Blog – Page 4

Renewing in the Underworld

January 20, 2020 By gwynn

Each of us has his own way of emerging from the underworld, mine is by writing. That’s why the only way I can keep going, if at all, is by writing, not through rest and sleep. I am far more likely to achieve peace of mind through writing than the capacity to write through peace. ~Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice‎

The most important journey you will take in your life will usually be the one of self transformation. Often, this is the scariest because it requires the greatest changes, in your life. ~Shannon L. Alder

Change is supremely inconvenient, uncomfortable and naturally scary. Yet we only move through life through the process of change, reinvention and renewal, and so bravery is our quintessential rebel for pushing us past our own limiting beliefs and behaviours. Bravery is feeling the fear, immersing yourself into it and through it so you can come out the other side. ~Christine Evangelou, Rocks Into Roses: Life Lessons and Inspiration for Personal Growth

Our world is filled with stories of the Underworld, the place of the dead. It is often portrayed as a dark place, a sad place, a lonely place. In western culture we don’t view the Underworld as a place of transformation, but rather as a final landing place, where are soul will rest, or not rest, for the rest of eternity.

In the story of Inanna, she spends three days, dead, in the Underworld after being killed by her sister, Ereshkigal, before she is freed by her handmaiden Ninshubar. In this story Inanna’s time in the Underworld is that of transformation, reformation, and eventually rebirth as she emerges back through the gates with the aid of her friend and handmaiden.

I see our time in the Underworld not as a “final resting place” but more as a place of transformation like in the story of Inanna. I see us traveling in and out of the Underworld throughout our lives, and have come to name this space and time The Goo.

Long time readers have heard/read me talk/write about The Goo before. The Goo is that time and space when a caterpillar is in its chrysalis, and has totally disintegrated, but has not yet begun to form into a butterfly, moth, or dragonfly. It is this in-between stage and is so often uncomfortable because the past is no more and yet the future becoming is totally unknown. It can be a terrifying time, and it can also be a time of calm, renewal, and self-care and nourishing.

When we are able to allow ourselves to be in these in-between places, in The Goo, without anxiety or fear, we can find our ways to our deeper Self. We can shed some of the pains that we had held onto for too long, and create space for something new, different, more true to who we want to be in the world, and not only a person reacting (unconsciously or consciously) to our past traumas and experiences.

Learning to sit in this discomfort, in this unknown, is no easy feat. For those of us with complex trauma the unknown can be so terrifying we freeze and or spiral into the depths of anxiety and or depression. Being able to “know” what is next, having our plans (and sticking to them no matter what), brings us comfort and helps us feel like our lives are less chaotic and that we actually have some amount of control – which then brings us a sense of safeness which allows us to function in the world.

Here’s a thing though, life is chaotic. It is unpredictable. Each next moment is actually an unknown. Plans change. Natural disasters happen. Accidents occur. There is much out of our control, whether we want to think about it or not, and no matter how much we try to bring in order from the chaos that is living life as a human on this planet.

So.

When we are able to accept the chaos for what it is, simply part of living life, we may be able to begin to tolerate the unknowns, the in-betweens. Once that happens then maybe we can learn to find ways to be in those in-between spaces, in The Goo, not only without anxiety, but with a sense of understanding the importance of these spaces, these times. Then perhaps we can learn ways to nourish ourselves, to replenish ourselves, to allow ourselves to rest while we are in The Goo. In the Underworld. In the midst of transition and transformation and rebirth.

/../

This essay was originally written for my weekly(ish) newsletter on January 21, 2019. It has been revised and edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays, you can subscribe here.

We will be spending some time in the Underworld in my seven week writing program Embodied Writing :: Too much, not enough, & shame. We begin January 27. You can learn more here.

Our shame narratives

January 16, 2020 By gwynn

We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.

Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.

Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection damage the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare. ~Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

We all carry with us narratives from our families of origin, narratives from our communities, narratives from our greater culture. The stories of how we are too much this or not enough that. The stories about how we should feel shame for what we want, what we do, who we are, that we even exist in the first place.

These narratives didn’t come to us out of the blue. These are stories that have been cultivated for generations and generations, by a greater culture that sees humans as a commodity to be used, but not respected. These stories stem from capitalism, authoritarianism, patriarchy, misogyny. These stories stem from those in power wanting to stay in power and doing whatever they can to keep everyone else in line and doing their bidding.

That is where those stories come from on a meta level. That is how they seep into our communities. Into our families. Into our relationships. Into us.

It is true that our own experiences of abuse feed these stories. Complex trauma only makes those voices louder, only makes the stories seem more true.

And.

