THE ART OF ENJOYING THE  NOW...

DEALING WITH PTSD PART 2

Enjoying. Life. Oh brother, if we all knew exactly how to do this we would be perfectly happy all the time – harmoniously singing in the streets as part of some choreographed musical, all magically knowing the lyrics and dance moves.

One of the symptoms of PTSD is ‘loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities; a social isolation and emotional detachment’. So during my last therapy session I gave myself some homework. As a writer, your mind is trained to focus on keywords in conversation and in everyday life. You listen and build ideas on the keywords that stand out for you. Keywords that stood out for me while listening to myself unload on poor *Cara were “fear”, “control” “anxiety”, and “guilt”. I came to a realisation during our chat: This stormy veil of anxiety, fear, guilt and control was covering my eyes and prevented me from enjoying so much of my life and hence, prevented my family from enjoying so much too. I had become so detached from life itself that I had become completely anhedonic. It was stealing my every bliss – even this tiniest amount.      

This “fog” started back in 2003 after I lost my father. Suddenly, I spun into this controlling hypervigilant mess – monitoring the whereabouts and safety of my family. I became a constant “worrier” – afraid that my actions controlled the very wellbeing of my family. I would call constantly asking whether my mom checked the gate, whether they got home safely. whether my sister, Caron, was out late - staying up till 4am so that I could pick her up. It even extended to my circle of friends – begging them to stay over instead of drive home at night, mattress pump in hand. When *Cara pointed out that I was repeating the same pattern with my husband and daughters as I did when my father passed away, that she was worried that my body had existed in an “anxious, adrenalin-fueled crisis mode for some 20 years and that she’s worried my serotonin levels were depleted,” I was tempted to say, “Dude, you are killin’ it today!” The thought of quite literally never being able to experience happiness was so daunting and terrifying. I had this entire life to live with my kids and I was missing out. Ila had already grown to an almost 2-year old in the blink of an eye and I wasn’t going to miss out on another second.

So I went home, and started mentally jotting down what I wanted from life. I wanted my family to be happy. I wanted to be happy. But I had always lived in this fear that the minute I would enjoy life and be content, that the rug would be pulled out from under us. I became fearful of not only things that occurred in the past but a hypothetical future where more tragedy could occur.

So I asked myself what I could do to simply enjoy life – desperately trying to see happiness in its simplicity. I read Eat Pray Love (well, listened to the audiobook), the Power of Now and listened to a few of the nuggets detailing the importance of sitting completely still, clearing the mind and focusing on the now. I listened to where happiness resides and how little is needed to feel it. When Ekhardt Tolle details the “pain body” – this centre in both your physical body and your cosmic soul, I guess, I realised that my pain body was running on 100%. This pain constantly attracting more pain. I was living in this constant state – easily triggered by the slightest incident. I had to realise that I am so much more than that. I did some research on “enjoying the now” and I found this quote, “Simply recognising the nature of ‘now’, can fill you with so much wonder, gratitude and just perhaps… a sense of something sacred.” It’s true, especially with kids. There is a last time for everything. The last time your kid will want to crawl into bed with you. The last time they’ll want to cuddle. The last time they’ll find bubbles exciting. Every moment is so incredibly precious. The strange this is - we’re taught to cling onto this moment like a barnacle on an abandoned ship. But don’t. Relax. Just be. Be open to this moment. Be open to experiencing it. Not planning, not worrying, not lost in thought. Just live it. Just enjoy it.

For the past 40 or so weekends, I had planned to do something with my kids. Perhaps a lazy market day, perhaps some sunny beach fun, perhaps a leisurely drive, perhaps an arts and crafts workshop. Every weekend we’d commence the routine of getting them ready – breakfast, teeth brushing, wrestling them into clothing and car seats, packing the bags and planning the day. I realised that usually around 1 pm I would breathe a sigh of relief (unbeknownst to me) that it was too late to really go anywhere and I could keep my darlings safe in our home. Safe to gather dandelions and toss them in the air like wispy snowflakes, safe to frolick in bubbles or do arts and crafts or play in the blow-up pool with 2cm of water, under my watchful eye of course. When we did manage to go out on a few outings, it was always marred by my incessant “safety checks” and anxiety. Is the seat properly strapped in (there’s no such thing as being too paranoid here - this is always a must!). Which way has the least traffic and bends and hence the least chance of an accident? Who’s that creepy guy in the hat over there? Did I pack enough sunscreen? What do we do in an emergency?

So about four weekends ago, completely out of character, I bought the blow-up rubber ducky I had been staring at for three years. I abandoned the worry that a big wave would come and literally rock the boat. I abandoned planning a routine, route, time, day. We all simply got into the car, strapped the boat on the roof and left. For the first time in a long time, I simply watched Ila - stretching and balling up her little toes in the sand, enjoying the sensation. I watched Lily wait for the crashing waves to envelop her little legs and then pull back. I watched Will laughing at Lily’s spontaneous giggles and excitement. I felt the sun of my face and listened to the water. It was so calming. I cleared my mind of any and all distractions. It’s incredibly difficult to achieve because we’re in a world built around constant distractions – a metaphorical arcade of distracting neon lights and blaring sirens. A world built around consumerism - desperately needing the next thing because what you have is never enough. We’re conditioned to overlook the most important things. The present seems like an obstacle because it's ingrained in us to always focus on our dreams, always focus on our goals, always focus on our destination. We need to keep looking forward. But it distracts from the now. And the 'now; is all you really have.

I listened to more talks by Eckardt and, in his words, we need “more awareness”. And in order to do so, we need to “acknowledge what is and appreciate what is.” I don’t think I would’ve stared at Ila’s little toes otherwise. I don’t think I would’ve noticed the greener grass and sweet smell of lavender in the air as we drove. Stealing from Tolle again, he details that we’re “always in stream of thinking – never aware of our surroundings.” Trolling through life zombie-like - never aware of what’s really important. “There’s always more and more stuff. We experience one thought after another – we search for it and cling to it: one thought after another, one text after another, one  unpleasant memory after another, one complaint after another, one bout of negativity after another, one regret after another - continuously occupying our minds. And with it, you are missing the present moment. Absorbed by useless and compulsive thinking. Useless stuff. What does this do to you after 2 days, 4 weeks, 8 months, 5 years? Whenever I have anxiety, I plan stuff – a study makeover, a wall gallery – and there is a healthy level - but I would reach an obsessive level, halting my life until I found that monochrome rug I saw on Instagram nine days ago. Ironically, becoming someone on tenterhooks.

I remember having a chat with a colleague a year ago. We each remarked on our shared conclusion that the poorest of the poor Thai people seemed... happier – kicking around a soccer ball made from a coconut husk. While we can never know or understand their lives, we both felt like selling all our stuff and leading a simpler life – living in a cabin in the woods with hemp flip flops - then laughed at how a week later, we felt that “we needed the stuff”.

But do we? Do we really need the stuff (she says compulsively adding to cart)? I do think so. What we need is fewer stuff, fewer useless thoughts and more presence.