Corrective experiences can bring up so much grief

If you receive the very thing you’ve always needed, the very thing you didn’t get that is inextricably linked to a traumatic experience, and this corrective experience brings you to your knees, you are not alone.

If you witness someone being treated the way you’ve always needed to be treated on a television show or in a book or a passing conversation with a friend, and this opens the griefy floodgates, you are not alone.

If you have experienced sexual assault, and someone lovingly and respectfully checks in with you for consent, this can be a corrective experience.

If you have lived through abuse and manipulation, and someone is kind to you, this can be a corrective experience. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you if these experiences bring up big emotions and overwhelming grief.

If you were not protected, and someone offers you protection - this can be a corrective experience and it can bring up so much grief, resentment, anger, and sadness. Because the protection might be hard to receive. For the times you needed it and didn't have it.

Sometimes waves of grief and sadness emerge when we experience hurts similar to our past experiences. Sometimes pain and sorrow visit when we directly experience or witness a corrective experience. Corrective experiences can include receiving kindness, love, validation, attentiveness, and consent when we haven’t previously.

If you are treated with kindness and it moves you to tears, you are not alone.

If what “should” be a healing experience brings you grief, you are not alone.

Healing can be complex and layered, just like we are.

Jess

Even if we can’t get the apology or acknowledgement or accountability from the person who harmed us, we might get those things from other folks in different situations. And while it’s not like the math works out where that makes it all okay that we didn’t get it from the person who we really needed it from, it might still feel really healing to receive it. Corrective experiences can be really tender, they can bring up a lot of grief and resentment - and they can touch into the parts of us that have been desiring and deserving a certain response or way of showing up. It can be healing to know that this sometimes can happen. It can be tender to be with the grief of the times we really needed it to happen and it didn’t.

If it was as simple as letting go, wouldn't we all have let go by now?

I’m sure a lot of us can relate to this one. Working with a practitioner who seems to think it’s as easy as loosening our grip. Seeking support from someone who tries not-so-gently to unfurl our fingers. Sharing our story with someone whose words roll their eyes at us - why aren’t we over it, by now?

(See also: what’s specifically wrong with us that we aren’t over it by now? And you can bet folks have some ideas about that, and maybe even a solution they could sell us. See also also: We should really be over it by now, by yesterday, by months ago.)

And here’s the thing. Our beings are so fucking wise. We let go when we can, and not a moment sooner.

Our choices are powerful, mindset can matter, and so too does the nervous system woven through our body - and this world we’re living in. These things often dictate our choices, help us to know when it’s safest to let go, and also when it’s safer to hold on.

In this world we are living in, safety can be hard to come by and letting go isn’t as easy as just deciding to do it. We are powerful, yes, and so are the systems we live in.

Being rushed to just let go can bypass the wisdom in holding on.

Being rushed to just let go might assume we can make this choice in a vacuum.

Being rushed to let go can assume a level of safety that may not exist yet.

Today I’m wondering if we can hold space for the brilliance in grasping as well as the release, not rushing either one, just trusting that ebbs eventually flow, and flows might stand still at an ebb every so often.

And what if there is wisdom in the tide going both ways?

And what if there is wisdom in us going both ways, too?

And what if the letting go is a thing we grow towards, all the while holding tender the parts of us that are holding on?

What might it feel like not to be rushed?

What might it feel like to be trusted in our timing, our holding, our grasping and the slow unfurl of releasing?

Asking the big questions gently,

Jess

A collective pandemic traumaversary

Can you feel it?

We are hovering.

Near the one year mark of this pandemic.

Do you remember the eeriness of last year?

I remember it felt like if I looked up, it would be grey skies and crows circling.

(Which, coincidentally, is a great visual for the inside of my mind this year, more or less.)

If you take a moment, and if you want to - can you remember anything you were feeling when news of Covid-19 arrived? Any thoughts, sensations, or feelings?

The tinny, not-quite-real feeling? That time stretched molasses & saltwater taffy endless?

