A journal of healing

Storms and trauma

Heron Hill 2012  Heron Hill

Wow, this has been a week. The frozen air and deep snow has put a pall on everyone around here. Many people are having issues with their roofs leaking. We had a bit of an issue here at Heron Hill with a dripping window, but I had my contractor come and they shoveled the roof. It stopped. But one neighbor had it so bad her kid was telling us they were doing a bucket brigade the other night. One neighbor who is a young single woman had it pretty deep on her roof. She had someone shovel it off only to bury her house up to the first floor windows. She hired some schmuck who just took his truck and plowed her yard into the street and up into our yard. We have a hill which he was trying to shove it up. I was getting pissed, but I decided not to call the cops on them. It is illegal to plow snow across the street and into another’s yard. But… it’s not worth the fight and the hard feelings forever.

The girls at work are fighting like cats. We had one person swear at our front receptionist because they were following policy and would not admit this person without her badge. We slide the badge through a reader to release the doors. This caused quite a dramatic scene with some real hard feelings and stems from someone who should represent the best of the best. Our VP is extremely vigilant that her staff follows rules and regs to the letter… as it should be. The small bickering and internal fighting is everywhere.

A lot of what is happening here in the frozen tundra is threatening everyone’s safety. This is a topic is near and dear to me. I have been writing variations of posts in my head about this topic. I will be sharing them in a series of blogs for a while. They take a lot out of me to write.  It all stems from this blog post: http://healwritenow.com/weathering-extremes-mindful-ptsd-3/

I am going to take pieces of what she said and share what I felt while reading it. The first part is in relationship to our weather and her reaction to her weather.  Cissy White, the author, nailed it. She talks in this post the feeling or lack of feeling safe. She says,

I’m rattled by all the severe weather. The flood and snow drifts taller than me surrounding my home. Today, we got a blizzard warning for the coast where I am and who knows what’s coming next.

“My once sanctuary no longer feels safe or warm. 

When my home feels cold and unsafe I feel cold and unsafe. The warmth is escaping.

It’s not that I can’t see how beautiful the snow is or how powerful Mother Nature is. Those things I know. What I feel is threat and fear.”

 

I love a good storm especially thunderstorms. I like a ripsnorter of a blizzard if I am home and do not need to go anywhere. But storms are usually short in duration and cause little harm (so far for me.) However, the change in the air, the light and wind are huge triggers for me and puts me into hyper vigilance. I used to think it was like a high, but the copious years of being in that state have now taken their toll on me.

This trigger stems from one of my earliest memories. When I was around three or four, I was the last child of five at home. My mother at that point had lost her live-in domestic and was on her own for the first time in her marriage of thirteen years. She used to stick me in a playpen out on a small enclosed porch for hours. The pen was in a place where I could see out the low window of the door to the back yard. There were windows all around and they were open but what they call jalousie windows and rain did not come in.  A storm had blown in and it was a beaut. I remember being terrified at first and crouching in the corner of the pen. But as the storm raged, I got braver and actually looked out the door. There was a huge old oak tree out there and I am not sure if it got hit or what. But I only remember an electrical sound like a transformer about to blow up (and that in actuality may have been what happened.) But to this day, that sound turns me inside out. I watched in fascination and panic. It is like the high one gets from a roller coaster. Cortisol and adrenaline flows throughout me when I get like this which is poison. Now I do not have to be in an actual event for this reaction. I only have to perceive a threat and whamo.

But as long as my little house here, Heron Hill as I call it, remains warm and dry and no trees are falling on top of her I am fine. I will sit out on the back porch, either the covered one or the enclosed one I have and watch. I will often wake up with the distant flash of lightening and get up and watch the storm blow in. I spend hours storm watching.

But her comment about the warmth escaping and her sanctuary is no longer safe is something I totally understand. Any child who has lived through trauma understands.  We build our homes as a refuge, a place we can let our guard down and release the portable walls we walk around with to protect ourselves. It is exhausting to put up a brave front all the time. Some nights I climb into my soft bed and just cry from that release and overwhelming fatigue. I am safe here, surrounded in the environment I built. I own my home. Only me. It is filled with my stuff except my husband’s den downstairs. He came after I had bought Heron Hill.  It is my garden. Mine! I pay for her, protect her and keep her running. ME! It is a symbiotic relationship completely.

But the snow is piling up and it feels like we are drowning. My house is very high up on a hill. The main floor is actually the second floor if you enter through the front of the house. But this floor then exists right to the back yard on one level. My front windows are on the second floor. But the back windows overlook the deck and the snow piles are right to the window sills. We had our roof cleared and ever since we have been having this periodical very loud bangs emanating  from the cathedral ceiling, which is the roof. It is scary as hell. The ceiling in not sagging and there are huge beams that span the house. The house is 60 years old, just like me and is in great shape (not like me). I am sure it has to do with the subzero temps we have steadily suffering with. But it makes me feel unsafe in the one place, the only place on this earth, where I do not feel threatened.

Today I took the long way home to drive past a specific tree. I have no idea what it is. But in February, it sets these buds way up. This is a huge tree, at least thirty feet tall. The buds will actually unfurl to be leaves, but for now they look like unopened tulips. When the low light of morning hits this tree, the buds are pale pink. When I first saw it eight years ago I burst into tears. I used to drive that way every morning but more recently found a faster way to work. Now it is a rite of spring for me to drive by and look for this tree. Today, the buds were very tight but they were there. So….. it can’t be too long.

I hope you will take a look at Cissy’s post. I am going to make several comments about it. She was posted on ACES too HIGH, which is another blog and more about childhood trauma. All very interesting reading and I think will help people understand and have more compassion for each other.

http://healwritenow.com/weathering-extremes-mindful-ptsd-3/

 

 

 

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Comments on: "Storms and trauma" (2)

  1. Christine Cissy White said:

    Thank you for writing and sharing my work but mostly I’m so glad it inspired your writing and thoughts. The way you wrote about our homes as sanctuary touched me so much. We do make them a place to let our guards down and they hold, ground and nurture us in return. Your writing made me think and feel so much.
    I can’t wait to read more and have this blog conversation because you are making me realize how much I’ve learned tending to my home and being in my neighborhood.
    Is it o.k. if I link back to you in my blog?

    Like

    • Absolutely share. I write not to bare my soul, although that happens, but to educate people that PTSD is not just something that happens to Veterans. I am a strong proponent in educating people on ACE scores and the ramifications of childhood trauma and domestic violence. Making it real and personal like you do helps with this process.

      Like

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