I would argue that the abuse of children – sexual, physical, neglect – all stem from this meta source.

Why else would children be beaten if not to be forced to fall in line with the status quo?

Why else would children be molested if not because the abusers were indoctrinated in the idea that children exist to serve others, in any and all capacities?

Why else would children be neglected if the adults weren’t so busy trying to stay alive within a culture that wants to kill them?

I am not dismissing the responsibility of the abusers for their own actions. Regardless of our own experiences of oppression and abuse we are always responsible for how we treat others in the world and whether or not we perpetuate harm.

What I am saying is that these narratives are fed to us from many, many different places. Hearing these narratives is inescapable. If it’s not our family, or our Self that’s telling us how we are too much or not enough and should feel shame, our greater culture definitely is.

These stories are fed to us, from birth. These stories seep into under skin, into our muscles, our sinew, our bones. These stories keep us small, quiet, complicit, compliant.

These stories keep us stuck in harmful (to us and others) patterns and cycles.

These stories impact the ways we relate to others. They have us judging. They have us expecting. They have us assuming. They have us demanding.

These stories keep us disconnected from our Self. Our true self. Our tend, broken open heart, Self. The self that knows, in its very being these narratives are total bullshit. The Self that asks over and over, why do you keep believing these lies?

Because a truth is, we are not too much.

A truth is, we are exactly enough.

A truth is, we get to take up space. And there is plenty of space for everyone.

A truth is, we get to state our wants, whatever they are, without shame.

A truth is, we get to have our boundaries respected.

A truth is, we are exactly enough just as we are.

A truth is, we can do the work of untangling all this cultural indoctrination and trauma.

Let’s do it. Let’s undo the generations of training we have living in our bodies and minds. Let’s begin to feel good in our own skin. Let’s find our ways to connection, real connection, without losing pieces of ourselves in the process.

We can do it. I know we can.

/../

This essay was originally published in my weeklyish newsletter on January 14, 2020. To receive my most recent essays you can subscribe here.

We will be exploring these narratives in my seven week writing course Embodied Writing :: Too much, not enough, & shame. We begin Monday, January 27, 2020. To learn more and register, click here.

Reclaiming our Self, reclaiming our life

January 13, 2020 By gwynn

What makes you come alive? What keeps you going ? Is there hope in your heart still or has the weariness of the world attached itself to you like a limpet leaving you afraid and passionless? Do you wake up with a smile and stars in your eyes after restless, feverish soul-searching in the night? Do you dream, dream beyond what is possible and beyond the narrow confines of your jaded existence? How old do you feel? How much in love can you fall? How much step is there in your dance, o how many notes left in your song? Have you decided to sit by and watch others dance or weep at the dying notes of your own swan song?

Shake your lethargy. Come alive to innocence once more. Believe past your own jaded cynicism. Pretend you are young once more. Jump up with a spring in your feet, fall breathlessly in love again. Let the colors of the world wash over your walls, brushing the greys away. Let the sunlight of hope flood through your doubting self, o let the music play.

Dance till you ache and drop, laugh till you cry. Sing till your lungs burst, and journey till the very road ends and dream by the moonless starless nights. Sleep with a secret smile on your lips, your body flush with the imprints of lips. Come alive, my dearest …reclaim yourself from the living dead. ~Srividya Srinivasan

After a very traumatic year (2017), followed by a year of trying to find my footing again (2018), I welcomed the new year of 2019.

As 2018 came to and end and 2019 began, I felt a huge shift within me that, if I’m honest, started in the spring of 2018, but that I wouldn’t begin to recognize until October of that year, and wouldn’t fully acknowledge or accept until that mid-December.

This is what our personal change and growth can look like. The changes can be happening within us, without us being fully aware or wanting to fully admit them. And yet, they are there, they exist, they are happening, and in so many ways we can’t stop them.

Entering 2019, I felt I was on the other side of the traumatic events of 2017. I had a sense of calm and peace and happiness that I didn’t know if I could say I had ever truly felt before in my life.

Getting to this place, accepting that I was in this place, was a process. Acknowledging that I actually felt freedom, calm, joy… it had been a process of reclaiming who I truly am.

Over the years, I can see how I got lost in adulthood. In motherhood. In wifehood. In the idea of what it means to be a “grown up” and do “grown up” things. I knew that parts of me were being lost in this process, and told myself, that is just part of becoming, being, an adult.

It was a good story.

A truth is, we don’t have to lose who we are in order to become an adult. We don’t have to sacrifice the things we like and love about ourselves in order to be “good parents” or spouses/partners, or employees.

True growing up doesn’t look like stuffing those parts of ourselves that we love, that actually truly define us, down. It doesn’t look like “playing a role” because that’s how we think adults/partners/parents “should” act.

