Tag Archives: Recovery

Launch Day! Impact: Women Writing After Concussion

It’s a big day. Impact is going out into the world after years of work. It carries with it the hearts of 21 writers who share what their lives are like after their concussions and traumatic brain injuries. I am so grateful to each and every writer who made this book possible and offer special thanks to my co-editor, E. D. Morin. I could not have a better partner in this work.

Our thanks also go out to the Canada Council for the Arts for supporting the creation of this work and the University of Alberta Press who believed in it and have done so much to make this dream come true.

Join us for our launch tonight if you can. It will be recorded and available on the University of Alberta Press website.

Also please view and share our videos about the project. They are amazing and another labour of love by the participating writers and by our film editor, Junyeong Kim.

 

Begin Again

In my meditation today, I was reminded that when my mind wanders, I can begin again. Focus on the breath. Begin again.

We can always begin again. 

Today is a good day to think about that.

What could we do?

It starts with story. We must know our own story.

We must tell the truth about what happened to us.

We could understand that we are all in this together, that the success of one is the success of all, and not just for humans.

We could devote ourselves to an ethics of care and compassion, to kindness to self and others, knowing that others are connected to us, and we to them, in profound ways. 

We could be humble and acknowledge what we have broken and our own brokenness. We could grieve for what we have lost, because we know that we have lost so much. We are not even sure what it is. But we know. We feel it. It exists as a hollowness in our soul that no amount of food or alcohol or consumer goods or anything else can fill.

We could help each other through the grief.

We could repair what is broken. We could make it our work.

We are ALL in this together: the humans, the trees, the plants, the insects, the air, the animals, the soil, the water, and even the rocks. Even the rocks.

We could build an economy that knows that the earth is not merely a resource for humans to use (up), but a part of us as we are a part of it. The earth’s health is our health. It gives and gives and we, the humans, must stop taking so much.

We could remove the barriers to sharing what we do take.  

We  could build an economy that acknowledges limits. 

It could be beautiful.

Think of what you would begin again, if you could, and know that you can. 

Finding Joy Even Though Winter is Coming

Not to be all “Game of Thrones” or anything, but winter really is coming. It is unlikely there will be dragons, but if 2020 has taught us anything, there will be SOMETHING. I’m hoping it won’t be another four years of the orange menace, and certainly not another four years of the pandemic. I’m weary of them both. Weary and wary. Wary of my weariness. Weary of my wariness. I’d like to go through 24 hours without thinking something is out to do us all in.

Do you have a plan to get through the winter? Something you are doing to help you find joy? I do and I’m sharing. Maybe it will give you ideas.