The alarm bells going off, maybe at first quietly, and then with shrill abandon?

The nights we scrolled through case numbers and couldn’t sleep?

The days we distracted ourselves through, shutting our eyes to what was happening?

The ways we adapted to how quickly things changed (and in some cases, should have and yet, didn’t).

How the timeline kept morphing like a kaleidoscope zoomed up into a fun house, teetering wildly on a carousel.

And that was just the beginning. Since then, we have all been finding our way through it.

I won’t lie to you and say we’re all in it together. We might not be. People are having their own experiences in their own proximity (or lack thereof) to privilege.

But I will say - we are all finding our way.

And the thing about surviving something is, sometimes in the process of getting through it, we can’t feel it completely.

We’re busy surviving. It makes sense.

Our energy has been sent other places. Like a plant with some branches and leaves pruned.

Our baseline has changed.

We have been drawing water up from a thirsty well.

We ration texts and phone calls because we just can’t even. Even and especially when we want to connect.

We are getting through it. Which is a full time job. Which means there isn’t always time to process it.

But right now, this time we are in - one year into the pandemic - there could be more coming up for you, perhaps all of a sudden. This pocket of time, the second ring around a growing tree of the-world-changing, could be called a collective traumaversary. The anniversary of something traumatic.

It’s not uncommon for this time to be potent and sharp, or dull and achy. We might return to coping we needed last year - endless scrolling and not enough sleep, or “too much” sleep and the familiar comfort or grief of isolation. Our bodies might have a lot to say. We might feel disoriented or overwhelmed or wilted with compassion fatigue for all we have had to cradle gently for a whole year (and maybe longer) with weary arms and not a lot of places to put it. We might, and apologies that this is Not At All Poetic - be depressed.

Whatever you are noticing, whatever you are experiencing, it is so valid.

If it feels right to you, here is some space to check in. A few gentle prompts.

1. What am I noticing right now? You might take a moment to connect with your body and mind, or free write a list.
   
   

2. What do these experiences feel connected to? Is there anything that’s coming up for you that feels connected to this collective anniversary we are in right now?
   
   

3. What might I need? You might need space, understanding, support, validation, extra gentleness or rest. You deserve what you need.
   

This time can be tough. I think it’s allowed to be. We’re not doing it wrong if we’re struggling.

I hope this space to check in felt helpful. We might not all be in it together, but maybe we’re also not alone in it.

If you’d like more support getting through a traumaversary, I made a guide for you. I created Tending to Traumaversaries because I know having a deeper understanding of traumatic anniversaries and all that can arise in us can feel affirming. Because sometimes, creating a care plan can soothe our worried mind. And because, we might not have access to the fullness of support we need, but a guide that can live on your digital shelf might feel approachable and accessible. Maybe it’s not really enough, because what is Enough in the world we live in, really?- but maybe it will be Something. And what if all of these little Somethings add up, like a weaving of support that can hold us as we get through?

Sending you wishes for gentleness, and honoring however you are getting through,

♥ Jess

It is brave to stay in my body, it is wise sometimes to leave it

If you are someone who struggles to stay in your body.
If you are someone who has leaned into dissociation as a survival strategy.
If you are someone who struggles to connect with the sensations and language of your body.
If you are someone who encounters deep pain when you touch into your bodyscape so it’s like: okay, why the heck would I even go there?
If you are someone who has been should on to stay with your body as if it’s easy.
If you are someone who has been admonished and shamed for shutting down, numbing out or disconnecting from parts of your body.

This love note is for you.

There is wisdom in living in our body. In embodying the skin and bones, the muscle and cells - the nervous system that works towards equilibrium and survival in any way possible.

There is wisdom in leaving our body. In disconnection, in dissociation, in numbness and avoidance and not being ready to go there.

If you are someone who has experienced or experiences chronic pain, chronic illness, or traumatic experiences, the body might not always feel like a safe place to be. It might not feel like a thing we can trust. It might be a place that betrayal has happened, or is happening. We might feel or have felt this from the hands of someone/thing else, or in the disappointment we may feel about our own body and its processes and how they impact us and our lives.

