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Step 1: Honesty (or, how admitting my bent towards bonkers has made me sane)

3/18/2016

 
"You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are."
― Tim Burton, Alice in Wonderland:
Here's the thing, I’m recovering from mental illness. That may sound extreme, but honestly, somewhere on the continuum of moderate Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and mild Dissociative Identity Disorder, you’ll find...me. Being willing to consider that I am in fact dealing with mental illness has been a crucial step in my emotional and mental recovery. Mental illness is label that freaks people out. Probably because it is always reserved for the most severe examples. There is resistance in the counseling community around calling the effects of emotional trauma "mental illness", perhaps because emotional trauma is so common that it goes unaddressed. But that's my point.

For years I tucked myself outside of this label and instead carried around the story that it was the other people in my life who were mentally ill. I desperately (read:co-dependently) tried making some of the significant people in my life “see the light”. In the end it was just the way they were and they did their best. It seems one of the biggest things I inherited from them is my bent towards bonkers. Denial kept me sick, but acceptance funnels me towards hearty wellness and that has become one of my favorite things about me.

Denial kept me sick, but acceptance funnels me towards hearty wellness and that has become one of my favorite things about me.

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Emotional stress comes from being human. We each experience our lives with different levels of support and perspective. Some of us endure violence and horrific things, while others have more stability and safety. In either case, we can still have unprocessed stress and trauma.  I’ve spoken to at least a hundred controlling, anxious, depressed, paranoid, jealous, self-sabotaging people who’ve told me, “Don’t get me wrong, I had a good childhood!”  Trauma doesn’t have to be one big event to be significant. No matter the severity of the incident, when a person feels out of control and endures overwhelming emotional stress, it is significant to the brain and body. When that stress is not processed and released, it becomes trauma. And when trauma sets in, it becomes mental illness.

Dissociation, or detaching from painful emotions and unprocessed stress, is a fascinating function of the brain. And it seems it was something I did quite frequently when I was younger because I couldn’t feel or face what felt unbearable at the time. Sometimes it was the fear of punishment that required me to shut down. Adults around me would get angry if I showed too much distress or didn’t stop crying soon enough. So I checked out. And I got good at it.

Dissociation meant I was able to maintain my mostly happy and carefree self in spite of frequent overwhelming emotional experiences, such as lengthy separations from caregivers, disrupted attachment, moves, being bullied by caregivers,  punishment, isolation, withdrawal of affection, spiritual and emotional abuse, domestic violence and rejection.  I pushed away the feelings that swelled in the aftermath of those moments, believing what I was told: I had to do better, try harder or have more faith, etc. However, those painful feelings remained in my physical body, trapped by my psyche. When I became an adult and especially when I became a parent, I found them all still there waiting for me.

Dissociation saved me through those times, but in it’s wake left mental illness. I call it mental illness for several reasons. First, because my symptoms were pervasive, chronic and debilitating. Old feelings and reactions could take the wheel over the slightest things, a sound, a smell, the look on someone’s face. My daily even moment to moment functioning would be compromised. I would lose the ability to speak up for myself or even respond sometimes. My relationships and interactions with most people were clouded. These stuck parts had organized themselves around protecting me from relational pain, and were protective of any potential threat. To a fault. Even my physical health portrayed a picture of the unprocessed stress when my doctor guided me in treating adrenal fatigue. Recovering from such a state has required determination and commitment.

Trauma doesn’t have to be one big event to be significant, because when trauma it goes unprocessed, it becomes mental illness.

Here are a few of the ways I describe my process of recovery:
  1. Knowledge and acceptance. I have learned when I’m most susceptible to emotional flare ups and how to ask for help.  Admitting I’m dealing with mental illness means that I’m not just weird or quirky, grumpy or inflexible (though all these things can also be true at times.)  Accepting that I’m bent toward bonkers means understanding that I can and will always need to ask for help. I need help for that next time I get really piping mad about something small, or when I snap into a co-dependent response (addicted to control and manipulation) or take on a somewhat narcissistic tone (take everything personally and hate being vulnerable). I need help because otherwise I am capable of harshness and persecution. I need help for that next time I try to blame anyone and everyone else, when ultimately, this is my problem. My mental illness = my recovery.
  2. Take responsibility for healing. The stress I endured was not my fault, my caregivers were responsible for their actions. And though I believe they did their best, their denial cost me my wellness and sanity.  I feel it would be a tragedy if I too remained in denial and passed along this baggage to my children and grandchildren. The work is up to me now. Further, admitting I am recovering from mental illness has given me a freedom to be my broken, stumbling, awkward self, where as before I always felt I had to hide it. Now I don those things as some of my best qualities, because they have brought me closer to wholeness.
  3. Process past stress.  Doing my own therapy including my own Intuitive integrative work has been vital.  Through those supports, I’ve integrated hundreds of dissociated aspects of myself. In essence, those parts were both holding the painful old memory and existing as if it were still happening. This means countless aspects of myself have been stuck in torment for most of my life. Processing releases the stored emotion and frees the heart to be fully present. Integrating reunites the dissociated pain, removing barriers to functioning and connection. Little by little, I find myself no longer triggered by things that once set me off.
  4. Commit to the process.  It is both daunting and rewarding to be in recovery. But that’s no different than life itself.  Though it happens less and less often, current, everyday situations can still trigger me. The regular routines, people and places, seasons and smells, cycles and patterns of a day can send me time-traveling without warning. While I am certainly be grateful for the path that trauma put me on, for the way it’s shaped me and given me depth, I must be vigilant about getting well. Recovering will be a long term work.
  5. Let love in. If nothing were to change about me for the rest of my life and I stayed the way I am in this moment forever, I would still be deeply loved. I don’t have to hide my mental illness to find love. Of course I still try to (also part of the mental illness) but when someone sees the truth about me, my sometimes mediocre boundaries, my unfortunate projection of the problem, the occasional sudden sadness,  I can smile and say, “Yep, that’s me.” I choose to be in recovery because it’s less painful, not because I have something to prove. Reality and honesty have brought me more love than denial ever did.  With each part that I’ve welcomed home over the years, I’ve been given ten fold in ideas, energy, compassion and strength. These parts come home, but they don’t ever go away. They become my creativity, my power, my voice, my story.

I choose to be in recovery because it’s less painful,
not because I have something to prove.

Healing and integrating myself has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. When you’re ready, I can help you along your own process of finding wholeness and peace within yourself. This is your invitation, join me. I have four slots remaining in my counseling schedule, contact me to make one of them yours!

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