Sometimes my system, my body, feels so gentle and fragile I just need to wrap myself up in my duvet and stay there for a long while. I am getting so so much better at trusting this is okay. At trusting that I just need to feel safe, and it’s okay to give myself what I need. It’s okay – and essential – to give myself the feeling, and sense, of safety. Something I never knew. But sometimes the trauma energy running through me is overwhelming. Like on today.
The minute I dip into myself – writing expressively in my journal, I get lost in an overwhelm of triggering. What lies beneath my skin is a whirlwind of trauma needing to be seen, but sometimes it gets too much and I need to live. Something, again, that is changing. I used to continue to dive deep, and delve into what I found, only leaving me feeling more traumatised and shaken than I was before.
Right now, the foundations outside myself – my life – feel so shaky and thin, because in a sense, they are. I am floating between homes, on the hunt for the perfect one. Sure, there is no such thing as perfection, but there is such a thing as feeling safe. Something I haven’t felt in any of the homes I have visited or looked at the last two months. In that sense, life feels dangerous because of the inconsistency and the fragility of my surroundings and situation. That’s why my bed feels the safest place to be at the moment. With my back, there’s also a real need to be horizontal and resting too, but emotionally I think I need it too. I need gentle movement outside but quickly to come back to where I know I’m safe. I have an air around my body at the moment of feeling abused…it feels like old trauma here to be healed, but it gets a touch overwhelming and can leave me confused.
It feels like a young person, wrapped up in my body. It feels like my inner child is needing somebody. She needs to know she’s safe, and she’s held and won’t be abused. She needs to know she can be somewhere and not be abused. She needs to know she can have the love and gentleness and acceptance she so deeply deserves. She needs to know she can be somewhere and really be heard. I feel like all this constant moving is taking its toll, on her sense of safety and really feeling held. But on the flip side, the fact that I haven’t just moved into any old place, is actually a sign of true love and nurturance to her and to me…I keep having to remind myself of this.
It’s the imminent move on Thursday that I think is at the forefront of my mind. I haven’t decided where yet, but there are three places to choose from. In that sense, I’m grateful, but in that sense I’m also overwhelmed. Each of them have their down points and each of them have their bits they fall short on… the feeling of safety being the number one thing that each slightly impact in their own unique way. I have the living room of a beautiful home only three doors up the street, for ten days that I will then move upstairs into a beautiful room, when the current tenants go on holiday. But it’s the feeling of being in the living room, the feeling of my space being invaded that rocks me and leaves me feeling naked. Then there’s the friends of friends who have offered their spare room but the first week, it would only be me and the guy and that doesn’t make me feel safe. It feels simpler and more straightforward and like I wouldn’t be in the way, but I feel like I need to be strict with myself and listen to the trauma that I know is there and not put myself somewhere just with the hope that I’ll feel safe, but to listen to that trauma and let myself just be safe, without having to work on it. Then there’s another place that is twenty mins walk away, in a nice little home but one I don’t feel safe in. One that
So the option that feels like it sticks out, is the one just a few doors up. But it’s that sense of feeling like my space is invaded. Because my personal space is all I need right now, and feels so valuable and important, it literally feels abusive to have people in my rooms…I hadn’t noticed that until I had a craniosacral practitioner/friend come and do treatment here with me, and it really rocked me. I talked myself into it because I knew it would be lovely and feel like a treat to not move from my perch and be pampered. And in that sense it was, or at least it was before I had the treatment. I felt important and looked after. Two mega important things to feel. But when she was here, I felt an air of trauma – I felt unsafe, but I didn’t really know how to voice it and so I didn’t. I did my best and made sure she worked with areas I felt safe, but it didn’t click until afterwards that I just didn’t want people in my space. And I haven’t invited friends up here because of the same thing. Quick visits, yes, but longer stays, no – I don’t like the idea of people being here, when here is all the security I’ve got.
So that’s why I feel nervous about taking the living room space. It feels the safest option of all three, but it feels intrusive and potentially abusive just having people in my space, or not feeling like it’s totally mine. But maybe it’ll be okay, and maybe they won’t need to really use it.
What this shows me though, is how sacred my space is and how important this is, and how normal this must be considering everything. Normality feels the key to reminding me it’s okay. Not that fucking normal really exists, but sometimes it does to me. In a healthy way.
My space is my refuge. My space is my place to be me. My space is my safety net, somewhere I know I am free and contained and connected all at the same time. It’s where I can go beneath the business and uncertainty of outside, and what I find is me. What I find might be tender, fragile and uncertain, but in there too is an infinite strength and wisdom that’s guiding me through. And at the moment, with not having a permanent home and not having a place I know I can permanently be, it just makes even more sense that this fragility would feel at the forefront and this fragility would feel like it all encompasses me. Like it is so everlasting it’ll be here forever and I won’t be able to do anything else, EVERR… But that’s because of the instability, the place my life is at, it just leaves me with a bedroom – the only place I know is really mine. Not a house, not a huge big space to call home, just a room that I have for now…
So of course my space – wherever I am sleeping – is going to feel important and in need of protecting…because it is! And I think this shows me, health.