I went backpacking

 I went backpacking.

I went backpacking Memorial Day weekend to ground myself, reset myself, and get away from everything that had been occurring over the past few days previously. Friday night I attempted to pack my bag, but my mind was too scattered, unable to focus on even the simplest of tasks of packing up my quilt and grabbing pajamas for the trail. Saturday morning I awoke, anxiety still looming, panic moving slowly throughout me, but at least I had a clear head. I gathered my equipment, my food, and prepared for an errand I needed to run prior to leaving. In the middle of packing and preparing a text came through from a dear friend: call me. My heart sank and my heart-rate skyrocketed, the panic began swirling faster and I took deep breaths, reminding myself I was safe. I replied with a simple, I will try, but I am not OK right now. A boundary, a piece of self-care, and a reminder to my friend that I had told them I needed space.

As I finished my packing and my errands my mind swirled, no response from my friend. I finally text them again: is everything OK? No response. I began my northwest drive to the trailhead, munching on my breakfast finally deciding that I will call when I finish eating. I knew I could ignore them, but my mind was swirling and spinning and I'd be thinking about it so I knew the best course was to deal with it head on. My phone rang and it was my friend. Nothing was wrong, but the conversation did not go well. We argued, picked at each other, and eventually I had to say I'm not OK, I'm not having this conversation right now, we can continue it when we're both in a better place. On I drove, music off and on, GPS guiding me.

I picked up my pack, loaded it on and headed south on the Appalachian Trail towards Duncannon, determined to close out another section. I was completing a section I had been avoiding because of a road walk. I headed down the mountain, across the Susquehanna, through the town, and then back up a new mountain. There I set-up camp at Hawk Rock, a lovely little outcropping with an incredible view of the river and land. I knew I needed to ground myself more, so instinctively I decided to cowboy camp (sleep on the ground without my tent). I was nervous, but felt safe and gave myself permission to setup my tent at any point in the night. The locals and I enjoyed a beautiful sunset and I drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter. A porcupine awoke me around 4am, and the sunlight woke me around 5, with the locals coming in around 6 to watch the sunrise. It was the first morning I woke up without anxiety looming and panic lingering. My head the clearest it had been in days. Sunrise, breakfast in bed, and then I was up and off to retrace my steps, now headed north to close out more miles in this Pennsylvania section.

A long 16+ mile day of hiking, but slow. I ambled about, not caring about time, just letting my body be and my mind wander. There were daydreams, there were prayers, there was quiet. There were other hikers that I passed and chatted with, whereas the day before I kept to myself, barely talking to anyone. I could feel myself coming back into me, coming back into my body, my soul grounding within me. On one particular section I fell into such a rhythm that I fairly forgot I was in Pennsylvania as my mind had drifted to other places. As the day progressed and I spoke with more people I felt more and more comfortable. I set-up camp at the shelter, my tent my home for the night. I ate my dinner among other hikers and attempted to chat with them, but the fatigue of the day and the previous days had caught up and I quickly excused myself. 

Tucked away in my tent I found myself again. The social interactions in passing in the day had been just enough, but dinner had been beyond my limits. A thru-hiker set his tent up across from mind and we conversed through our tents. I felt safe in my tent, away from him, but enjoyed the social interaction. It was a small gift given to me. That night I needed the security of my tent, just the same way I needed to sleep in the open the night before. This long anxiety and panic attack at least had me listening intuitively to my body and my needs in a new way. When your nervous system has been on overdrive for days filtering information becomes challenging and this time in the quiet of nature with the healing power of movement I was finding that connection between myself and my needs.

Monday morning I awoke, rested and connected. Grounded. Calm. No anxiety, no panic, just me. It was another gift. One I gave myself, one I spent the weekend working towards.

As I hiked back to my car all I could think was "I went backpacking"

Hawk Rock Sunset

Quiet, Comfort, and Tears

The tears that would not come yesterday have made their entrance today. A day that started with a need for quiet, for peace, for comfort and solitude. As my youngest went to the bus I made myself a small breakfast of yogurt, blueberries and honey, comfort food and nutrient dense. Something light enough to put in my stomach that wasn't overly interested in being filled, yet was asking for something. With my anxiety often being triggered by hunger I knew this meal was important, and it went down smoothly, yet by the time the meal was done I wanted nothing more than a snuggle and quiet. On my couch I soon found myself nestled against the cushions, unable to read, unable to do anything, my brain and body tired, exhausted. As I felt myself drifting to sleep I set an alarm so that I could make my way upstairs to work.

