Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Writing just to be writing #PTSDrecovery #EndoRecovery

I haven't been blogging much.
For a while it was because life was good, and I didn't feel like writing.
Then I had surgery, and I thought life would be good and it wasn't as good as I wanted, and I was a little ashamed at how sad and discouraged I felt.

And then a few days ago, I sat down and wrote about what I was feeling: all of it. (It turns out there is a technical therapeautic term for feeling all of it at the same time, but I have forgotten it already, so I will have to call Amanda back and ask again. Which is actually a very good thing, because talking to her is helpful.)

In therapy (psychotherapy, just to differentiate the ten billion different kinds I feel like I am going to), I didn't feel like working with the horses. So, my human therapist and I sat in camp chairs and watched the horse therapists play. It was actually nice for me.

She mentioned how traumatic some of the procedures I have been through would be for a person with zero trauma/sexual abuse history, and I have a lot of that history. I told her I felt like I'd forgotten many of the skills I'd learned, so she helped me make a list.

I had already set the goal to ride Sunny (bareback) for five minutes a day. No more, because my body really does get very painful, but to practice being on horseback and outside would be a good thing for my soul.

She also suggested writing. Since it used to be so helpful to just get my thoughts out, and to get them out publicly, I decided I would like to write in this blog more.

Ask for help. Let people comfort me. And don't apologize for any of the above.

I also know resting is helpful. If I overdo it, it takes me days to recover physically, and then I get so discouraged, it takes me weeks to recover mentally. I decided to do a Shutterfly book for Todd's dad. That way, I can lay on the couch with my ice packs and still be doing something that Todd's dad might appreciate.

It also surprised me that visiting Todd's dad was incredibly helpful to me. Todd's mom passed away in March. I can't imagine the grief his dad is experiencing - and at the same time he expects himself to get up and be fine. (He says a lot of the things I say to myself, and I decided they're not very helpful to either one of us.) We spent four hours just sitting on the couch. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes we told jokes and silly stories. We pulled out some of Todd's mom's things that she had collected and I felt like it was just okay to be sad and tired and present in my sadness and my tiredness.

I'm guessing none of this is very interesting for anyone else to read - but maybe if I just start writing regularly, I'll come up with some brilliant thoughts every now and then.