I've started doing EMDR.
I've been on a pretty intense schedule for the past few weeks, and I can already tell that something good is happening.
It's hard work. Not going to lie.
But the only way out is through. And apparently, through means actually feeling some of the emotions I've spent years getting really, really good at not feeling.
It's crazy. It's exhausting. It's cathartic.
And for the first time in a while, I'm feeling hopeful.
Part of the process involves looking at the different parts of ourselves. Understanding why they developed, what they've been trying to protect us from, and whether they're still doing jobs they no longer need to do.
Some parts need to be brought out of the shadows and empowered.
Others need to be handed a retirement notice, a gold watch, and a heartfelt thank-you for decades of service.
Because they've been working overtime for YEARS.
And when you've spent decades in survival mode, convincing those parts that it's safe to clock out is no small task.
Hypervigilance doesn't exactly come with an off switch.
Anyway, one of the parts we've identified as needing a little attention is my nurturer.
Apparently, she's been severely underemployed.
Or possibly locked in a basement somewhere.
We're working on it.
My EMDR practitioner encourages me to create my own personifications for these different parts of myself. Something I can visualize and connect with.
And for my nurturer, I chose a panda.
A big, gentle, peaceful panda.
So there I was, eyes closed, visualizing this panda during a session, when I suddenly started laughing.
My practitioner stopped and asked what was so funny.
"The panda just handed me a dumpling."
Now, here's the thing.
I LOVE dumplings.
Love them.
Unfortunately, I can't eat gluten or meat.
So there I was, finally making contact with the part of myself that's supposed to nurture and care for me, and this bitch hands me something that could kill me.
I mean, seriously?
We've barely met, and she's already trying to take me out.
Naturally, I thought this was hilarious.
My practitioner, however, saw an opportunity.
Because apparently, even in my own imagination, I couldn't allow myself to receive something I wanted without immediately anticipating the consequences.
Why couldn't I just accept the dumpling?
Why couldn't I imagine a dumpling that was safe for me to eat?
Why, in a world entirely of my own creation, did I still have to imagine my throat closing and my entire body breaking out in hives?
Why couldn't I simply let myself be nurtured?
Well.
Shit.
That got deep pretty quickly.
And suddenly, the panda and her attempted assassination by dumpling became the focus of our session.
Because underneath the humor was a much bigger question.
When you've spent so much of your life feeling unsafe, how do you learn to receive something good without waiting for the bad thing that's going to come with it?
How do you learn to accept care?
Comfort?
Pleasure?
Nourishment?
How do you stop treating even the things you want as potential threats?
And it got me thinking about my food allergies.
I started wondering whether there's any connection between years of living in survival mode, a nurturer that's been shoved into the shadows, and a body that seems to have decided even food is the enemy.
Now, to be clear, I'm not totally suggesting trauma caused my allergies. I have real physical reactions, and I'm not about to start eating gluten in the name of personal growth.
But I am curious about how deeply my experiences have shaped my relationship with safety, nourishment, and receiving care.
Because somewhere along the way, I became incredibly good at taking care of everyone else.
And not nearly as good at allowing myself to be taken care of.
Even by an imaginary panda.
So that's something we're working on.
Learning to feel safe. Learning to receive.
Learning that not everything good has to come with a catch.
Learning that the parts of me that worked so hard to protect me can finally begin to rest.
And learning that maybe, just maybe, I deserve a damn dumpling.
I'll be honest, though.
I've now developed a wildly unrealistic expectation that EMDR is not only going to help me heal from complex PTSD, but is also somehow going to make me able to eat dumplings again.
I realize this is not how food allergies or EMDR work.
But a girl can dream.
Always with the food. 😂
