Wounded Healers
“Life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe…just breathe.
Oh breathe, just breathe.” –Anna Nalick Breathe (2 AM)
Woke up at 3am, my mind racing. Thinking of the ritual I completed for Samhain—a releasing ceremony to let Nate go, to be able to completely move on, begin the time consuming process of changing my name back to my maiden name. It was painful but time. Watching the candles melt down until the twine caught fire, separating the two, oblivious to the cold. My breath fogging up in front of me as I held my hands up, guarding the delicate flames from the wind. Giving thanks for the two beautiful boys we had together, wishing him the best as I watched my wedding ring drop from the rope, severing our karmic ties. Feeling like I was losing a piece of me, but a piece no longer meant for me to have.
Sick with a cold. I hardly ever get sick, but the last three weeks have knocked me on my ass. Cough, sore throat. Fatigue. GI symptoms.
I called my midwife 3 weeks ago…asked her to put me back on Paxil. So tired of being overwhelmed, anxious, snapping at my boys and Tyler for no reason. They shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around me, but I can’t help it. The nervous hum just underneath my skin, the feeling of being so tight I can’t breathe is claustrophobic and I can’t help but explode for no reason at all. The look in their eyes haunts me and I see my 6 year old self staring back at me—I’ve become my mother and as much as I love her, I hate myself for being this version of her.
The Paxil seemed to be helping, or so I thought. I had more patience, no more outbursts. Lying awake, trying to fall asleep again when I feel a sense of déjà vu…the feeling of wanting to run, to change, to cyclone my life just to feel that sense of peace after the storm. Should I leave Tyler? Maybe I should leave my job and work in the ER so I can go travel nursing? My thoughts are a mile a minute…longing to find a direction, any direction that will give me that elusive sense of peace—the feeling that I have a purpose and not just counting down the grains of sand, waiting for my time to expire. I want to feel like I’m making a difference, instead of feeling like a glorified pill pusher, putting Band-Aids on physical symptoms of mental, spiritual, and/or emotional hemorrhages. All around me I see the walking wounded. I’ve mastered the art of putting on minimal makeup and brushing my teeth without making eye contact. Something I’ve never noticed. When is the last time I truly looked myself in the eyes? Did I like what I saw?
At my weakest times I look forward to death and wonder what I was thinking when I signed up for this soul contract, and immediately despise myself for having these thoughts. Why am I so weak? Why can’t I figure out what I’m meant to do? I just want to help people…
The boys are ready to go to town—trick or treating for Halloween. We’re waiting for Tyler to finish up with the cows, and I decide to do a quick tarot spread for guidance. I send a text to my mom, telling her I’m letting go of Nate, trying to find my way. She responds, “Jen, change is hard. And feeling regret for leaving Nate is because he was important in your life. Change doesn’t always mean letting go. It’s taken me 50 years to figure that out. Change one thing at a time. When you’re unsettled, don’t let it become a cyclone. Breathe. Do what you need to do, one at a time, until you can find peace.”
These words resonate as I scan them while trick or treating with the boys, but I don’t have time to think about it. Yet they must have stewed in my subconscious, because here I am, 4:42 AM. Connecting the dots…
A sudden realization hits me like lightning…I am literally in the exact same situation. I never connected the dots until now. I always thought I drank so much because of being overwhelmed with Dillon. But when I think about it, I was started on an antidepressant for post-partum depression, and alcohol became more and more enticing. Just something to look forward to, take the edge off the anxiety. After Logan, it was Paxil. I weaned myself off summer of 2020, a month of hellacious brain zaps—a feeling of my brain turning to jello for a split second every time I moved my head too quickly.
Looking in the mirror tonight, and I see myself rapidly returning to the person I was when my family was most concerned for me. Realizing the Paxil is making me self-medicate even more and beginning to feel like I’m quickly becoming downright psychotic. The 4 of Cups is in the spot I pre-chose to represent where I am now in my life, and as I read the Lightseeker’s definition, it’s a gut check.
