My “survival” is killing me. . .

As a frightened child, I did whatever I could to be safer.  I came up with, and still feel compelled to:

Eat!

Don’t Move!  Hold Still!

Be Invisible!  Don’t Exist!  Erase Your Self!

Try Harder!

Silence!

Today, these efforts, originally designed to improve my chances of survival, are killing me.  They create extra pounds, muscle tension, self-compression, anxiety, and the consequences: a too-high BMI, inadequate exercise, and high blood pressure.  They’ll kill me.

“I” know this.  My body-memory (the earlier me who lived through my childhood) doesn’t.  I guess I have to draw her out, listen to her terrors and desperation, and then . . . maybe . . . she’ll listen to me reassuring her that she’s safe, doesn’t have to do all that anymore.  Maybe . . . she’ll be willing to see that today I exist and am managing my/our life.

I know this internal split is typical of trauma: the part of self that’s in shock stays frozen in time; the on-guard “hyper-vigilance” never relaxes.  It could happen again! . . . Now!  Preparedness feels protective.

But survival today depends on understanding that the war is over.  What’s valuable in wartime (focus, ignoring feelings, being geared up to fight) is a disaster in peacetime.  At least it is for me.  So that’s the challenge.

My inclination is to spend more time listening to the scared part of me.  If it feels heard (by me), maybe it will know it’s no longer alone.  That’s already better.  And, eventually, maybe it will consider my suggestion that it doesn’t need to be ready-to-defend at all times, because the war is — in fact — over.