“So, he told you to meditate?” His question caught me off-guard as I enthusiastically gushed over the dramatic impact of the program I recently joined. I felt my whole body deflate. No! Not meditate! Stillness! My coach told me to practice stillness! Flashing his wry grin, my friend tilted his head and compassionately said, “Sometimes we just need to pay a neutral party to tell us to do what we already know works.”
Despite experiencing stability in my home, mutually supportive relationships, and an affirming work environment, disruptions in my executive functioning skills and chronic hypervigilance persisted. Polyvagal theory addresses these issues in a way that makes sense to me, and I hired a coach skilled in teaching practices aimed at processing trauma.
First assignment: Practice stillness daily. Take notes and report back.
Libby is all in: Yes! Wow! A week of spring training, and look at me! Able to focus on stuff! Dusted off and completed a 3-year old project! This is AMAZING! MAGICAL, even! The sky’s the limit!
When my friend points out the stillness-meditation link, Trauma speaks loud and clear, in many familiar voices:
Biz winces. Did I just blow a bunch of my hard-earned money on a swindler? Oof. Of course I did. Well now, this is mortifying. I’m such an idiot. Oh, well. Nothing to be done now. I’ll just sit quietly on this bench here and watch how this plays out.
Liz digs her cleats in: Whatever. Sunk Cost. Buck up, Little Camper, because we’re going to play it out to the bitter end. We’re going to hold our head up, throw our shoulders back, and swing at every decent pitch. Dude committed to 3 months, we’re going to hold him to it!
Beth softens the blow: He seems like he knows the game. I mean, he’s got credentials. His playbook seems legit. And look, if nothing else, we got a project completed, right? Scored one for the home team, yeah?
Libby remains undeterred in her enthusiasm, faithfully showing up to practice in any weather. The weeks progress, bringing more inner ease and more completed projects.
During one early morning practice, I get hit by a wild pitch. Before I’ve even got myself centered in the batter’s box, the flashback thumps my chest, knocking the wind out of me. My coach helps me to my feet, makes sure I’m okay, and checks my stance more frequently as I implement strategies that strengthen my ability to manage how much I allow to enter my conscious mind.
I shake the dust off my clothes, step back up to the plate, lean in, and stare down the pitcher. I’ve got a great season ahead of me.
Libby crows, “Best. Investment. Ever!”
Biz Has a Blog! 