I settled into the couch and drifted contentedly in and out of that light space. It was not peaceful, but it was comfort. My phone rang, a certain ring tone letting me know an intimate friend was calling, but I ignored it. I needed space, I needed time, and I needed to be in the moment for me. As I made my way upstairs to begin my day the phone rang again, my person calling me a mere 10 minutes later, and again I ignored the call. It was too heavy, too much, all of my energy was being driven into logging into work to begin my day. I played soft music, instinctively knowing that the music I often listen to would be too much for my overwrought system. We rarely discuss the physical and emotional fallout that comes from a panic and anxiety attack. Fatigue, physical fatigue, poor emotional regulation, impaired coordination, body aches, altered hunger responses are a few of the things I have experienced throughout today. Thankful for a quiet Friday at work with no interruptions from my team and the comfort of steady, monotonous work I went about my morning. 

Today I set boundaries for myself with my friends and my business. I am taking the weekend off to be with me, my business, my passion project, will survive without me for the weekend. My friends were told I am not ok, but I will be and I need this space, this time to be with me. I cannot care for them, cannot care for my children, cannot do what I love if I am not ok. I am not ok. These boundaries are difficult. I want nothing more than to call my best friend, yet I won't. Maybe that seems counterintuitive since we are taught and told to reach out when we need help, but I know me, I know what I may do, which is share briefly and then focus on them. This delays going through my process. This delays my own healing, so I let the tears fall and do my best to honor these feelings and move into them. I cannot be who I am without tending to me.

Over lunch I went for a walk, 2 houses from mine I wanted nothing more than to turn home and take a nap. Maybe it was anxiety, maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was fear, but it seized ahold of me and I found myself tensing and my knees wanting to buckle at the same time. My body confused about what it should do, neurons firing haphazardly after the previous day. A few deep belly breaths and with mental fortitude I was able to walk the neighborhood, tears randomly slipping down my cheeks, a soft jazz station playing in my ears. Each song speaking to me, a gift from God and universe, in the midst of the tears I knew these songs were meant for me, meant for my journey, and spoke to me of something special. 

"and I'll see you in the high and low, in the high and low I'll find you" 

"You've got a friend in me, When the road looks rough ahead And you're mile and miles From your nice warm bed You just remember what your old pal said, Boy you've got a friend in me"

"Look now There's more to see See how I used to be There's a memory Something only I could know It's a wildfire Burns everywhere I go But I know the way home, I know the way home"

The day progressed, I eventually responded to a few texts, sent calls to voicemail and simply told those of you who reached out I cannot today. I simply cannot. There is too much to put into words, too much to process, and I don't know where to begin. The tears cannot fully be explained other than a physical release of everything. As my children came into the home my body changed, tension returned as they went about their day. They provided a small boost of energy to me, but as they left for their dad's this weekend I deflated. Thankful for them to be gone so I can focus on me, but I miss their energy, their love, and their distractions.

Sitting with yourself when you are in this space is difficult. I can be alone and alone with myself in many different ways, but this one is challenging me. I will see what the weekend brings. It is planned to bring me to the forest with a backpack, a journal, tissues, and my basic necessities. It will not be about crushing miles, but finding my feet, steadying my ground, and listening. Listening to the woods, to God, to the Universe for the next steps. Patience my friend I know it will say at some point. As part of me wants to revolt against this process I am gently reminded of the prose that I found this morning:

"We view our life by running at it head-on. By always chasing after one emotion to the next. We try to avoid pain by never acknowledging it, by always covering it up with people or places or things to do. But that never allows the pain to heal. It never allows the wounds to close over and create the scars that tell our stories. If we stopped and acknowledge the pain, embraced the pain as an emotion that belongs to us, then we wouldn't always be running" ~Watering the Soul

So I sit in these emotions, knowing that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will bring new energy, a new dimension to my healing. There will likely be more tears, there will be pain, there will be loneliness and struggles, but there will be growth. There has been growth today. The first day, the first step, the first moment is always the most challenging, but today I made that. I am not ok, but I will be. 

The Run of Panic

I can't adequately explain what it's like to wake up and know you're not ok. That the moment your eyes open you know you are simply not ok. The anxiety begins to course moving rapidly from your brain to your limbs and your stomach, sending it churning and your limbs feeling both overly sensitive and disconnected from your body. Then the panic begins, the beating and racing heart, a feeling of spiraling impending. The moment it begins you try to breathe, try to find your center, and yet you know that today those tricks are not going to work. That today, because you did not sleep well the night before and were unable to utilize your tools you are going to have to work at not having a massive panic attack.

I awoke in a strange bed after a rough night. I fell asleep uneasily, woke repeatedly with my mind racing, questions and conversations that needed to be had in the near future circling in my brain. Being in a different place I did not have my tools, my journal had been forgotten at home, no paper in the room I was in, and my phone battery dying so mindless scrolling, a game, or even writing there not an option. I took deep breaths, performed my visualizations, and simply prayed for sleep. It came, it went, the dreams were vivid and odd, not disturbing, just odd. I awoke to the morning doves calling and was at least reminded of a pleasant memory and dear friend, and then came the crash. I waited impatiently in my bed for time to pass so as not to disturb the others in the household, breathing and praying. Dressed I stepped quietly down the stairs and booted my work laptop to charge my phone and distract myself for a while. I found mindless tasks to distract me for an hour or so until my phone was charged enough to go for a run.

