Gratitude
You know what you are grateful for. Things like the sunset, the blossoming of a new flower, a hug from your husband, a snuggle from your dog. You can write them down in your journal, at least three each day, but you won’t really feel grateful.
Meditation
Sitting alone with your thoughts? This is basically what you do all day, anyway. But, okay, sit on your cushion and close your eyes and try to focus on your breath and it works for a while and of course your thoughts drift to the same places they always drift and you don’t really feel that different when you open your eyes and stand up.
Sleep
Ah yes, the one time you can’t hear your brain. Except for the falling asleep part, either when you go to bed or after you wake up in the middle of the night. Naps, too, are nice, and fifteen-minute cat naps sometimes turn into an hour… more… because you don’t have to hear yourself think while you’re sleeping.
Exercise
You haven’t gone for a run in three days, so why even bother, you can’t even call yourself a runner anymore. Bringing the dog to the beach, that’s about what you can handle, and the salt air does feel good as you throw a stick into the water and watch the pelicans and murres parade over the crashing waves. Sometimes you wish you could just do nothing but walk all day. Yoga’s okay, too, as long as you don’t try to balance.
Writing
Writing and journaling may uncover things you’re too scared to face. Besides, you haven’t written anything in days, why start now, you’re not even a writer.
Affirmations
Talk to yourself like you would a friend, with care and compassion. And then have a background inner dialogue about how she’s not working hard enough or doing enough or being enough or she’s obviously doing it all wrong because she can’t solve the problem of why things aren’t perfect all the time and why things are hard sometimes.
Talk about it
Even if it’s at two am and you’re on the bathroom floor and your husband asks you what’s wrong and you say I don’t know and the dog licks your face. But you do know and it just sounds like a tumble of words that don’t make any sense and defy logic and you can’t see how any of the words are helping anyone make sense of how you feel.
And sometimes there are just no words.
Oh, Erin--I see the shape of that suffocating box, I feel the heaviness of every movement, the energy to do it. I hear the voices of the Mother F-ing Mind Flayer whispering those deceptive words that feel like truths and are designed to keep us from doing the very things that might make it stop. I've been there too, dear friend. And while sometimes there are no words, I want you to know how powerful the words of this post are. Thank you for sharing your experience so intimately. May the Mind Flayer let go soon. You are loved. Your words matter--you matter. You are AWESOME.