Healing is an Action Verb

This post was written for publication in February of 2021. However, it had to be help until our lawsuit was settled.

The number of journal entries I have opened with the words “healing is hard” are countless. Today is another one of those. This week I learned I am to receive a “Lifetime Achievement Award” for community work. At the same time my husband and I are outlining with our personal injury attorney all the ways living with my persistent post-concussive syndrome have impacted our lives.

This morning I listened to my dear husband innumerate all the ways our life, and specifically, his life has changed as the result of this damn injury. Of all the anger, frustration, grief and hard, nothing could break my heart more than this. My hard working, never complaining, always supportive, gentle, caring, loving man! What he has had to take on and what he does for me, and us, every day. We are a team. I know that. We have been a team from the beginning. But to hear him verbalize that he is now in a care giver role? My heart shatters.

So yes, healing is hard . It’s honestly acknowledging the impact this accident has had on our marriage, our home life, and the most intimate aspects of our emotional and sexual life. Healing is sitting and listening to my precious partner discuss these intimacies in depth with our attorney, knowing they are being detailed for people I have never and will likely never meet. Our marriage is being recorded for strangers to sift through, pass judgment on and then assign some obscure monetary value to it. My stomach churns. Bile rises into my throat. Tears quietly stream down my face. My respect for women who have been through legal cases as the result of experiencing personal violence has never been greater.

This past week has been one big ironic mood swing. I was plunged into paralyzing PTSD. I thought I’d come through most of it, but no. As my social media feed filled with congratulatory posts, shares and “atta girls” regarding the award announcement, I felt numb. Not only was the joy of the win muted, but life was muted. Any feeling of accomplishment or appreciation was replaced by a litany of loss, intrusions upon our personal privacy, and the shaking, tearful, brain fuzzing, raging whirlwind of fight, flight and freeze.

It has taken me a full week to come full circle. My head was able to start getting a handle on what was happening. My body was still reacting. Food didn’t have taste. Nothing took the edge off. Tears flowed and language eroded. As my brain bathed in adrenaline, I was wide awake, unable to rest, but unable to function. I was able to see it this time at least. I knew what was happening even though I could not stop it. I kept breathing. I drew inward. John has enough on his plate, now his wife was having yet another meltdown. No one can be on the cleanup crew forever. It’s shocking what a person can accomplish in the midst of such emotion. I managed to pull myself together to help a colleague present on brain injury by reading some of my writing and answering a few questions. I was able to celebrate a milestone birthday for one of John’s parents over the weekend. Showered, hair done, make-up applied, “real” clothes vs. pandemic life at home clothes, even earrings; I looked perfectly functional.

Now, a week gone and more attorney meetings later, I am still a mess. At least now though, I can function. This week I was more prepared. I knew what was coming. I practiced breathing before I was deep in. I planned my day around having PTSD, because I knew it was unavoidable. Seriously, how fucked up is that? Did I just write that I planned my damn day around having PTSD?! Just another item to chalk up to the “things I didn’t plan to be doing in my life” list.

So yes. Healing is hard. It’s staying conscious; reminding myself to breath, using all the tools I have to hold on tight to staying present in my body. Healing is about going deep down in and then re-emerging. Healing is about letting the rage flow, the anger manifest, the pain engulf me and then again, (still), sifting through it to use what I felt and learned to move forward. Nothing about this is easy or enjoyable. It’s just honest. I don’t have the energy or desire to be anything less than real about this walk. If I don’t tell my story, if I don’t let myself be in it, I will never fully heal. Maybe I won’t anyway. But I’ll be more whole. I’ll be more here.

I’m grateful to be at this place where sometimes now I can coach myself through these trauma responses. That feels like big healing to me. It helps to know I am not alone. I have support. I have love. As my therapist reminds me quite often these days, I am “learning to sponsor myself.” Healing is an action verb, a process, and to me, it implies hope. If I can hang on to that, I can keep going.