Things that happened on the 19th of May that would usually cause me to lose my shit:
Strangers were in my house, in every room of the house, even my bedroom, there was no escape.
The strangers were tradies, and they were drilling, the noise was constant.
The tradies had to take my house apart to do their work and so the house was incredibly dirty and messy.
I was not able to have my morning routine, my most sacred thing.
I was not able to write or do work, my most favourite thing.
My phone was popping off with people wanting things from me.
We realised that the manuscript we were working on had significant errors in, because of a bad file transfer.
We couldn’t find the latest non corrupted manuscript file, because of my own disorganisation and I was having to look at documents with the names: final manuscript / copy editted manuscript / actual final manuscript / proof read manuscript final / THIS IS THE LATEST MANUSCRIPT, (spoiler, it wasn’t).
the pen did not work when I tried to journal, there were no other pens in sight.
the wardrobe door closed really loudly.
My tummy hurt :(
The list above is not a list of heartbreaking, terrible happenings. It is a list of annoyances and every day mishaps that happen to everyone regularly. They are my undoing.
I am highly highly sensitive to these sort of daily disturbances: people in my space, anything that holds me back from doing my thing, unexpected demands on my attention/time, loud noises, routine shifts, things that don’t work the way they said they would (pen???), physical discomfort, loss of control over the small precious things I normally control. The above list is essentially my kryptonite. My nervous system has never been able to navigate these things without big expressions of distress.
If the events of the 19th of May had happened normally, I would’ve had spiralled multiple times. There would’ve been a huge amount of tears. I would’ve been incredibly snappy and irritable. I would’ve curled up into the corner and shut down. The tradies would’ve seen it and wondered what was up with me. As have many a tradie in the past.
And yet, none of that happened.
WHY DID I NOT CRY, AN INVESTIGATION:
Last week I recorded an episode of my podcast called BEING AN ANTI-FRAGILE ARTIST. My author husband and I talked in about how hard circumstances, rejection, chaos, shit going wrong can be an opportunity to become an incredible and very successful creator. It was about the ‘warrior mindset’ - ie, looking forward to every bit of adversity because it is an opportunity to become brilliant.
It’s a concept I am very familiar with, but for some reason or another the podcast shifted something in me. Is it socially acceptable to say my own podcast changed my life? I have been on the look out for chaos and difficulties ever since we recorded it and at 645am when the three lovely trades men knocked on our door, brandishing their not lovely noisy tools, I thought - this is a day to become brilliant.
The method
There would’ve been 20 or so moments of intense internal discomfort on 19th of May. Moments where previously I would’ve expressed big feelings, exhausted myself and spiralled.
On the 19th of May I used four things to enact change.
The Warrior / Anti-fragile Mindset. Each time these intense moments occurred I told myself this is an opportunity to become brilliant. This really motivated me. It meant every time I had an uncomfortable feeling, I was vaguely excited. This is a moment I can use to become more of a fucking unstoppable, human, author, artist, creator.
Breath. Each time I felt myself wanting to fucking crack it, I used my breath. Eugh how very cliche. But I did, I breathed slowly, long exhales, for as long as it took for my body to feel even at least a little different.
I stopped trying to change the situation. I let go of control. Attempting to change the situation got me too close to a meltdown. There was too much friction. I pretended I was a chill person, who could go with the flow, and it sort of worked.
Internal talk. There was lots of internal soothing and conversation. This is so hard. This feeling is so valid. You are so resilient. This is time to wield your immense creative power to make change. I want to be powerful. I want to be capable of great change. These moments are an invitation to become magic.
The realisations:
As I went through my day, meeting each moment of internal discomfort with a new neural pathway, many revelations revealed themselves. The big one was this: I have a long-standing loyalty to my own distress. And it was only through navigating the 19th of May that I began to understand why.
