Grounding & Growing
When I first began to understand the depth of my intuitiveness, I had trouble discerning my energy from that of others around me. I found myself crying when I was not sad or upset, but instead I was tapped into the woman contemplating leaving her husband or the father who had just lost his job and had no idea how he was going to continue to support his family. I felt pulled in a million different directions and quite frankly I felt like a complete basket-case.
During this time I was taking a 90-person course once a week for 3 hours were we learned about leadership and group dynamics as it was happening. I worked overtime to keep my cool in this course where on any given night the conversations could be heavy or light, emotional or cognitive, lively or silent and heavy with the things unsaid. I was miserable. I went to talk to my course instructor, and told her everything I was struggling with. She gave me a book to read on learning to draw energetic boundaries and she also told me that everyday I needed to put my feet in grass and head up, allow nature to recalibrate me. For the rest of that semester, on my walk to class I made a special stop along the way to take off my shoes and wiggle my toes in the earth while turning my head towards the light. Slowly, I began to regain control over myself and I learned my own energy intimately.
Yesterday I was sitting our family room when I began to have a panic attack. I had not had one in weeks, and it took me by surprise as I felt the tightening in my chest and sweat beginning to pour down my forehead, chest and back. Clinched jaw and fist, I went back to my bedroom and took two zoloft, medicine I had been living happily without since late April. Then, I went outside and though it was pouring rain, I put my feet in the grass and I turned my head upwards searching for whatever light there may be behind dark clouds. I was sure that anyone watching me would have wondered what it was I was doing, but I didn't care. Embarrassment rolled right off my back like the droplets of rain that washed away the salty sweat brought on by my anxiety.
When I could feel my breath returning to normal--a combination of both my grounding exercise and the medicine kicking in--I sat down in the driveway so that with my legs outstretched, my feet remained in the rain while the rest of me stayed dry. I sat like this for several minutes, meditatively focusing only on my breath. Inhale. Exhale. I caught and released every other thought that came across my mind and I gave attention only to my lungs. The moment ended when my dad came out of the house to take the trash and said "You know we have chairs you can sit in, right?" He chuckled at my abnormal behavior and dismissal of his insinuation that I should move out of the rain and continued on with his task.
I did not stay much longer. It is hard to get back to that place once interrupted, and it was fine. My attack had passed and I felt better than I had in a few days. Right away I started to compose this post in my mind, noticing right away how gently I treated myself. How aware I had become of what I needed and how responsive I was to my own needs. I recalled the ease with which I took my medicine and how I moved to my meditation without hesitation. I smiled at my growth and I allowed myself to feel proud of the progress I have made in dealing with disorder.
It may well be that I always have anxiety disorder and panic attacks. It may well be that I will always have to take a moment to remove my shoes and ground myself with earth and sun. It may well be, but I have finally come to a place of acceptance. This is me and these are the things I need in order to function at my best. Grounding and growing, I am no longer ashamed of rituals that make me well. I am no longer apologetic for any actions I take that serve to keep me healthy: mind body and spirit. Finally I have fully arrived at a place of peace with who I am, all of me. And as if the struggle to love unconditionally were a panic attack in and of itself, with that peace, the tightness releases and I can breathe. I can love. I can be.