The Little Prince and the Fox

In the past months, since this spring, a sentence that has often rung in my ears or run through my head, and that I’ve felt very deeply, has been “This boy in me”. 

Lately, this has become, “This boy that is me”, as in “This boy that I am”. 

This boy that has waited years, almost my entire life, to come out, to be seen, acknowledged, understood… even by my own self. 

This is my priority now: letting this boy that is me be. Letting him come out and express himself entirely and just enjoy being himself. 

I keep getting caught up in thoughts and concerns about my next professional step, my career, my goals… But this is my true goal now. This is why no matter how much I try and force myself to focus on work and career, the main thing I really want to do (and end up dedicating lots of time to) is intense exercise: to get into my body, to connect with the boy in me, to let my physical strength come out and show itself, visibly, even to me. To look at myself in the mirror and see the boy I am. 

There are aspects of wonderful self-discovery and empowerment in all this but also a huge amount of loss: all those years that boy was not allowed to be. 

And now that I am feeling this loss together with the desire to shout out loud, “See this boy!!!”, now that I am experiencing symptoms of depression from all the loss but also deeper feelings of self-awareness and grounded happiness — now I think I’m getting really close to understanding the depression and body-image issues that non-binary/trans persons often experience … now I think I’m feeling it on, or under, my own skin… 

I tend to rush. And even now I wish I could fix this already and move on with the practical things in my life. But I cannot rush it — as my counselor wisely reminded me this morning. I need to give myself, this boy, as much time as I — and he — need(s). 

Slow down and just be.

Yesterday I had a meltdown. It came at the end of three sleepless nights, at the end of my workweek with all its accumulated stress (mostly emotional), after three particularly tough weeks. 

The specific trigger (but not the real cause) of yesterday’s meltdown was the fact that my friend where I was supposed to stay for a few hours while my place was being disinfested from rodents had a serious problem of her own and last minute was unable to offer me the shelter I was counting on. I wasn’t upset at her, of course — she’s one of the most nurturing and reliable persons I know, and indeed she talked to me on the phone for almost an hour during my meltdown, first trying to help me find alternative solutions to my practical problem of where to hang out for a few hours, then showing empathy and validation for my emotional state, and finally offering support to find reasonable and effective solutions to my current state.

I’m feeling better today, and that’s why I can write about it. But it’s a transient, or shaky, “better” — I know that. For a while now, I’ve been feeling like I’m on a ledge, on the edge of an emotional/mental abyss. The highs are wonderfully high and definitely coming from amazing growth and improved awareness and lessons learned. But the lows are terrifying in how dark they can get, in ways that are totally unrecognizable to me as “myself” but clearly recognizable as symptoms of trauma-induced depression.

I know that’s what it is. There have been several events in the past two and a half years of my life that have built up to this current emotional state where old trauma from my childhood and teenage years is resurfacing so intensely, even so violently, that at times I can hardly keep myself together. 

And unfortunately my current job, which I used to love so dearly, is another trigger for that trauma: so for the past month and a half my trauma has basically been getting triggered regularly two or three times a week and my body (including my brain as an organ and thus part of my physical body) just cannot take it anymore. 

I am working on practical solutions, including starting to work with a psychotherapist, reaching out to my doctor to get me on antidepressants, and looking around for alternative jobs. But none of these solutions solve the problem in the moment, when a meltdown actually happens. When the meltdown hits, like yesterday, and all I want to do is sit and cry, and all my head can think is “I want to die” or “I don’t want to be alone anymore” or “I cannot do this by myself”, in those moments I need something that will rescue me on the spot. Fortunately those moments are still unfrequent enough to allow me to function in my daily life; and fortunately, although intense, these moments can still be turned around by a phone call or visit with a good friend (or sometimes even a good run in the sunshine or immersing myself in some fulfilling work). But what if I get to the point where all these tools and helping hands aren’t enough anymore? 

For now, I’m still well enough that I can get up after a good night’s rest (which I thankfully got last night), see the sunshine outside my window (which is shining this morning, thank goodness!), and actually feel thankful for what happened yesterday. Because the meltdown that my friend so inadvertently triggered but then so willingly helped heal yesterday, that meltdown reignited in me the willingness and capacity to rescue myself, to take care of myself, to effectively love myself. I went and got myself a yummy lunch in one of my favorite outdoor places, eating in the sunshine; then did some grocery shopping that I really needed before coming home and actively fixing up my place after the rat-disinfestation; and finally made myself a delicious dinner before getting myself to bed nice and early to recuperate some sleep. I did for myself what the child in me would need a parent to do for them. So I’m immensely thankful to my friend for yesterday, as well as several other good friends who understand and are supporting me through this rough patch. 