The Light Seer’s Tarot deck is one of my favorites. Encouraging, positive, but still kicks my ass when I need it. The website is even better than the booklet that comes with the cards. https://lightseerstarot.com/
“ ‘Ack. This meditation thing just isn’t working. Breathe in. Boredom. A million and one facking thoughts.’ She sits, fidgeting. Restless and insecure. She wants it and she wants in now. Privileged in every single way, she’s ready to give up because clearly she’s not made for this. ‘Why does everyone else seem to be able to do it? And why on earth do they like it?’ Some days she’s angry at the world because it’s never lived up to the expectations she had. ‘Lightworkers and seeing rainbows of energy, my ass’. Some days she’s just angry with herself for not being able to crack this energy thing that people keep talking about. ‘Manifesting? Poppycock,’ she squirms, ‘This is not my dimension, clearly. And this stupid pillow my aunt bought me is too hard.’ And she has already wasted, like, a week thinking about all of those things she really wants to attract into her life. She’s felt the feels. And yet she’s still here, in the exact same place. ‘Meh. Whatever.’
Wondering if the Paxil is to blame…what if I had never gone on an SSRI? Would Nate and I still be together? The thought makes me crumble. What if I ruined one of the best things that could ever happen to me? What have I done to my family? I’m Googling effects of SSRI, Paxil and psychosis. Somehow I stumble on an article about borderline personality disorder and as I read the words, my breath catches. The overwhelming flash floods of anger, gone as quickly as it came but still devastating. Feeling the shame and self-hatred as I try to apologize for the words I spewed without thinking. The urge to self medicate—sometimes to get rid of the all encompassing numbness, other times to take the edge off whatever emotion is currently threatening to drown me.
I fall asleep for a bit on the couch until Tyler comes downstairs for work. He wakes me up and I know there’s no way I can function enough to get to work, let alone actually be productive. I dread the idea of texting my supervisor…I’ve missed so much work already. Yet I literally feel like a zombie and I can’t stop crying.
I send my mom this link to an article, telling her I can see myself in these words. The moments where I would slip away if I could do so unnoticed. It’s not feeling sad, or not happy. It’s just the unbearable, aching, emptiness.
She immediately calls me, carefully reminds me that life wasn’t rainbows and daisies with Nate, and I realize I’m fixating on only the positive and not remembering the reality…That I didn’t make an epic mistake in leaving, but did what was best and necessary for both of us and our boys. As much as I wanted to be happy there, I wasn’t.
As I reread the article, certain lines jump out at me. “Living with BPD is like the earth beneath your feet is constantly shifting and changing which keeps you off balance, scared, and defensive. It is a roller coaster of moods, thoughts, emotions, relationships, self-image, goals, and even your likes and dislikes at such frequent intervals it is overwhelming and confusing.”
I can’t help but remember a poem I wrote when I was still married to Nate…I called it the “Mean Reds” because Audrey Hepburn explained the feeling so perfectly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s: “The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.”
Most days are okay
Some days are even great
But then days like today
It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other
My bed calls me
A warm cocoon to hide away until the mean reds dissipate
I see the way he looks at me;
He’s frustrated, overwhelmed, wondering, “Why can’t she just…”
I wish I knew why, too.
Stuck in this fog, treading water
Everything is muffled
The sky is cloudy and gray and so is my mind
My breath comes out in sighs almost as heavy as my heart
It can’t last forever
And so I hold on…
I text the art therapist who helped me so much during my last spiral, let her know I’m in over my head and ask if we can set up an appointment. I can’t help but wonder if she’s upset with me for blowing her off when I was feeling better. I really hope not.
Reading everything I can, watching Tik Tok. So many people laugh at my love for Tik Tok, but scrolling through other peoples’ stories, hearing them explain their reality and realizing a) suffering like this isn’t normal, and it doesn’t have to be this way and b) I’m not alone and c) there is hope. I read about Dr. Marsha Linehan, who developed Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) to help people work around the all or nothing, black and white thinking. Reading how Dr. Linehan revealed she knows firsthand of living with BPD in a speech she gave makes me respect her even more.
