Containment, Part 1

Well the last couple days haven’t been great. I’ve been in considerable pain despite having the maximum dosage of ibuprofen (isn’t the female reproductive cycle a beautiful thing) and the hormonal changes also normally bring a killer migraine, associated with high levels of anxiety and depersonalisation. True to form, I woke up today feeling like I was dying. I can call on the emptiness at any time, and part of me wonders if dissociation isn’t a protective defense here.

I understand infants naturally use a variety of defenses in the short term to protect themselves from pain. The problem is when they become ingrained or habitualised. As long as I am using dissociation as a temporary measure while I build up the knowledge and resources necessary to tackle the Nameless Dread... maybe it's okay.

I cannot deny: I don’t know how to make this feeling go away, whether it’s possible for the feeling to go away, and if anything bad will happen to me as a result of this feeling. I am afraid. But I know how to manage the fear. I can listen to, sit with, accept the fear.

I can also make more of an effort to feel safe, contained, and connected. Yes, I feel detached and empty, and I didn’t ask to feel this way, but I don’t have to act that way. And I certainly can feel differently.

So I spend time in myself and for every sharp edge of anxiety, I pull on a softer memory of acceptance. My heart races? I focus on my breath.

I am so far from ‘good’ at this. Just take a look at all of the chocolate and biscuit wrappers in my bin. The Control Freak could join forces with the Inner Bully and make me feel horrible for treating myself so poorly. I work in public health; I should know better. But the Nurturing Parent knows how hard I’ve been working, how much effort I’ve put into caring for others, and how much pain I was in the last few days. Therefore Adult Eliza accepts that yes I need to develop a healthier balance, and yes I need to prioritise healthy meals and exercise, but also yes I am at special risk for a mental health crisis today and therefore not capable of making those changes. Tomorrow, maybe. Today, certainly not.

Today I need compassion, not change.