  1. I’m being rigid about my schedule. It’s not a fancy schedule and includes blocks of time for exercise, work, and food prep. Yes, food prep. We’ve got to keep our strength up and eat well. And delicious food is still something that brings me joy, even if I have to make it myself (which also explains the exercise block.) If I keep my activities in specific blocks, I keep some variety in my day. I can’t work all the time anymore like I used to, (brain injury) and that’s a good thing. But I think a lot of people newly working from home are reporting that they work ALL THE TIME. Let yourself stop and move on to something else.
  2. I get up early and go to bed early.
  3. I meditate every day. I’ve been meditating for decades, but never with this much dedication. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.
  4. I have stopped drinking alcohol. I actually stopped a long time ago, (brain injury), but I think it is worth mentioning. It’s a depressant. I miss it sometimes, but I have more joy without it. Sometimes, I take a sip of my husband’s drink if it is a really nice smelling wine or a good bourbon. Just a sip. Although it was hard while there were still opportunities for social interaction, it’s not hard now. If you’ve been thinking about it, maybe this is a good time to experiment. Maybe it will bring you joy.
  5. I have cleaned my closet, sock drawer, etc., and edited out worn, horrible or ill-fitting clothes. Again, they are a depressant, at least to me. If I can’t wear that thing I used to slob around in on the rare days I slobbed around, I won’t wear it. I have to choose something better, and I feel better.
  6. I go for a walk every day. My longest regular walk is about 8.5 km and my shortest is to the store and back (about 15 minutes). No matter what, I get outside. I think about what I’m seeing. I look for beauty. A bird, the changing leaves, someone in a nice coat. It’s there. Pay attention.
  7. I try to be helpful to others. I check in with people who are alone. I drop baking off with a neighbour. I write cards and send them to people. This is one of my favourites. It involves several enjoyable steps. a) I have to order cards from a stationery store. I love stationery stores, even on line. My favourite is The Regional Assembly of Text in East Vancouver. I have one closer to me that I really like too, called Take Note, in the Junction. Since I don’t physically go to many stores anymore, it doesn’t matter where a store is. But I try to buy from independent retailers. b) I have to go through my address book and think about everyone and who I haven’t been in contact with lately. c) I have to compose something lively and smart. (It’s a goal, anyway.) It makes me feel better and I love thinking of them receiving the card in the mail, opening it and laughing. d) I have to walk to the post box. (see 6.)
  8. I have projects unrelated to work. For example, early in the pandemic, I dug up everything I have related to knitting. I found half finished mittens, a sweater I started in 1996, and more wool than I imagined I had. So I’m knitting. I’m thinking about breaking into crochet. I have an idea of taking a beautiful landscape photograph, using the app “Bricks” to pixelate it, (Bricks makes everything look like it is made out of Lego) and creating a colour blocked pattern so I can crochet one small square at a time and not get overwhelmed. Then I could put it together like a quilt. If that half a sweater I dug up is any indication, I might finish it by 2040. Crazy as it seems, looking ahead on a project like that makes me feel better. There is a future.
  9. I haven’t given up on getting better from my brain injury. While I think I’ve run my course with what professionals can do to help me, they say time heals. And I have time, all the gods and goddesses willing, and I notice small, incremental improvements, especially in my balance (see #1 and exercise). And these improvements bring me joy. Is there something you can work on improving in your life?
  10. I limit my intake of news and social media. It’s too much. But at least weekly, I take positive action on a change I want to see in the world. I write a politician, I sign a petition, I learn more about a problem that seems insurmountable, not from the news but from a longform article or book or documentary, and I find reasons for hope and learn about other actions I can take.

Happy Winter! It’s going to be ok. This does not have to be the winter of our discontent. We’ll get through this.

How to Get Up When You’re Down.

