I received the biggest compliment I could have imagined when a friend recently commented that something is different about me. That I am grounded.

Grounded.

A contrast to this exact time last year where I have written in my digital notepad: “I am spiraling. Coming undone. So be it.” And stepped into the chaos.

“What changed?” she asked.

Honestly, I didn’t have an exact answer other than I’ve finally been given respite and rested.

I rested to heal and to recover. A year ago, I broke my brain trying to be in two countries at the same time while the life I had known for thirty-three years fell apart. When things fall apart, they really take everything down in flames.

My identity capital plummeted, familial systems broke, and my hierarchy of needs collapsed all the way down to the most basic requirement of having a stable shelter over my head. In my better days, I relied on others and am grateful to all who offered me a bed or couch in the past couple years. In worse nights, a landlord let me squat in an empty apartment unit when I couldn’t find a place to sleep.

What changed?

I learned to rest. And in doing so, I began to recover and found remission.

Rest

It took a long time physically and mentally to let go and get comfortable with restfulness. Physically, I’ve been in fight or flight for so long, I had to completely reset a baseline of how my body interprets ease. When I finally found it, I gave myself permission and I rested whenever I could.

Per doctor’s orders, I had already traded in Power Yoga and running for Yin and floating. Through a Yin practice, I found my teacher who taught me the importance of sleep. I stopped working and looking for work. I canceled a trip around the world and visited home to snuggle my senior cats and play with my nieces and nephew. I took my time, passed on things that required too much energy, and did what I could day by day.

Whenever I felt guilty for not being productive or “doing something” with my free time, I remembered the lost importance of daydreaming, letting the brain heal, and practicing self-compassion. I put into practice a question I’ve come across time and again: What would you say to friend? I turned that compassion inward.

Recovery

I worked on recovery. With the help of a therapist, I acknowledged that I was experiencing post-traumatic stress and trauma was stuck in my body. I didn’t feel like me. I lost memories of what made me me and I felt like a foreign invader of my own life. I knew I had been through unsettling events, but I just assumed the tremors, the panic attacks, and the dissociation was depression. I never would have equated trauma with my life.

In an interview I stumbled upon and have listened to time and again, Gabor Mate says the essence of trauma is the loss of self.

“It is not what happens to you. The trauma is what happens inside of you. We become disconnected from emotions and the body and end up developing a negative view of the self, people, and our world.”

He continues to say that we recover “by reconnecting with yourself, by restoring the connection with your body, primarily, and with your emotions that you lost. And once you do, when you’ve found these things again, then, you have what we call recovery.”

So I surrendered to finding her, me, in time. I moved through it, wrote through it, and dreamt through it. I constantly checked in and asked myself and my body what I want to do or feel like doing and honored that until I got to know myself and my body truly this time.

Remission

When I recovered, I was able to dissect residual suffering from the trauma. I learned that I was holding a grudge with the world for the difficulties and pain it had brought me. I let go and went through a process of remission, or forgiveness. It felt like a big sigh and resounding release of tension.

For a long time, I thought nothing could be worse than losing my mother in this life. Through breakups and losses and disappointments, I would stare in the mirror, tell myself to pull it together, and say nothing hurts worse than losing a loved one. It’s a lie. A defense mechanism. A false shield. There are many pains and sufferings in this lifetime. Losing someone doesn’t make make further suffering hurt any less.

This world didn’t owe me an easier ride just because I lost a parent. And I am not indebted to the Universe for the moments where it feels like maybe I got a pass and things could have been worse. So we canceled each other’s debts. We have a clean slate now. I know there will always be sorrows and joys and everything in between. But, it is not to hurt us or punish us. It is because we are human beings. And, as human beings, horrible things happen to us and among us. Beautiful things do too. The reality that the human condition is as tragic as it is beautiful is something I can trust. And to have trust, I can build a relationship with the world again.

Written October 2019. Published May 2020.