True growth, and growing up, looks like celebrating who we are. Yes, our interests will grow and shift. Yes, there will be times when we need to prioritize others and put our own wants and needs on hold for a period of time (as in, not forever).

We all lose ourselves from time to time. It takes courage to acknowledge this, and even more courage to begin the process of reclaiming who we are, what we want, what we love.

Coming home to our bodies is part of that process. Relearning who we were and who we want to be is part of that process. Reclaiming our own truth, our own wants, our own needs.

Reclaiming is part of our process of personal change and growth, and also part of our trauma processing work. Reclaiming who we are, at our core, reclaiming our life as out own, so that we can stop surviving and begin thriving, can be intense.

And I would say, this is what truly being an adult is about.

/../
This essay was originally published in my weekly(ish) newsletter on January 28, 2019. It has been edited and revised for publication here. To receive my most recent essays, subscribe to my newsletter here.

We will be exploring reclaiming parts of our Self and life in the seven week program Embodied Writing that begins on January 27, 2020. To learn more and register, click here.

Trauma & releasing shame

January 6, 2020 By gwynn

Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change. ~Brene Brown,I Thought It Was Just Me: Women Reclaiming Power and Courage in a Culture of Shame

Shame is a soul eating emotion. ~Carl Gustav Jung

So often survivors have had their experiences denied, trivialized, or distorted. Writing is an important avenue for healing because it gives you the opportunity to define your own reality. You can say: This did happen to me. It was that bad. It was the fault & responsibility of the adult. I was—and am—innocent. ~Ellen Bass, The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

One of the ironies of trauma, is that for those of us who have experienced it, particularly relational trauma, we feel shame. We, the victims, the survivors, the ones who were harmed, feel the shame of the experience. We carry the burden of being “tainted” or “damaged” or “broken.”

This shame often leads us to silencing ourselves, even if the perpetrator didn’t specifically tell us not to talk about what happened. We don’t tell when the abuse is happening or immediately after the assault occurred. We don’t tell the story because we are afraid of what people will think, what they will say, how they will respond.

We don’t tell because we somehow think what happened was our fault. That we somehow encouraged the other person to harm us, that if only we’d done x or hadn’t done y.

When we are living in shame, and unable to share our stories, we are also unable to deeply connect with others. We don’t allow ourselves to be truly
seen and so intimacy, deep emotional intimacy, isn’t possible.

Sometimes though, it’s not only others that we can’t share our stories with. Sometimes we can’t admit our own stories to ourselves. Or we can admit parts of them, but not others. Or we can acknowledge the stories but are unable to examine them, explore them, become curious about the ways these events from our lives are still impacting us today.

The events from our past do impact us in our present, and will continue to, until we are able to dig into our own unconscious and automatic reactions, including the stories we have about being too much and not enough.

Shame runs rampant in those stories. I think most of us can make a long list of all the ways we aren’t enough (not smart enough, not pretty enough, not vocal enough, not articulate enough, not successful enough…) as well as all the ways we are too much (too loud, too sexual, too smart, too large, too picky…). We are never “right;” there is always something “wrong” with us, something that needs to be “fixed.”

Trauma does this to us. Our culture does this to us. And often times, intentionally or now, our families of origin do this to us. Unearthing, unraveling, examining these stories is no easy feat. And doing it while remaining present in our bodies can be even more complex.

Shame comes with trauma. Releasing the shame takes intention, time, practice and requires us to come into our bodies, examining our histories and our stories and seeing how they impacted us, and how that isn’t our fault.

Because what was done to us, what happened to us was not, and is not, our fault.

And.

Changing patterns, cycles, and harmful behaviors we have because of these experiences is our responsibility so we do not continue to pass trauma on to future generations.

/../

This essay was originally published to my weekly(ish) newsletter on January 14, 2019. It has been revised and edited for publication here. To receive my most recent essays you can subscribe to my newsletter here.

We will be exploring our stories of being too much, not enough, and the shame that comes with all that in the seven week program Embodied Writing :: Too Much, Not Enough, & Shame. We begin on Monday, January 27, 2020. There is a sliding scale fee. Learn more and register here.

Plans, resilience, & trauma

December 30, 2019 By gwynn

Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans. ~Allen Saunders

Only when a child’s authenticity is threatened do they develop unhealthy behaviors, distorted reality perceptions, and emotional difficulties. When you force a child to do what they don’t want to do, feel what they don’t feel, and think what they don’t think, their authentic self becomes damaged. ~Darius Cikanavicius, Human Development and Trauma

Those of us who have trauma living within us, and especially childhood/development/relational trauma, like plans. We like to plan. To have a plan. To know what is going to happen when and where it is all happening.