  1. Pretend. Pretend you are a person who can manage some part of the day ahead. Just pretend.
  2. Pick something small that you want to do. Anything. If you don’t know what you want to do, make figuring that out your task. Maybe you’d like to get a library card or replace the broken button on your favourite shirt. Sometimes you don’t want to do something, but you want the outcome you would get if you did it. Maybe the dirty dishes in the kitchen are making you sad. You don’t want to do the dishes, but you do want to have a clean counter. Maybe start small. Empty the sink and stack the bowls. Fill the sink with water and soap and wash only the bowls. Then you can have some cereal in a clean bowl. Yay! Celebrate the cereal. The rest can wait. Or maybe the cereal helps, and you can move on to the mugs.
  3. Don’t worry about whether the thing you choose to do is the most important thing to do. You’ll get to those things. (Really, you will.) Do the thing.
  4. Treat yourself. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Don’t make it dependent on success unless that works for you. You might want to watch the first season of Community for the tenth time. You can say, After I do the thing I need to do, I can watch one episode. Or you can say, Watch an episode because laughing will cheer me up and help motivate me. Do what is right for you. Make room for joy.
  5. When you wake up, let yourself think. Think about something you are grateful for. One thing. Name it to yourself. Say it out loud. Say, I am grateful for cereal. I am grateful for a new day. I am grateful I am breathing.
  6. If you can get out of bed, make your bed. Making your bed is a gift your present self gives to your future self. Some day soon, you will have the energy to do the laundry. For now, just make the bed. If you have never made a bed, watch a YouTube video about it. Look at your made bed and feel satisfied.
  7. If you have a lot of things you have to do and they fill your head, try to pick one at a time. You can’t do everything at once. No one can. Your success in dealing with one thing or part of one thing will prove your competence to yourself and it will help you get to another task. Say, I can do that, and do it. Eventually, you will make a plan. Remember, a plan is just a plan. It can change. You can change it if it isn’t working or is unrealistic. Evaluate the plan regularly and change what needs to be changed. Don’t let the plan sabotage you. The plan is supposed to help you.
  8. Some days everything is challenging. That’s OK. You know what you have to do and there’s no getting out of those things. Work. Caring for loved ones. Do what you can do. Somethings can wait though. If you have 100 emails waiting, respond to 1. That is a start. Give yourself a pat on the back. There’s probably some that don’t need a response at all. Scan through them. Delete. Unsubscribe. Maybe it is hard for you to get out of bed, hard to walk, or get up the stairs. Try a few steps, one or two stairs. If you keep at it, some day you might be able to walk around the block, one step at a time. It might be reading a page. It might be writing a page. Go one word or one sentence at a time. Sound it out. Choose the thing. Do it. Revel in your success. Say to yourself, Look! I did that. Rest.
  9. Save your strength. Don’t use it all up on something that is too much for you right now. Be kind to yourself. Learn to say no, or at least, not right now.
  10. Do one thing to make your environment more calm. Maybe turn the TV off. Stay calm for the things you have to do. Stay calm so you can think.
  11. Focus on something natural. A tree outside. A bird. Your child’s beautiful curly hair. Something growing in the cracks of the pavement. See the beauty in it. Think about one way that you are growing too.
  12. Drink a glass of water. Enjoy it. Say to yourself, That was really good.
  13. Intertwine your fingers, face your palms out and raise them above your head if that’s something you can do and stretch. Stretch something. Anything. Enjoy the feeling of your body moving, whatever part of it can move.
  14. Take a deep breath. Feel the air entering and leaving your lungs. Know that your body is good at change. It changes with every breath. Know that you are alive and breathing, and changing all the time.
  15. Forget everything negative you ever believed about yourself. Try to learn about yourself again. What are you good at? What would you like to get better at? Don’t worry about what you used to be good at and lost. That was another person in another time. Focus on the here and now.
  16. Build on success. Pick another task. Don’t think it has to be bigger. Just do another thing. For example, maybe you have to apply for something. Maybe you need to get a divorce. (I’m sorry you have to get a divorce.) You’ve put it off forever because you dread it. But it has to be done. Maybe the first task is to find a form on line or a contact on line. That’s good enough. Bookmark it or jot it down. Congratulate yourself. Take a break for an hour or until the next day before you try to fill out that form or connect with that contact. If you run into a problem, take a minute to rest and think about what you need to do the next part. Maybe that is a tomorrow task. Put it on a list. Congratulate yourself for making a list.
  17. Keep a list. Cross things off. Give yourself a high five when you cross something off. Have a glass of water again.
  18. Help someone. Whoever you are, whatever your problem is, you can do something kind for someone else. If you’re stuck inside, be nice to someone online. Answer a question for them. Tell them they are doing well. If you’ve made it to the market, you can leave something on a neighbour’s doorstep. There are millions of ways to be kind. Being kind builds you up. Congratulate yourself. Do a little dance in your chair. Say, That was a good thing to do and it made me feel better. Don’t wait for a thank you. It might come and it might not. Either way, you’ve done something kind. Keep it to yourself. Treasure that little kindness. Let it build you up.
  19. Go to bed when you are tired. Think about the thing(s) you accomplished. You stayed alive. You breathed in and out. Good for you.
  20. Keep trying.

Writing Trauma

I’ve been working on a wee craft essay on writing about trauma. It’s a strange piece that has been on and off my desk for about a year. I’ve done research and am shocked by how little has been written about how best to convey trauma. It would be a great topic for a creative writing class, and one I would really like to teach. (Anyone want to give me the gig?)

There is lots of writing about the therapeutic benefits of writing about trauma for the writer. We all know it can be a great relief to get it all down on the page. It is a clarifying experience. But that’s not what I’m interested in for this essay. There’s not much (any?) craft advice about writing techniques that can be used to convey trauma.

I’m developing a few theories. Here’s hoping I find an audience for the essay.

We are all the walking wounded. We are all traumatized. That’s why there is such a thing as a trigger warning. We know we can be set off again. How do we write about traumatic events and experiences in a way that does not spread the trauma around? If we agree that traumatizing or re-traumatizing others is not desirable, (and maybe we don’t agree) what can we do to convey the gravity of the traumatic situation without doing harm to the reader? Is it possible? Are the techniques we can use different if the trauma is recounted as part of real life in memoir or as part of the experience of a fictional character?