I can’t help but remember back to the astrological reading I had from Louise during my first major crisis. She pointed out Chiron in my natal chart, explaining how he is the “wounded healer” and while painful, gives a gift—the ability to help others heal. This sets me off in a different tangent…reading about Chiron’s placements in my chart, and as I read the descriptions on my Time Passages app, my mind is blown.
1) Chiron in Gemini 7 degrees-having a strong compulsion for intimate connection with other people that does not easily find its realization…likely to have been wounded in your sexuality in some fashion, possibly through early experiences that may include abuse, either physical or emotional. As a consequence, being close to other people becomes both desired and painful.
The most interesting part I thought was the paragraph talking about my desire to communicate, but having some kind of barrier that separates me from others at the same time that manifests physically. My hearing impairment that worsened as I went through childhood…I went from not needing hearing aids to not being able to hear without them. Trying to drown out the fighting, any violence I saw on TV that made me cringe. This would explain why a world renowned ear surgeon couldn’t fix my ears despite multiple surgeries. Deep down on a subconscious level, I didn’t want him to. Just getting used to wearing hearing aids for the first time was almost unbearable…the sound of traffic as we drove down the road jarring. It was just easier when I could turn my hearing aids off, drown out the world, and let whatever world I was reading about take me away.
2) Sun strong sextile Chiron-experiencing painful realizations throughout your own life and having the ability heal others as well. “Chiron is called “the wounded healer” because it represents the archetype of imperfection and loss which when integrated leads to compassion and understanding of others’ suffering”. Much like a phoenix that has risen from the ashes to show others the way…
So much to think about, to process. The idea of figuring out how to navigate life, without self-medicating, to actually learn how to form healthy relationships, to work with my mind instead of trying to anesthetize it…it’s daunting. Yet the tightrope act of trying to be functional and cope the way I have been isn’t working. I’m tired of living this way…
After an hour and a half Zoom call with my therapist, I’m feeling much better. She gets me, understands my woo woo ideas, and agrees pills aren’t the answer. She tells me to practice self care, follow my truth, find my passion. To continue creating and sharing. To step into my own power, instead of trying to make myself smaller. She suggests meditation-the Insight Timer, and exercise, such as yoga. Everything resonates, but my mind is so overwhelmed.
Anxiety, depression, post-partum, depression, BPD…it sounds ignorant but I can’t help wondering if they’re not all the same thing, with a common root cause. At least for me…I’m a nurse and while I’ve had therapists and providers diagnose me formally with anxiety, depression, and post-partum depression, I know the dangers of Dr Google and self-diagnosis. Is it BPD? Or is it being a ‘highly sensitive person’? I don’t know, I just know for some reason I spiral at times and I have absolutely no good reason why. Or a good reason for why I feel like I always have to take the edge off, to turn the dial down. And really, it’s all just labels anyway.
My childhood was nowhere near as traumatic as many as I’ve seen come through the ER doors, as heartbreaking as that is for the children that face horrible situations. Yet the events still happened to me that I internalized in such a way that they continue to have a profound effect on my psyche and affect my ability to be productive. My parents are loving and amazing people, but they are human. They were raised by parents who loved them yet are/were human too. As humans, we make mistakes. Anyone I trust enough to care for has the power to hurt me. And they will hurt me, because they are human. Maybe instead of building walls to try to block out any emotional pain, I need to learn how to look at things differently, and accept this is part of being a human.
Instead of playing the blame game, the victim, or the martyr, what if I could figure out how to overcome these thought patterns, personality glitches, and learn how to control the ‘noise’ in my head so I can function without self-medicating? What if I were to decide to stop lugging these invisible garbage bags, dump them out, and look at it from a different perspective so I can find release and move on?
One step at a time…
ETA: 11/2/2021: While writing this, a fatal car accident happened at the same time, 4 miles away. A 34 year old mom was ejected from the car, leaving behind 5 and 7 year old boys. Life is so hard and I pray for those sweet boys, that they will find peace…there has to be a way to overcome pain without drugs and alcohol.
I love this Unsplash picture taken by Natalya Letunova so much! https://unsplash.com/@naletu