So, I’m unemployed now. Prior to becoming unemployed, I’d experienced in my body panic at the prospect of not having an income. “What will I do?!” I thought to myself obsessively in the wee hours of the mornings leading up to my termination. It felt as though I would die. My heart would pound and my back would ache in silent protest; I couldn’t sleep and I was agitated at the people around me more than usual. “Fucking people,” I thought. People weren’t the problem, though.
Funny then when the date came and passed and I did not, in fact, die. What a relief. Life goes on after one job finishes, soon to be replaced by another. Probably the biggest difference between this latest transition in to unemployment (unemployment is a common aspect of recovery when you have PTSD) and other previous events is my steadfast commitment to staying present to my internal self. My Body.
Some of you will dismiss the feeling of feelings as some new age wank-off crap. That’s OK. Others of you who are familiar with the numbing effect that trauma has on feelings and connection to one’s own body will appreciate just how big it is to have stuck with experiencing my emotions in a time of considerable stress. It’s a win, and I’ll take it. I didn’t act out with most of the socially acceptable drugs – caffeine, booze, begging my parents for financial or emotional support. No. I recognise now that all these forms of ‘acting out’ don’t help me. All they do is numb what needs to be felt: Panic, anger, rage, resentment, sorrow, and grief. I didn’t hide from these feelings, and as a result, a gift of self-realisation has been forwarded on to me; more insights as to where I’ve come from, what I’ve endured and triumphed over, where I’m heading and what my preferences are for living a full and abundant life. The pain from my past and the hope for my future are both being fused in to a comprehensible and consistent story of whom I am. This is good news for me. Prior, I had little notion of who I was due to the stop-start effect of dissociation.
By staying present to myself and by allowing myself to feel what needs to be felt, certain inescapable truths have slowly risen to the surface of my conscious mind. Namely, I like to write. I’m good at it, and using this skill for paid employment would give me great satisfaction. I’m working on that. In the past I dismissed my talent. My sister is the writer and the reader. ‘We can’t both be writers,’ I used to think. But who made that rule? It’s a belief, I’ve learned, that is a result of the neglect and emotional abuse I endured in my childhood. It’s one I’m thankfully letting go of. Also, the subject of psychology interests me. I have a Psychology degree that I’m not doing justice to by answering calls in call centers. This will change eventually.
Maybe I need to return to study to realise these inclinations more fully. This might mean share housing again, or moving further out in to ‘the sticks’ if I wish to continue to live on my own whilst I study. But living on my own has transformed my recovery from PTSD. It’s provided a safety that I hadn’t previously known while share housing. And it’s so much easier living on my own. You know all the usual annoyances. Big black hairs clogging the bathroom sink, loud and offensive music playing at 9 a.m. on a saturday morning, and taking a bite out of the block of cheese and putting it back in the fridge – and those are just my quirks.
I have to find a way to make it work. Unemployment, flashbacks, returning to study, stress. These are all factors that I have to learn to mitigate in the recovery process. I complained to my friend, Sam, the other day about how slow the recovery process seems to be of late (not true, but you know when it feels like progress is slow?). He said, “You know, you sound exactly like someone who is on the verge of change. Maybe you’re exactly where you need to be right now.” Thank God for friends who say these things during times like this. One day at a time. Just for today. These are the maxims I stick to in my recovery. I stick to routine and hand it over to the universe. After all, if it’s meant to be, surely the universe will intervene and offer encouragement?