I prayed the run would move some of the anxiety and panic from my body. My heart was already beating fast and I knew this would not be an easy run, so I set out to run a simple 5k in unfamiliar territory. As I sat on the floor lacing my shoes, somewhat soothing music playing in my ears a friend found me and wished me good morning. I mustered a response, turned back to finishing my shoes, tears pooling in my eyes as I became overwhelmed and wanting nothing more than to go to my friend for a hug. Fear and anxiety kept me back, and knowledge that I did need to move my body, pound the pavement and put this adrenaline to some use. The run was hard, my legs wanted to quit, my heart-rate took forever to stabilize and I struggled to find the rhythm that I knew I had been achieving these past 2 weeks. I began to beg for tears, hoping that they would help me release more, yet the tears could not and did not come. I reached the halfway point and realized I had missed a turn somewhere, found myself lost momentarily in this new town. Thankful for an app with a map I found the turns necessary to make it back. A few sprints in the driveway to help clear away the last of the panic and I clocked in at 4 miles.

I breathed, I sat briefly for a picture and a vulnerable Instagram post. I breathed and paced and worked towards centering myself. Finally feeling a brief sense of respite I walked to the door to find my friend standing there with a worried look and "what's wrong?", I shook my head as my heart started to pound and I felt my chest seize, I squeezed out the words "panic, anxiety" and dashed out the door, headphones, phone, arm band in hand. Off I flew to my car, dropping them on my bumper as the panic rushed through my body. I was trapped, needing to flee my own body and yet there was no where to go. I ripped out my ponytail, pulled at my hair, shook my head, tried to take deep breaths, paced, and tried to find a way to escape and also calm myself. I heard noises, but I couldn't focus, my vision blurry as I withdrew inward wanting to escape the torture that was my body. Hands on the car bumper I hung my head, trying to breathe, alternating bending and straightening my knees as if pushing invisible pedals that would propel me away from myself.  If there were thoughts I could not manage them, nor can I recall them now. I heard a voice, indistinguishable as I formed a cup around my nose and mouth and did the best I could to focus on my breathing, knowing that centered breathing was my only hope. Yoga breathing and alternate nostril breathing could not be attempted, I could not coordinate my body to do more than it was doing. I was trapped within this disconnected organism, my skin crawling and my body shaking. Arms enveloped me and held me still, my knees and legs shaking at times. Maybe there were words, maybe there was silence, I cannot recall. I know that the physical presence, the rhythmic breathing of another individual was holding me together. A brief moment or maybe minutes later and I was able to embrace them, rest my head on their chest and begin to feel my body again, slowly. How long we stood in the driveway in this embrace I know not, yet it was what I needed. A shift in both of us and we walked quietly to the house where I sipped water and tried to find the words that would not come.

I thought I was fine as I stood there, but my dear friend knew otherwise. Asked me if I needed something more, asked me a question or two that I cannot recall. I remember saying I'm better, see my heart-rate has come down. Yet it had not, standing there I checked my watch to show them only to have it show at rate of 114 beats per minute, high above my resting rate. I sipped more water and we moved to a different space where I could find a brief respite.

We talked, we cried, we hugged and we found a way forward through my own anxiety and theirs. It was a painful goodbye as I loaded myself into my car, not wanting to leave this person who had been there for me. For the first time in my life when having a panic attack of this magnitude someone was there, giving me exactly what I needed. I did not need to pull myself together on my own, set a time limit on my phone to allow a timed breakdown, or any other the ways I manage these when they arise. Thankfully the times of panic and anxiety attacks are few, but I can recall so many of those and the feeling of desperation that courses through me, wishing for someone to give me simply a hug and hold me until I can breathe again.

Today was incredibly rough as anyone who suffers with anxiety knows the anxiety lingers, and panic attacks physically drain you. The anxiety ebbs and flows, with moments of lightening and moments that it crushes you. A friend called me on my drive and let me vent, a safe space to share the stressors of the past 12 hours and my feelings. There was no judgement, no commentary, a listening ear and holding of space. There was a text to my therapist who was able to squeeze me in last minute today for an hour where I just unloaded everything from the past 2 months.

Today it all hit, everything that has happened since I put in my resignation at my former job. There have been health scares, an ongoing custody dispute, a job in peril, a friend in and out of crisis, kids activities mounting and changing as the school year ends, and a nonprofit that I feel I am failing as I balance all mentioned and more. Yes, I am taking time for self-care. I am focusing on my nutrition and movement, running, lifting, and getting outside. There are simply moments when the mind and body can take no more and last night triggered a storm within me that unleashed this morning.

I am thankful for new understanding coworkers, a healing hug in a time that I needed it more than ever, and the 2 listening ears provided from a friend and my therapist. Tomorrow will be different, but today, today I am not ok.

Post-run moment trying to breathe