Heavy Hurting Heart - And Perspective
I wrote the below over a month ago, late in April, before the events that have rocked our world in the last week - or from a different perspective before those events brought greater visibility to a deep wound in our collective psyche that has been festering for decades on centuries.
"I can't breathe." How different that phrase sounds to me today. I know that someone else losing a limb doesn't mean that breaking your leg doesn't hurt like hell. But let's just acknowledge that in this analogy I merely broke my leg. It doesn't mean that it wasn't traumatic, but it sure changes the perception and thus really the reality of that trauma.
That's one of the amazing things about the brain and the ways in which it manages trauma. If you can step back enough to gain perspective. If you can apply your DBT skills and STOPP - you can separate yourself from living in it and start to deal with it. And you can start to break down and stop the pure gut reactions; the pure instinctual panic lessens and recedes. I had - and have - the luxury of time and space to step back and manage my own trauma. Today my heart aches for the families with fresh trauma, and a callous populace who put that trauma on parade without respite.
In that light, my new perspective on breathing:
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but my heart... it hurts. She’s better... and the world is crazy. Everything make sense except my perception/reaction. I can’t relax. My heart hurts. I can’t trust she’s breathing when she’s quiet. My brain... she’s on fire. And if something happens to me, no one I know knows enough about tech to find anything I own. Even the things they need. How can I take care of them? How can I be sure they will be okay?
Alright... that seems like a normal parent concern. I can’t. No parent can be sure everything’s okay. All I can do is my best. And so it makes sense that I can’t breathe. But seriously, I can’t breathe....
"I can't breathe." How different that phrase sounds to me today. I know that someone else losing a limb doesn't mean that breaking your leg doesn't hurt like hell. But let's just acknowledge that in this analogy I merely broke my leg. It doesn't mean that it wasn't traumatic, but it sure changes the perception and thus really the reality of that trauma.
That's one of the amazing things about the brain and the ways in which it manages trauma. If you can step back enough to gain perspective. If you can apply your DBT skills and STOPP - you can separate yourself from living in it and start to deal with it. And you can start to break down and stop the pure gut reactions; the pure instinctual panic lessens and recedes. I had - and have - the luxury of time and space to step back and manage my own trauma. Today my heart aches for the families with fresh trauma, and a callous populace who put that trauma on parade without respite.
In that light, my new perspective on breathing:
Only the weak (or crazed) fear that someone else breathing under an open sky means there’s less oxygen in the world for them. It shouldn’t be a big statement to say that black lives matter. It should be common sense to everyone. But it is NOT. And to paraphrase a quote floating around the interwebs - it is not enough to not be racist, we all need to be loudly anti-racists.
If you’ve never met one of the cretins who truly believe that black lives don’t matter - or at least not as much as white ones - I wish you joy and that you continue on that blessed path. In the meantime, let’s just all stop assuming that this phrase is somehow targeted against you or anyone else. It’s the cry of an oxygen starved people reaching for the sky. No one is trying to steal your oxygen; they’re just trying to breathe.
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