If you can’t come into this post with an open mind, don’t bother reading any further. Seriously, don’t waste your time. I’m about to call some spades some spades and be truthful and honest and harsh and exposing. Cacti, your thick skin will serve you well here, so please read on.
You need to know this may be a difficult read but such a worthy one. This might make you feel a certain way about yourself, about me, and about those you love who are struggling. This may take you to an uncomfortable place. But I am finding that some of my most healing moments have been on the other side of some really hard things. I take you with me on this journey for a purpose. I desire to hold your hand and take you further down the road so that you can start to see the light if your tunnel is dark. I agree to walk a ways with you, so that you don’t feel so alone, broken, defeated, or out of your skin. You’ve got your spines, lovely cactus and you’ve got your fellow cacti friends here cheering you on. We are chanting your name.
All the others who are here for some ammunition, shade, or bitter tea, go elsewhere. I’ve been avoiding this one, y’all. It is just no fun. Also because it is too soon. You know how when something really stinks up your life…out of nowhere…without warning…beyond your control…I mean really jacks it ALL up.
This is the real shit (sorry, momma). I can’t think of a better word for it. It is the single most soul-sucking sickness that I believe turns people into their own worst nightmares. One word: Anxiety. Anxiety is, legit, of the devil. If you know, you know. I am not sure I could accurately describe just how all-encompassing this sickness can become. It sneaks its way in every facet of your life and before you know it, WHAMO! There it is in your face and your mind and setting up shop in your body. It is like carrying a 1000 pound elephant on your chest, one on your shoulders, one on your back, and walking on burning coals and thumb tacks. Dramatic? ABSOLUTELY NOT. It is painful. I know it well. It is full body pain. It is actual heart aching, finger-numbing, body wracking pain.
The only way I know how to describe anxiety is by using one of my favorite places on this earth and where I truly feel most at home: the beach. I love the waves and their music, the sea breeze, the smell of the salty air and sunscreen, the taste of the margaritas, the sand lounger I make to accommodate the curves of my body, the book I read while I am there, the sting of the sun leaving its mark on my skin, the weight of the nothingness that needs to be done, and the feel of the breath in and out of my body which always feels easier at the beach. I love it. My heaven on earth.
But, in this case, I hate it too. It is single handedly one of the most fierce, brutal, powerful, ravaging, punishing and forceful phenomena that we would never dream of getting so close too if we knew the damage that could be done. If you want to truly feel small, get in the middle of the ocean on a boat that is the size of a small city. Even on that big boat you are a tiny speck in that grand ocean. If we only knew what it could do to our bodies if it decided to turn on us. And then it does. But this time it is waves of such intense anxiety that our fingers and toes go numb, our heart physically hurts, we gasp for the very oxygen needed to keep us alive. The panic attacks roll in like an angry tidal wave pushing you to the gritty ocean floor. The weight of the water pushing down on you is just…so heavy. The feeling of your skin crawling. It feels raw. Irritated by the sand as it blasts your skin. You can feel the tide pulling you out and you are helpless against the wave.
Yet we accept it as our destiny and choose it as a paradise. Some of us get used to our anxiety islands that we think we are confined to and suffer through it.
It turned me into a monster.
Are you a Monster?
We often like to glorify the circle of life and the survival of the fittest commentary. And I realize it is true but the only people celebrating this concept are the predators. The prey knows this ends badly for them. I know I said a monster earlier and I meant it but probably not in the way you are thinking. Anxiety turned me into a self-destructive, self-hating, self-deprecating, co-dependent monster. I fed on my own insecurities. I played in the playgrounds of unimaginable traumas. I became detached and emotionally inaccessible. I was literally just trying to hold it together.
I wasn’t mean. I was hurt. I was the lone injured wolf on guard because she knows she is prey right now. She knows she is not top-dog or in fighting shape. She knows the vulnerability is there and she knows her neck is open and likely to be grabbed any instant from a blind-side blow from a predator. She is being stalked and she knows it. I had fears of being mean because I knew that I was not at my fighting weight, literally and figuratively.
At one point, I was the optimal prey. I understand the feeling of my will being pulled out of me. Anxiety is a cruel beast. It was a battle I was not sure I could win. But I did. And you will too. I believe in you, as I should because cacti have earned our spines and I happen to know that you are stronger than you think and way more fierce than you recognize. Do you believe me? I knew the monster I had morphed into was fueling my own fire that was burning me to the ground.
From my extensive time in therapy, I have learned that fire is a helpful mental imagery for what can happen in our minds and body when we go through difficult times. Think of the forest where the wolf lives, if something sparks a flame, it is going to burn. Fire is destructive, just like water. But fire does something water cannot. It clears the forest for new growth. It makes way for sunshine to reach the forest floor and for the tiniest of seeds to begin to take root.
Take Root, my friends
Almost no one would give a broken cactus in a store another look. They would pass on by for ‘the one’ that looks “perfect.” If they only knew the perfect ones weren’t the tried and true ones…they are the ones untouched and tender. That can be a beautiful concept. However the weathered cactus are tougher where it matters. Sure, we may have some scars and lots of imperfections. We may lean to one side or the other, slumping over a little more than we should, but we are tough. We are born of the fire that has threatened to take us down.
You see, the polished plants haven’t yet experienced the true growth process. That process can be hard and unforgiving and can chew you up and spit you out, faster than the ocean does a brand new body board and a middle aged dad bod who still thinks he’s got the physical acuity of his 16 year old self. Can I get an amen as you laugh it out, at the mental picture you have of this very thing happening in real time in front of you and you’ve been trained to be polite but THAT was funny?!? The tough survive: scarred and sometimes with broken pieces - we survive. We do what needs to be done because we don’t know how to stop. And just when you think you are not tough enough to survive another tidal wave…you do. I have a genius and oh so, world wise friend who once told me that I have survived 100% of my bad days so far. So congratulations, my sweet prickly friend, you are winning this day! Ye demons, get ye back.
Cacti Lesson: You are going to want to know this.
Wanna know the secret? I sat with myself for days on end and scratched and clawed and fought for me. She spent a little necessary time to heal. I gave her time to lick her wounds. I learned to find space for her and I learned to not question why, but instead lean into the what is and where can I go from here. I am no longer afraid of drowning in the tidal wave which lurks. I am equipped with many tools now. I trust my ability to swim, doggie paddle, or simply float through that. I’ve gained a perspective for which I had no vantage point before. Sometimes you just gotta ride the wave. You see, I am still that same wolf, that will never change. And I am always susceptible to being swept back up in that battle between eat or be eaten. A wolf always is.
I, along with a team of supporters, cheerleaders, and fellow cacti, came back to her. She is fierce. She is powerful. She is growing wild. Some days all I could do was sit in the pieces and some days I could pick them up. You see the monster is me and I am she. In moments my own worst enemy. I’ve learned my monster is a hell of a predator and she is most happy when she is cared for, given grace and time; but I love her. It took me forty years to find her but, damn, she fine! Loving her was the best choice I’ve made other than saying yes to my fellow cactus partner in life, Ben. I said yes to her, for me, and he happened to find his wife rising out of the scorched ruins of some really hard things. And to my surprise - she was becoming. I’ve decided to step out of my own way and continue the healing. All while learning to grow wild.
Natalie Blackmon, M.S. Human Development and Leadership
Trauma Informed Yoga Instructor
Editor Credits: Becky Simmons
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