But what if I get to the point where I cannot rescue myself, or be rescued, anymore? What happens then?  

Was is it that always makes me feel so giddy after going out with this non-binary climber that I like? Is it just that I like them so much? And/or that they’re the first non-binary person that I’ve ever liked so much? 

Or is it that in some ways they — and the interactions with them — remind me so much of the “boulderer” & the times I went out with him?  

They are completely different persons — yet, in some ways they’re similar — for instance, they’re both very good boulderers (climbers who prefer and are better at bouldering that rope-climbing, while I’m much more confident on rope)… And they both seek me out, keep up the connection with me in a way that is friendly and pleasant and showing interest but also unclear — it could be interest as “just friends” or “something more” (expressions I very much dislike but that are “standard” and hard to “translate”). I don’t know in what way, for what reason exactly they enjoy hanging out with me — as I didn’t with the boulderer. And in both cases, I feel some deeper interest and attraction to them — an emotion that makes me feel vulnerable.

And after the misunderstandings or confusion or “mixed levels of relationships” with the boulderer, I now feel much less confident with this other person I like because I’m double-guessing myself: what if I’m getting carried away just as I did before and I get burned again? What if I ruin the relationship? What if I make a mistake, again?

Yesterday evening, this special climbing friend (this “new boulderer”)&I went climbing together and then out for dinner — and it was such a lovely Friday night! One of my best Friday nights in a long time. But what if it wasn’t so special for them? What if it means so much more to me than to them? I don’t want to get hurt again…

I’m really upset (and have been for a while now). 

I’m angry. And sad. And also feeling lost. 

My job doesn’t pay the bills. Nothing much new about this, I guess — unfortunately, there’s plenty of people in the world who would say the same (and many more who are in truly dire conditions). 

But I am going to indulge myself and write about my personal anger and sadness here. 

I am angry and sad that my job — a job that is super important to society (teaching), that I love, that I put my heart & soul into, and that according to everyone I’m very good at — doesn’t pay my bills. 

I have a PhD in the subject I teach (Physics); I’m fluent in five languages; I have international experience working in the industry as well as academia, including doing research on top of teaching — and I can’t pay my bills. 

Why can’t I pay my bills? 

Because I haven’t followed the “standard, beaten path” — for anything. I didn’t go for tenure-track positions. I didn’t stay in jobs paying the big bucks in the industry. I refuse to work 80-hour weeks. So I can’t pay the bills. Because I live in a place where overwork is one of the highest values and marks of “success” (however ‘success’ may be defined). Because I live in a place where education isn’t valued — on the contrary, it’s probably feared because it would free people’s minds and subvert the status quo. 

I know there are places where my situation would be even worse, where education is valued even less —  as there are places where my job would be valued and paid very highly. 

But I wanted to live here. I loved it here. I thought I had found home here, at last. But now I don’t know anymore. I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. 

All I know is that my situation isn’t sustainable anymore. That at the end of this school-year, come next summer, something substantial needs to have changed, or to be underway, for me. But I don’t know in what way. 

I’m at a loss — angry and sad and feeling lost.  

“… 

I walk with angels that have no place 

… 

I walk 

Streets of fire 

Streets of fire 

Streets of fire 

Streets of fire” 

[Bruce Springsteen, “Streets of fire” (a little edited)]

“… 

Baby if you want to be wild 

You’ve got a lot to learn 

… 

” 

[Bruce Springsteen, “Candy’s room”]

I feel that the trail race last Saturday flipped a switch in me again, bringing back to my own self, or to my own awareness, a healthy part of me that I had forgotten or thought that I had lost. But I also keep feeling new, renewed, like I’m on the threshold of a whole new phase for myself, or already walking through the fields of a new continent. Somehow the timing of that race was perfect, with the last summer weekend turning into this first week of autumn and jumping over the hump of that “special date” on Monday that marked the very end of something that needed leaving behind for good. 

I don’t know exactly what’s going on inside of me in this moment but I have a feeling that if I navigate it well, this new season could bring a lot, especially to this boy in me. 

“Let everything happen to you: Beauty and terror. 

Just keep going. 

No feeling is final.” 

[Rainer Maria Rilke]

To those who might be struggling simply because it’s Monday. 

And to those who might be having a particularly hard start of the week or rough day. 