I want to say that this (this being whatever you feel, whether I have named it or not) is so fucking valid.

It makes sense if connecting with our bodies is hard. It can be wise to move slowly. It can be helpful to work with someone who gets that bodybased approaches might be super challenging and that it’s not a one-and-done deal. It can be affirming for someone to say:

Look at you. Look at the ways you have survived.
Look at the ways you are surviving.
And before we try to change a thing —
Let’s start with honoring the hell out of that.

Shall we?
[ ] Yes
[ ] No
Jess

P.S. I am over the moon to be sharing so much about bodies, embodiment, pain, the nervous system and trauma with y’all! Like, really and truly. ❀ Tending to Chronic Pain, a 4 week journey for meeting our pain & our selves with growing compassion is opening soon. Click here to join the waitlist!

Gratitude is not required on your chronic pain journey

Gratitude is not required in your journey with chronic pain.

Sure, folks will foist it upon you.

Tell you your pain is a gift.

And it might be.

But the truth, as with most things, is that you get to decide.

And often it’s not as simple as a gift with no sharp edges.

Perhaps it’s easier for someone else to declare your experience a gift when it isn’t theirs to hold.

Your gratitude is welcome. Same as everything other feeling (and there can be so many).

But it’s not required, even if you’re repeatedly told otherwise.

There can be glimmers of gifts and beams of gratitude and even the occasional appreciation for a lesson, but folks often paste these bright spots over the intensity and immensity of the pain you might experience.

Today, I’m here to say that wherever you are in your experience is okay.

You need not fastforward or find the silver lining in the storm cloud that threatens a flare.

Sometimes we just sit on our front porch as the clouds hang low, limbs restless and heart thudding deep, and whatever we feel is not a thing to usher in or push away, it’s just a thing that’s there and true because our bones sing of it. Maybe it’s a cloud, and it might float on or stick around. We might not know yet. And whatever we see in it or make of it is ours, a thing that can’t be lassoed by someone else’s hollow words because they’re not the ones on the porch in the weather, eyes toward the storm.

Sending care though the clouds,

Jess

Dear Coaches: Mindset Isn't Everything

I am beyond tired of healing and coaching models boiling complex circumstances down to mindset work & emotional/mental/healing blocks. There is no way this is the full picture. However, this is a great business model if you want someone to believe they are the problem and they can only change themselves and their circumstances via your program or services.

If a client feels aligned with and inspired by mindset work, breaking through blocks, and doing inner work - yahoo, go for it!

But I’m not talking about that.

I’m talking about mindset work that doesn’t acknowledge systemic oppression, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps, try harder, get out of your own way, don’t be a victim of your circumstance language and approaches.

I’m talking about reducing a complex, holistic, messy situation into a wholly personal problem.

I’m talking about a client bringing a coach (business, healing, life, whatever!) a criticism (of the coach, a methodology, life, whatever!) & the critique being turned right back around onto the client as a block they need to clear/work through/whatever!

I’m talking about where we are pointing our fucking fingers, and can we please be more thoughtful and careful & intentional about it?

This narrow approach of “you are the problem/I am the problem” can feel empowering, sometimes! We often turn to this when we feel out of control in a situation we need to survive. If I am the problem, then maybe I can solve the problem, and things will get better. Seems easier than changing all these shitty external out-of-our-hands things.

When we look at our selves, we are powerful - yes. When we look at our world and the systems we live in, they are powerful too.

I will not rally behind coaches distilling complex issues into client’s personal problems. It is gross, it is negligent, it is misinformed, and it is harmful.

So what can we do as folks in healing and helping spaces?

Can we follow our clients’ lead on the approaches that best serve them?
Can we strive to be anti-oppressive & learn about systemic injustice?
Can we stop teaching & preaching mindset as a way of bypassing tough realities & collective states?
Can we? Please?

Love/I’ve had it,
Jess