to keep paying attention to. Because if I don’t, I start engaging in behaviors that aren't good for me. Then my addiction whispers all kinds of lies into my ear, and I start acting on them, too. I did that this past week, and it’s not good. Those are alarm bells going off, but I ignore and rationalize them. But not anymore. I am tired, empty, depleted. Yesterday, I shared my worries, grief, and fears with a friend from my twelve-step program, and at the end of our conversation, she said: "This is a victory story!" I didn’t feel like it was, but I know she’s right. Why? Well, I could just as easily let myself be pulled down by my current circumstances. How many people in my situation wouldn't turn to drinking, drugs, or 'looking for love in all the wrong places'? A lot, I can tell you that. And yes, I am tired, but all things considered, I am still standing pretty strong, because I haven’t done any of those things. I am drawing the line here, before I actually do.
It’s time to crawl back into my nest. And when the time comes, when the energy is there, I’ll fly back out again. But for now, I need that safety for a bit. And I have that safety; I know it. I’ve worked on this for years. My very own stabilizer—I know it well!
By the way, one of my 'new stabilizers' is drawing. A while ago, I just started watching YouTube videos about it, went to the store to buy a sketchbook and some pens, and I just started drawing. I found it so fun and relaxing, but over the past few weeks, I didn’t dare or want to make time for it. It was too slow, too much slowing down, and emotionally, that felt too threatening. But yesterday, after embroidering, I drew again. For the first time, it wasn't urban sketching, no buildings, but a happy bear! Drawing that animal made me happy! So drawing is definitely a tool I am adding to my toolkit. It really is something that calms me down, unlike all the other destructive coping mechanisms I’ve been using lately.
Maybe soon, I can go through life feeling just as happy as my bear?
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Love the sketch! You may have a flair for drawing.
Remember, no giant leaps, just small steps.
Thank you, Rick 😊😊!
And yes, indeed! Yesterday I took really good care of myself and I have decided to do only "familiar" things in the next five days, and I feel much safer already. I've realized that it was too much to go to two new home groups, the new church AND babysitting. All new places, strange places, places where my nervous system just goes loco because it is scanning all the time if I am safe. So for the next couple of days, I'll only do familiar things, and that's good. And on Wednesday, I can go back to the home group in the city. But for now, I need this. My safe nest, and when the bird is ready she can fly out again. But at least I HAVE a safe nest now 🙏❤️.
omg that bear is so cute! Keep drawing ❤️
☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️
Thanks, Bekah! 😊
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