And to my friends who are reading me and know that this Monday, September 20th, is a particularly tough day for me, not only because it’s Monday but also because of today’s special date. 

For me, today’s definitely a “to-do list day”! And thankfully, it’s sunny and bright!

5:00am. Arys’s alarm clock goes off. No option of snoozing it: Arys turns off the alarm and gets up in the dark. They shiver: it’s chilly. They reach for their running shorts, sports bra and technical running hoodie that they had already left ready the night before, to make things quicker on this early Saturday morning. Then, the usual 10-15 minutes of Sun Salutations to warm up the body and try to wake up. Make a thermos of hot tea for the road, stuff all the extra food into the duffle bag, keeping some dates and almonds and dark chocolate handy to eat while driving, and before 6:00am Arys is on the road, heading to a trail run. It’s still dark and chilly when they hit the road but all the way, as they drive, all Arys can keep thinking is, “I love this feeling and want to do it again, regularly”. 

Before the pandemic Arys used to be an early bird, waking up early almost every day of the week for work and/or exercise. They had found this early-morning rhythm again during their trip in July, having to rise very early for many of their rock-climbing, hiking or trail running “expeditions” — and they had enjoyed it. This feeling of enjoyment and accomplishment, and even of freedom, came back to Arys yesterday morning as they drove to their race. And they’ve decided: they will get up very early and go running on the trails in the morning regularly again, once a week, on one of the two weekdays when they don’t have to be in the office. Deal. 

7:30am. Arys is at the trailhead, picking up their bib, ready for the race and looking around for a friend: one of the fun, adventurous persons they had met on their trip in Colorado in July, who happened to be coming to California for business of his own this weekend and had gotten in touch and decided to join the race impromptu (since he’s a trail runner, too) — and when they spotted their friend, that in itself already made Arys’s day.

8:08am. A few minutes late, the race starts. This time, Arys is doing only the 10km for fun — but still, this is Arys’s first race since the pandemic, since February 2019, and it’s on hilly trails with over 1,500 feet elevation gain in very short, steep stretches. And boy, were those steep stretches! 

Pretty soon Arys find themselves alone on the race course, just a short distance behind a man racing with his two dogs. They recognize the 2.8mile-mark, then get to the 5km mark — good, they’re half way through and start to really feel that they can make it. Despite the effort, Arys enjoy the race but it isn’t until the 5.8mile-mark and the last little half-mile loop that the joy really starts rushing in, like a flooding river, and they feel like they’re flying — and they are almost flying down the last downhill stretch, half a mile in 3 minutes, and into a full-out sprint to the finish line, literally laughing out loud with joy as they sprint the last meters. 

Their joy was so intense, so huge, so bright that they could hardly contain it — and indeed, they didn’t: they let it out spontaneously and shared it with their friend who had already finished the race. Of course, the good result made Arys super happy (they’re competitive, whether they like it or not!). But the biggest sources of joy were other things. One was actually the fact of being there and able to do this: after having been sick with Covid-19 in March 2020 and then had serious hamstring issues in the spring of 2021, Arys thought they might never run again, let alone race. So there was that huge relief and joy. And then the was the lovely fact of being actually able to share this joy with friends: one of Arys’s best friends who is a great runner living on the East Coast picked up the phone when Arys called her right after the race; and then, of course, there was her buddy who had run the race that same morning who stood right there beside them now and even took pictures of Arys as they sprinted to the finish line. And with whom Arys spent the rest of the day — which was the icing on the cake. A hearty brunch after the race; then chilling at the beach; and finally a relaxed dinner in a pretty town — all of this accompanied with such easy-going, heartfelt conversation. 

This person is one of those “meteors”, one of those other adventurers that Arys met and connected with instantaneously on their trip this past summer: one of those “soul mates” that we sometimes seem to just recognize instinctively and instanteneously, as if recognizing an old friend in a crowd. And that “recognition” was confirmed to Arys hanging out and relaxing and chatting after the race, spending almost all day with this person despite the post-race tiredness. 

And once again — like the previous Saturday swimming and then hanging out with another friend or other recent moments sharing a dinner or a climb with other friends — Arys realized, actually felt at an extremely deep level how it is the persons in their life that make a day, an activity, a moment so special, ever more joyful and bright and valuable. 

“Stay grounded, baby, stay grounded”. 

I repeat this sentence to myself often lately. 

There are days I feel as grounded as an old, wise oak tree — so grounded I’m amazed at myself. 

