Echoes 7/29

 The writing prompt for next Wednesday's sessions is: Comfort Zone

Tell us a story about a time when you felt as comfortable as you can remember. Maybe it was an interaction with someone you trust. Maybe you were by yourself in a place that carries safe memories. Please be descriptive. Help us to be there with you. Set the scene. Describe what we should experience with all five senses. Help us understand why the situation brings you such comfort. Then, please help us understand why this comfort zone is hard to achieve, and what you might be able to do to find the comfort zone more often.

I feel like this is just a cry for an advertisement for the Echoes retreat 2027 because I would totally do that. I just felt so safe last week at the retreat in the woods. I could write about sitting on a rock with my feet in the water running over my ankles talking to Hammer and Jen S and Sherri and letting the cool mountain air and rain smell regulate my nervous system for me. Talk about your comfort zone.

I could also write about not getting made fun of for breathing wrong by anyone at the retreat. No one comments on what I'm eating or how I'm eating or what I'm leaving on the floor too many times or how I can't eat without making a mess. I guess my standards for my comfort zone aren't very high.

Even when I speak and choose what I say carefully, I enjoy the feeling I get when people listen for listening sake like they are actually interested in what I have to say, instead of say, listening with the purpose of feeling like they have to listen to be a good person and later get rewarded with sex because he listened or watched something he didn't really want to listen to or watch but he did and so now I'm obligated do what he wants because that's what being a relationship is.

Comfort is a tricky line to walk when you've been in a relationship with an alcoholic and emotional abuser for a good chunk of your adult life. Speaking of walking lines, the ropes course was kind of a good analogy for comfort. On the high ropes course, you could get very comfortably locked in, stationary, balancing. The minute you move your feet you instantly don't trust yourself and it's over. Comfort gone. The more you don't trust yourself the more comfort you lose and the cycle continues. If I remembered to breathe and cope I could usually figure out how to keep moving forward fast enough to get to the next platform. Heart rate elevated, nervous system engaged, respiration rate elevated until both feet were on the platform. The platform is my comfort zone. Solid ground. Ground that doesn't move.

A partner that doesn't talk back and doesn't insult me. The similarities are frightening and I could keep going with this metaphor but it will expire very soon. If I didn't remember to breathe and calm myself, panic ensued and I would lose my balance and have to paddle like a duck's feet to get back up to a place where I could grab the lifewire, with deathly grip. The illusion of safety and comfort.

I am safe. I just don't think I am. I am respected. I just don't feel like I am 100 percent of the time. And that's a hard place to recover from. The cycle continues to churn whether you are aware of it or not.

The last time I was truly comfortable in my own home was the day that Cameron left for Tennessee for the day. It was quiet. I could be wherever in the house I wanted and could watch or do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted without regard for his reaction. That's not right. That's not a relationship, that's...I don't know what that is. Do I really just want to be that single? Did people just figure me out when I entered a relationship and I never was meant to be in one? I keep finding all of these other nice people in my life. Am I really just a person comfortable enough with people at a distance? The difference between them and Cameron is I don't have to live with them. They are nice because they don't see me 24 hours a day. When I'm at my worst. I really just may be better off as a single person and that's my comfort zone. Then I can just have really good friends. Who said one has to be in a relationship to be happy? I hate that is the line they feed you when you become an adult. You're not a real adult until you get married and have kids and a 9 to 5 job. Well that is just bullshit.

My comfort zone is me, and my cat. Mix some friends up there. Mix some community up in there for purpose. Do I want to be single or do I just not want the same thing as Cameron? Until he's willing to have that conversation as an adult, I will never know. Until I am willing to have that conversation as an adult, I will never know. Dive in, take the bandaid off, head first. Except I do like my spine intact and upright. So I am cautious.

Emotionally moved: 7/1 Echoes

 Write about a time you felt emotionally moved.

Laugh, Think, Cry 

This prompt is really hard for me and I procrastinated a bit so I’m writing this on Wednesday morning. The truth of the matter is I have a hard time feeling emotionally moved on any given day. 

Laugh – I do this a lot, but it seems to be a replacement action for all of the feelings that I feel lately. Somewhere in my life I got the message that people like laughing better than crying so I laugh at anything. It’s not a good look. 

Think – I do this a lot too, mostly to my detriment. Most people’s thinking is my overthinking. Therapy is helping with this. 

Cry – I don’t do this. I haven’t in a long time. I can’t figure out why. I do feel envy at those who do cry regularly. Have I just become so numb to things that I shove the cry emotion down so frequently that it’s become a habit, replaced with laughter instead? I think this is a little of what is happening. I don’t fault others for crying, I want the release. In all of life’s chaos, I forgot how to cry. It’s not a good look either. 

I don’t want to say it’s as simple as, well, I was asked to shape up or ship out as a child, was told one too many times in my teenage years not to cry and it stuck, though it may be that simple. As the dutiful oldest daughter, I couldn’t cause any more trouble for my parents than my brother was causing and I had to be silent to be good and crying was seen as a call for attention and we shouldn’t by any means draw attention to ourselves. 

In my relationship in early sobriety C couldn’t deal with my emotions so I hid them from him and just got really good at masking everything from everyone. It hasn’t come back yet. 

I remember feeling really moved yesterday, when my former coworker invited me to her pool to see a former student's family all grown up. These girls from Guatemala were 7 and 8 when I left my previous school. It was the height of the pandemic and they spoke next to no English. They always had a smile tucked on their faces beneath a mask. Today they sit at a newly 13 and 15 and fully in their teenage years and in the throes of middle school. Cellphones and social media await, but they did none of that in our presence. Instead they talked to us and helped translate for mom. I’m sure they are bullied or treated poorly for being quiet and compliant. I’m sure they still rely on each other to get through the day. Both of them helped mom dutifully with their 5 year old sister and infant brother. Both of them watched over their 5 year old sister as a new swimmer in the pool. Making sure she stayed in vision of them both. Second and third mom. Both of them reveled in the freedom mom gave them to swim and play yesterday. They wouldn’t have had that had my coworker not invited them to the pool that day. 

I learned later that this family of six was in a horrible accident leaving the kids to go through multiple surgeries to fix teeth and jaws that were destroyed on impact. They have one car. They missed months of school. I didn’t ask about income lost for not being allowed to work, because I know either parent’s employment situation is day to day construction contract work that may not have been able to be performed post accident. None of the children complained about any of it yesterday. They were happy to swim and play and eat a meal provided to them and talk with the boring adults that were present. I was certainly moved to tears, but I couldn’t say or show any of that. The mom told me through broken English that because of their missed school this year, both girls are repeating grades 6 and 7 next year, and they aren’t getting along with their older white male English teacher with high expectations. My heart broke for them. They are the statistics we talk about as future high school drop outs. They deserved none of this. 

I felt emotionally moved and still do. I took their business card and promised to call when my yard needs a fence fixed or my house needs cleaning; I know they are too proud to accept a handout. I know nothing I say wouldn’t be enough, so instead I chose time. Time spent with them, in connection. I would like to think that helped. It probably did temporarily raise spirits, but left me feeling like I have nothing to complain about. 

I don’t know why I’m telling this story, the task was to write about a time I felt emotionally moved and I guess that this is the one this summer that comes to mind because I’ve numbed myself to everything else in my life. I’ll continue working on that, if I knew how.