[Inner] World Peace

Coping in Chaos

I didn’t post on time today.

I have been fairly consistent lately with scheduling a draft to post on Tuesday mornings, but there has been so much happening that I never finished a piece, and therefore didn’t post on time this week. I had planned on sharing what it means for me to feel GenderFULL, but with recent personal events it does not feel like the most genuine thing to share today, and if I’ve been anything on this Substack, it’s genuine.

I’ll be as honest as I feel comfortable: My PTSD brain is on a loop, and it is latching onto things that have nothing to do with the main issue, including my writing and this very Substack.

I thought that since I missed my usual deadline there was no point in posting at all. Maybe I’d try again next week. Maybe this idea of mine isn’t worth pursuing at all. Maybe no one will even notice— maybe I should just stop. I sat with these swirling thoughts for hours as I tried my best to work through other things that have been in the queue for processing, and debated over and over again if I should even bother trying.

Something happened yesterday, and while I don’t feel comfortable writing about the event itself, because it’s not my story to publicly tell, I feel okay discussing how it impacted me. Since this event, which was a reminder of our broken systems and heavy societal biases, I have been experiencing high anxiety, hyper-vigilance, insomnia, and a tight-as-fuck jaw and chest since. These symptoms can be overwhelming and hard to cope with, especially though the cracks of life and all of the responsibilities of a single parent that is working full time.

This overwhelm has me believing that my journey for joy and peace is impossible— that no matter how hard I try or how close I get, I will never be able to experience long lasting peace in my life. I don’t feel at ease today with the sound of the birds singing outside my door, and I don’t feel fully connected to myself as I try to journal and process everything. the black and white thinking has been getting the best of me.

However.

I’m determined to work through it, somehow. I don’t want to be stuck in this miserable state. It’s one thing to feel my feelings, but if there’s something I’m very aware of today it’s that I’m not feeling, not really. I’m not processing. I feel frozen— paralyzed— wrapped tightly by the suffocating anxiety and yearning for safety. What happened was so far outside of my control. I did what I could to help, and I do think I made a positive impact in the de-escalation of it all, but I couldn’t stop it from happening.

This event has interrupted my feeling of peace and safety in my new home. It’s not that I was in real danger, though I did place myself in a position where it may have been possible, but it’s the knowing that one wrong move can set off a chain reaction of bias, and assumptions, and traumatic implications of a very broken system. The witnessing of how quickly things can escalate scared me, and instead of my routine of peace and quiet in the morning today, I’m working through the cycle of fear and catastrophizing.

But nothing is happening, now. It’s my brain that is interrupting my peace, not knocks on doors and yelling and chaos. It’s just me and my cycling brain— and while it’s no easy feat, working through that is within my control.

I keep saying it: I can’t control the lack of peace in the world, but I can control the peace I feel within my body.

This goes for my transition and the embodiment of my genuine self, but it also applies to situations like this, and my continuing symptoms. It’s not a mind over matter thing, or ignoring symptoms or avoiding symptoms to pretend that everything is okay. Getting back to a feeling of internal peace involves a lot of mindfulness, and a catch-and-release cycle with my inner thoughts.

When I slow down and monitor my thought loops, I can catch the traumatic thoughts, validate them, and work to breathe them out. It’s not a one-and-done process, by any means, and I can often feel myself getting frustrated by how long it takes to process things and let them go. However, when I do, and when I get back to noticing little, beautiful things again, I remind myself that the loops were in fact temporary, even though they felt like they’d last forever.

I haven’t gotten to that last part yet.

Not even close.

I do take solace in the reminder of this being temporary, though.

I feel at ease when I remind myself that I can trust myself to make it through this— that things will process, and I will sleep (ish), and I won’t feel this tight and gross and afraid forever. My body will relax again, but only with my help, and my tender love and care for myself.

I’ll get there, just not this second, and that’s okay.

-A very anxious and tired Mx Dani