Nerve

Contemplation of the day....well more like contemplation of the week. Let me explain.

Something that my therapist taught me that really helps me is to name certain parts of me that can sometimes take over my brain. Perfectionism, anxiety, hypervigilance, logic just to name a few. My naming these parts of my brain helps me create separation between these thoughts and myself. I used to think that these things were my personality, but they aren't. They are thought patterns that have been solidified by core beliefs. Unfortunately for some of us, our core beliefs can be flawed. Especially if your abuse began in childhood when your brain is just starting to develop. These core beliefs were built in a time of survival, desperation, and even panic. However, these core beliefs have a very important job, they are the foundation on which we build our house.

Some of these core beliefs I refer to as "nerves". I envision these as exposed nerves next to your teeth, and even the slightest touch can radiate excruciating pain throughout the jaw. This is what it's like for a trauma survivor when one of these "nerves"are struck. When something happens and it echoes a core belief, especially a flawed one. When something makes us feel so similar to a terrible time in our life, sometimes our bodies are brought right back to that moment and all those sensations flood your system as if it's happening all over again.

This happened to me this week and I still haven't fully recovered (very much looking forward to meeting with my therapist on Friday). The past six months have been extremely difficult and I decided to get testing for ADHD. I wasn't sure and I know that women typically get diagnosed later in life, especially after becoming a mother. My first evaluation didn't feel right so I got a second opinion. The practice that administered my second evaluation was so incredible. I did over eight hours of testing, my husband even answered questions about me. The psychologist I met with for my intake meeting was extremely thorough and I felt so reassured. Truthfully, I was so hopeful that they would find something wrong with me. For the sole purpose of finally being able to explain what is going on.

But here's the thing about hope, it's dangerous. I don't know if any other survivors feel this way, but I am very afraid of hope. Hope is made out to be this amazing and incredible feeling when we envision what our lives could be like, or what will happen next, and to most people, it might give them strength to overcome their hard moments. For me, it feels like a ticking time bomb. What if that thing you hoping for gets taken away? Then you feel it. Heartbroken. Crushed. Devastated. That pain is one that I have been protecting myself from for decades, and for good reason. Living with a narcissistic mother, all the nice and good things that are promised get ripped away. Sometimes in a dramatic and theatrical way, and sometimes in a silent and nonchalant way. Acting as if that thing they kept promising you didn't even matter. I learned a long time ago that if the thing I hoped for wasn't an option, then whatever happened I wouldn't be disappointed. Maybe I could protect myself from that devastation.

This time I did have hope. I had hoped that this evaluation would give me an answer. A label that professionals would understand and know how to help me. Instead, I got heartbreak. It hit so many of my "nerves" and is so much more than just disappointment. It ripped one of my core wounds wide open, the one that says "You're too much and I don't know what to do with you." That thought brought me back to so many memories of going to doctors since I was fourteen years old with random chronic pains and symptoms for them to run all these tests to find nothing wrong. No answers. No explanations. Just platitudes like "Make sure you are getting a good night's sleep" and "Make sure you are managing your stress." All these things were running through my mind as I was on my virtual appointment with the psychologist who put together my final report. The more she talked, the more I had to concentrate on holding back tears. Then the final blow "With everything you have been through and everything you have told me, I am so surprised that you performed so well. I was just talking to my supervisor about how impressed I was by you." I know this was intended to be a compliment, but it didn't feel like one. It felt like a dismissal. My anxiety brain took over saying "See, she said we are going to feel like this forever, told ya." I know that my anxiety brain is wrong, I just have to find proof.