Regulation feels like Repression:
I am deeply suspicious of regulation because in the past, to deny my melt downs felt like repression. To breath through a very hard moment was to ignore my reality, to suppress my truth. It is telling my little body that her distress doesn’t matter and more than that, that it wasn’t real. Throughout the day I was worried that I was merely burying the intense feeling and it would come out later. But as I breathed through it, I still FELT the discomfort. I still told myself, fuck this is real and hard! It did not feel like a stuffing down. It felt like a release. There is a difference, and I must learn what it is.
I do not feel safe being privately upset.
Multiple times during the day James asked me, “Are you okay?” And I made the radical decision to say, “yep I am okay!” It was very, very difficult. I want my discomfort to be visible and I want James to know about my upset. I want a witness to validate my feelings and I want him to be a container for my distress. I don’t want to hold it alone. But I also know that when I announce that I am not okay, I will collapse into the confession. I say, “I’m really bad,” and then suddenly I am completely and utterly, really bad. The words are a trapdoor into collapse. Saying, “I am okay!” in a genuinely chipper tone felt unsafe to me, I am lying! I must hold my pain all by myself! But the words also felt like something I could lean on for a moment, and they were not totally untrue because I became okay. I do not want to deny my reality, but I also want to understand that I am a master of it in many ways.
My big feelings are justified, therefore they must be expressed.
I want to have a meltdown because these things DESERVE a meltdown. If I stay calm, I am saying this is acceptable. If I don’t lose it at the pen that has full ink but still isn’t working - the people at BIG PEN win.
If I don’t suffer visibly, then the wrongness of this moment has not been properly recorded. This is my justice streak, and maybe my most unhinged revelation. I want to lose my shit because the situation deserves it. And if I don’t lose my shit, the ‘situation’ got away with something… ??? Like anyone but me is paying for it? I must learn that something can be unacceptable without requiring me to self-destruct in protest. Something can be really fucked up and very difficult and it will STILL be really fucked up and very difficult if I regulate throughout my experience of it.
To regulate feels like self betrayal.
My biggest revelation. Throughout my life I have been told, overtly, and covertly, that my emotions are overly dramatic and unnecessary. I feel VERY defensive over my big feelings. These emotions are valid and deserved to be expressed. To breathe through them, to release them rather than express them, feels like a betrayal of my dramatic, big feeling self. It feels like telling my inner child: everyone was right all along, you are too much and now I am trying to make you more acceptable. A big part of why I will lose my shit is a loyalty to my too muchness.
When I express my huge feelings I believe I am saying:
I will never be one of the people who dismisses me.
I will never call my feelings too much.
I will never make myself smaller.
But I must learn that regulation is not making myself palatable. It is not giving into a world that wants me to be less. This is not me saying: I used to be dramatic, but now I am a real adult and regulated and I know better. This is me honouring every beautiful dramatic and sensitive part of me, listening intently, and taking care of her. She is not silenced, she is heard, and held by me. She is still allowed to cry, to lose her shit, to be heard - I am not silencing her, I am taking care of her. I am not betraying my sensitivity, in fact May 19th was actually day I honoured my sensitivity more than I ever have before.
ANYWAY I GUESS I’M HEALED NOW AND BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE!
Love, Amie
Nah, actually May 19th hasn’t changed me.
I am not an entirely different person. I didn’t become easy going. I am not suddenly someone who can now go with the flow. I have not transformed into a guy that finds the sound of constant drilling, ‘background noise’.
I am still so fucking sensitive. I am still a big feeler. Easily overstimulated. A cryer. And I do not want that to change. I am deeply uninterested in becoming a woman who does not have big feelings, who does not cry.
But I AM interested in is becoming a person who does not have to lose her shit in order to prove that something hurt. I am interested in being someone that knows their feelings are real even if they are not witnessed. I am interested in becoming a version of myself who is loyal to my intensity without being obedient to every impulsive demand it makes of me. I want to be someone who understands that to meet my intensity with deep breaths is not a denial of my intensity, but a love of it.
I am interested in using every hard moment, every shitty broken pen, every unexpected loud noise as an opportunity to become absolutely fucking brilliant.
Will keep you updated as to how it goes,
Amie x
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