Probably forever in my human wanderings I have had cracks that show. They are really showing now. There is all kinds of colours of light pouring out of me if I am being poetic about things. Really that means I am opened to be seen as I am.

Last month some professional types that I trust the judgement of diagnosed me with post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Something we associate with people who have served in the military or as first line responders. I have worked as a teacher. A special education teacher (please don’t insert a special smile and think how wonderful) which is much harder than it looks. The details I of how we got to last month are not for public viewing because the details involve real people who may or may not know the part they played in my experiences that lead to now. But it is enough to say I have cracks.

I have told people so I don’t have to avoid questions about why I am not working as I used to right now. Responses from people I know who I have told have been interesting. I am the same person I was before the day the letters were attached to me. The only difference is that other people now have a ‘difference box’ to look at me through the sides of. The things that have been said to me reflect the other people’s stories and how they have handled situations that feel similar to them and have I trust been said with caring for me.  I didn’t tell people for sympathy (pity) which I don’t want.  I’m not sad. I am hopeful.

The gift the letters give to me is simply that I now have the opportunity to give myself permission to choose to allow a life to unfold with me in it that is about my best and kindest life for me. Teaching wasn’t that. Teaching was my service path that began a long time ago before the century turned and people forgot that life happened back then too. I have given myself permission to be free of the promises and stories I told myself about why I was working as a teacher. I am forever grateful for that part of my story. However sacrificing myself for service can not be my present.

So in that past weeks I have moved through numbness and relief to wondering about loss of daily purpose to now…. permission to allow myself to play with ideas and imagine that kindness can help me to have enough and be enough. I still have much good to do in the world but I get to tell my very own story without worrying if it matters to anyone else. I am wandering through the field of triggers which spark hyper-vigilance and disassociation from how I feel, finding there is firm ground and flowers among the thorns and expectations.

Cracks exist and pieces are missing. I am not broken just the vessel that held my light in the world. PTSD for me is a very physical experience….my limbic system reacts and often leaves the rest of my being in my own wake. I am not dangerous when that happens, I simply suffer without knowing how I feel because like all animals I can’t feel in the moment of being triggered only focus on the best way to survive.

So right now I am enjoying feeling all kinds of things. Not everything is wonderful or predictable but the light of me is shiny and making rainbows. I’ve read lots of books of late that seem to be the right ones. I listened to Brene Brown talk about actually having to give herself permission to allow vulnerability, I think I even read that in one of her books. I liked the physical nature of the act. Intentionally choosing to give myself permission to feel whatever I feel rather than show what others want me to feel.

As a part of all of this I am giving myself permission to blog each week. About whatever takes my fancy and ideas that might become more if they are shared.

So it is peace today that I feel and no guilt at ignoring the laundry while I write this.

Peace to you too.

Sandy