All These Years, I’ve Been Doing Stress Management Wrong and Suffering

I’m sharing the lesson I wish I would have learned years ago.

Before today, if you had told me I was acting like a victim, I would have taped your mouth shut for slander.

I would tell you the only reason I’ve gotten this far in healing PTSD is because I take radical ownership of my journey every single day.

At least, that’s what I thought I was doing.

But this morning, I had a revelation so profound that I cried.

Twenty years ago, a Complex-PTSD diagnosis left me fighting for my life. The painful therapy process in the early years dulled the symptoms of reliving my childhood trauma, but I was constantly afraid of the world outside my front door, and lived with a vibrating nervous system that kept me on high alert.

I can’t remember what peace feels like.

I spent years trying to heal my nervous system. Meditation, yoga, somatic healing, more therapy, supplements, breathwork, nature, affirmations, prayer, gratitude, exercise, neurofeedback, tai chi, aromatherapy, visualization, progressive relaxation, and even marijuana.

I learned so much about the nervous system and tried every remedy I came across.

I didn’t exactly give up, but I stopped researching so intensely and accepted my condition.

Instead, I worked diligently to control my environment. If something stressed me, I quietly walked away. Certain sounds were physically painful, like chewing celery or loud food, repetitive noises, certain music or beats, and people arguing. Crowds were extremely challenging.

Conflict was another trigger, so I worked hard to be agreeable with everyone and keep the peace (at least I could do that outside of myself).

I became a master at adapting to whatever environment I was in, but inside, I suppressed a raging storm.

I remember the first time I became fully aware of the feeling of it. Mike and I were lying in our dark bedroom, waiting for sleep. Normally, he’s out in seconds, but said, “I can feel your anxiety from here.”

I was exhausted yet wide awake, and his comment made me tune into my body like I hadn’t before. “My whole body feels like a race car at the starting line, revving its engine as high as it will go while it’s in neutral.”

It is the most uncomfortable feeling of restlessness and brings a suffocating tension to my chest that I can’t calm. (It’s why my cat won’t snuggle me.)

I have managed it all these years by controlling the environment around me.

However, the last two years have been especially difficult for my family. We lost my stepmom to ovarian cancer and moved into a house with my dad to support him through this painful transition. During this change, I had to shut down my coaching practice and take a part-time job for income. However, a year later, my stress was so high that I became concerned about my health.

I started working harder to control things.

I quit the job, started therapy, and started walking daily on the treadmill. I did so much breathwork that I almost became a human balloon animal. I told friends that I was disappearing for a while to heal myself.

Then, this morning, I woke up with a start at 5:00 a.m.

I lay there with racing thoughts and knew there wasn’t a chance of falling asleep again. So, I tiptoed out, careful not to disturb Mike, grabbed a cup of coffee, and settled on the living room sofa with a blanket.

I thought about writing my Medium article so I could later accomplish other things that needed doing, but I couldn’t write.

My nervous system revved while cortisol coursed through my body, bringing pins and needles to my face and hands like my old panic attack days.

I gotta do something about this, I thought. Then I made a decision.

I closed my computer, brought out my phone, and opened the meditation/prayer app I’ve had for two years but only used a few times. (Clue #1 of victimhood.)

I closed my eyes for thirty minutes and listened to prayers and meditations. I let go of every stress in my mind and focused on my breathing. Tears flowed as I focused on gratitude and the present moment.

At the end, I felt better.

The epiphany I had at that moment was that even though I said “I tried” all of those methods, if I’m completely honest, I didn’t really try.

There isn’t one thing I did consistently for 30 days.

Instead, I focused on doing and called that managing my stress. I worked, I cooked, and I stayed busy. I didn’t have time for self-dates or meditation.

Doing doesn’t calm the inside; it only distracts you from it.

Yes, I was working hard to manage my outer world to protect my health, but when stress consumes your inner world, doing won’t heal that.

The greatest transformation to a whacked-out nervous system is gentle, deliberate, consistent attention. I’ve known this for some time but avoided giving myself that attention. I made excuses and said, “Nothing has worked for me! I’ve tried it all!”

Radical ownership, people.

I believe my greatest chance to heal my nervous system is by switching from doing to being.

Controlling the storms around me will never heal the storm on the inside. But starting today, I am starting a 30-day nervous system challenge. I am foregoing excuses and putting myself first. I don’t feel like I have a half-hour “extra” to give, but if I don’t make the time, I will suffer this way for the rest of my life.

No thanks.

This has been a long time coming, and now that I see how I’ve been escaping responsibility, I’m excited to start the journey.

I’ll be sure to keep you updated along the way and let you know what I’m doing (or, instead, how I’m being) and what kind of impact it’s having.

“Healing is an art. It takes time. It takes practice. It takes love.” — Maza Dohta

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