We aren’t so good at surprises.

I used to fall apart if a plan needed to change. By fall apart I mean become non-functioning to the point of crying non-stop, not eating, and at the worst of times going on a suicidal ideation bender. I could not deal with plans changing. Even small ones. If a friend got sick and needed to cancel a date we had it was the end of the freaking world and I would literally spend hours to days flipping out and disparaging said friend to other friends (They are so unreliable. They are always so flaky. You can’t trust them at all.)

My late 20s and 30s were all about learning to adapt to plans needing to change. What this looked like was I had plans A, B, C, D, E all the way to ZZZ. This way if one plan failed I had another to fall back on and if that failed then there was still another.

I still always had a plan this way, and also it created some space for my friends to get sick without my entire universe imploding.

With time, age, and a lot of really great therapy, I can now say that while I still like to have a plan, it’s not always necessary. When a plan does fall apart, I don’t fall apart too. I’ve learned to adapt, really adapt. To allow for change and surprise and create space for my own problem solving outside of the box when it’s needed.

There are even times when I don’t have any plan at all, just go with the flow of whatever is happening.

It’s been a big shift for me in my ways of thinking and being over the last several years. My level of resilience has increased exponentially and I have gotten to the point where the small stuff (like a friend getting sick and needing to cancel our plans) is no big deal.

The big stuff still has its impacts, for certain, and even with that I do seem to be able to come back from a major upset relatively quickly.

A thing about growing resilience though, is that life seems to give you plenty of opportunities to continue to build that muscle.

Life has a way of doing its own thing, regardless of our plans or intentions or actions or even odds and statistics.

My family received a really big shock in the early spring of 2018. The kind of shock that would have lasting reverberations for us no matter what we did in the moment or how we chose to move forward.

The shock was one of those things that we never in a million years expected. In fact, all our previous experience as a family would tell us that it was impossible.

Yet, there we were.

We sat in the space of processing the news, and honestly in a bit of denial for a bit.

The denial was part of the process for certain, and also it’s not a place where we could have sat forever. Decisions needed to be made and plans needed to be figured out.

A thing is though, that sometimes, (and really even in this case), we can sit in that denial place. For a very long time. Life will still go on. Not making a decision is a decision in and of itself. Allowing “fate” to have its way is one thing that happens when we sit in that denial space. And sometimes “fate” can make things a whole lot worse.

A note: Denial isn’t always or only trying to claim that something that is fact is not fact. Denial is also when we simply don’t want to deal with reality or the facts. When the facts feel too big or overwhelming or terrifying. Or when the facts cause too much cognitive dissonance within us.

Sometimes we need to accept facts that don’t make sense. Or seem impossible. Or don’t fit with our own worldview. Because regardless of whether they make sense or seem possible or fit into the ways we see the world, they are still true, reality still is what it is.

When we live with unprocessed trauma, allowing what is to be what it is, is a pretty foreign concept. Most of us who had childhood trauma, have so much cognitive dissonance about the people who were (supposed to be) our caregivers, that we need absolutes. We need definites. We need Sure Things. We need things to fit into our worldview and to not break The Rules (whatever those rules may be at the time).

Childhood trauma creates its own form of gaslighting. We are often told to keep secrets, or not talk about, or worse if we dare talk about what has happened or is happening to us, we are told that couldn’t possibly be true. Our own sense of reality and what is true and what can be true gets skewed.

So when we make plans, and life throws us a curve-ball… well we tend to fall apart. Because our grip on the here and now can be pretty tenuous at times, and every little disturbance to our plans and worldview, can lead us to a very dark place.

And.

We don’t have to continue living like this.

There are many ways to process our trauma. There are multiple avenues to find help.

We don’t need to live in constant overwhelm or denial.

We can learn to adapt. We can learn resilience. We can learn that things don’t have to make sense; that the impossible can actually be possible; and that sometimes our personal worldview isn’t the be all end all truth.

(Yay neuro-plasticity!!)

It takes time. It requires learning self-compassion. It depends on having safe-enough relationships where we can explore and experiment and be wrong and shift and grow.

And.

It is necessary for us to move out of living in constant overwhelm, to start experiencing moments calm, peace, and even joy.

Plans aren’t everything. Sometimes when they fall apart something more amazing happens. Not always. And sometimes. Learning to be open to that possibility has been such a personal shift for me over the last five years.

I wish this shift for you too.

/../

This essay was originally published in my weekly(ish) newsletter on March 18, 2018. It has been edited and revised for publication here. To receive my most recent essays you can subscribe here.

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