And then there are days when I feel like the tiniest, lightest twig carried all over the place by the scary powerful current of a rushing river spilling over a broken dam. On these days I often feel like I might literally fall apart, like I can hardly hold myself, my pieces, together. 

These are the days when I need to repeat to myself to “stay grounded”: to just breathe in and breathe out; take one step at a time; to just do the next thing that really, practically needs to be done — work for the next day, wash the dishes, wash myself, prepare my meal, take care of my pet snake. 

It’s grief. A grief so old and deep that it feels like a black hole that might swallow me whole. Something has finally given, broken open, like a dam, a door, a portal, inside my soul, and grief is gushing out like a powerful, often out-of-control river. In the past few weeks, there have been moments when I’ve been totally overwhelmed and tears, sometimes sobs, have poured out of me — painful but also incredibly relieving and somehow sweet. 

Boy, there’s something so old coming out, it’s almost unfathomable… how did I even keep it in there for so long?!? 

But then I need to come back to my “here & now”, to live and function in the present moment. That’s when my “to-do” lists are coming in handy. I’m often writing them in the morning, instead of journaling, and then going through them, checking off items as I get them done during the day. That helps me stay grounded, especially when the storm of emotions threatens to erupt any moment. 

– “Prep lesson for Wednesday”: check; 

– “Post on Craigslist”: check; 

– “Call cleaners”: check; 

– “Feed pet snake”: check. 

So grounding…  

Breathe in, breathe out: “Stay grounded, baby, stay grounded”.

One of the aspects I like the most about the yoga class I often attend on Wednesday evening is the teacher’s style: her dry humor, her attention to details, the fact that she gently helps or corrects us in our poses while never losing the capacity to make us smile or laugh even in the toughest series of movements. I like the way she brings us gently into the atmosphere of the yoga practice and helps us (or, at least, me) reconnect to the persons and world around us with some simple but wise words. 

One thing she has said more than once, thanking us for showing up to practice, is “Your presence matters: here in this yoga practice and in the world”.

I like how she reminds us to be gentle with ourselves; how she reminds us, or acknowledges, that with all the crazy and concerning, and sometimes downright horrible, things going on in the world, it can be hard even to show up to yoga practice. 

These words are often a good reminder, if not a soothing balm, to me. 

So for whoever might need to hear it today: “Your presence matters”! 

… And this weekend, there’s a particular “thank you” that I’d like to say to my artist&swimmer friend. 

Thank you for the lovely Saturday afternoon we spent together; for the books you gave me; for listening to me and sharing your own feelings and experiences with me. 

And thank you also for naming “it”: PTSD. Thank you for saying that it seems like it’s PTSD that is being triggered in/for me, because I finally felt that I was being truly heard and validated, I finally felt a true, profound affirmation. 

Recently, I already started writing that some specific situations (and maybe one person in particular) have been triggering old trauma for me or rubbing against old wounds of mine. I’ve also started pondering the idea of doing some therapy or working with a counselor again. But I wasn’t really sure in what direction to seek and I also had a bit of the “impostor syndrome” as I felt that maybe “I wasn’t truly traumatized” or “I wasn’t traumatized enough” — whatever that may mean! So I was sort of stuck: feeling that, despite the huge and often wonderful strides forward and growth in me over the past five or six years, I’m still struggling with some issues that I cannot solve on my own or that I take forever to get over (at least, in other persons’ perspectives); feeling the need for some type of specific guidance or professional support, but not knowing what type to seek, or not feeling “traumatized enough” to actually start working with someone specialized in trauma.

But now I feel unstuck. 

I’ve known for a decade that I have abandonment issues. I’ve known for years that this has been interfering with many of my close relationships. And I haven’t really hidden it from the persons who are close to me. But it hasn’t been until recently that I’ve started having the courage (here’s the courage theme, once again!) to actually use the word “trauma” — and that’s been a positive and important step forward already. But to have someone else, a good friend and wise, well-balanced person that I trust, say it and reflect it back to me — for me that was the ultimate affirmation that I needed. It gave me a wonderful moment of healing yesterday afternoon; and it’s also given me the final kick, or clarity, that I needed to seek support in moving forward, for my “next right step”. Now I know what support to seek, now I know what to do, I see the path. I somehow see the solution, because for me being able to name the “monster”, having words or a name for the issue, is already half of the solution. So yeah, let’s name it! This is PTSD that I’m dealing with.

To feel heard and to see the solution — boy, that’s a wonderful combination! And it all came on a sunny Saturday afternoon with some outdoor swimming and ice-cream with a friend: that’s hard to beat!!!