If you have thoughts, let me know in the comments. I’m getting back to the essay tomorrow.

Out on a Ledge

This week, I wandered the Bruce Trail overlooking Georgian Bay. Cedar, pine and fir smell like home. The rock of the Canadian Shield shows the marks of millennia; fissures and crevices, some large enough to fall into, focus my mind and keep me in the present moment. Step by step, I make my way over tree roots and rock. I’m careful. I walk softly. The trail features several outcrops and we stopped at every one to take in the view. My husband took this photo of me on one ledge while he stood on another.

That’s me, out on a ledge. 

As I stood there, I realized I’ve been feeling like I’m on a ledge since the car accident that left me concussed. Since the pandemic started, I know that many of you are also feeling like you are out on a ledge. Believe me, I feel no satisfaction in having your company out here. I would have preferred it if you all could have stayed innocent of the sense of isolation I have come to know so intimately.

But now, you know how it feels to be unable to see your people. You’re scared. You’re wondering when or if it will ever end. Your reasons for feeling this way are different than mine, but the result is the same. Sometimes we’re lonely. We miss our old lives, our friends, our old jobs, the old way of doing things. We rebel against the new restrictions.

We miss the simple pleasures of life and when we try to replicate them, they do not measure up. We miss big things like vacations and weddings and birthday parties, but mostly we miss the little things. I used to enjoy grocery shopping and then it became a gauntlet of light and noise and chaos. I used to have a lively social life, but then that same light and noise and chaos made seeing friends and going out difficult too. There is always an undercurrent of concern, of what if. The new conditions in which we must live suck the joy from everything. Or so it seems.

Because of my brain injury, I was already so accustomed to my life being smaller that the accommodations I had to make for the pandemic did not have the same impact on me as they did on you. Like you, I suddenly had to worry about germs and hand washing and finding Lysol wipes, but the shrinking of my social and work life had already happened. I already spent way more time in my home. I already couldn’t concentrate well enough to work consistently or even read. And now, you are in a similar spot.

I have watched you go through many of the same phases as I did, particularly the “this won’t last long” phase. I have waited for you to catch up, to be where I was about four years ago when the niggling thought, “this is not going away,” took root. Now you, some of you, are coming to realize that the two or three weeks of shut down we embarked upon way back in March might not be going away soon. No matter how much we wish it would and no matter what kind of schedule we try to impose on it, what happens is not in our control. Like me, you are figuring out your new life and negotiating this new you, the you that cannot control anything. It’s an ever-changing emotional landscape.

The mental health impact of dealing with trauma is real and overwhelming. I’m not a mental health expert, but I can tell you that what you are dealing with is a big deal. You’ve got to give yourself a break. You need time. You need compassion for yourself. Please, stop beating yourself up because you can’t be like you were.

Whoever you are, whatever cracks were in your life before the pandemic are now crevices big enough to fall into. You might feel like you’re out on a ledge. Alone. And that ledge isn’t feeling too stable.

There have been dark times for me in the past four years. Strangely, one of the worst was just last week. It had nothing to do with the pandemic, but just another layer of what happened to me revealing itself. You would think I would be used to everything by now. I don’t want to go into details, because it’s not necessary to add to your trauma by sharing mine. Suffice it to say, I was out on a ledge.

I can offer you this: one thing I have learned is that I have to feel my feelings. I have to sit with them and feel them and ask them what they are teaching me. I have to befriend them and stop pushing them away. I have to be grateful for them. It seems impossible, but it is possible. When I am awake at three in the morning, heart racing, frustration rising, dark thoughts taking over, I take a deep breath and accept that this is where I am. I know something now I didn’t know before the accident. I am more than what I do or how I feel. I am more than my successes, I am more than my failures. So are you. Those plans you had were just plans.

I understand now how notions of productivity and progress replaced true joy with a twisted capitalist version of success that made self love impossible because I could never be enough. I know now that the world can fall apart around me, I can fall apart within me, pieces of me can break and strain, my brain can struggle to find words or balance or memories, but I am still me. I am fine. Even out on the ledge, I can find the place of quiet inside of me and observe. Who is this observer? It is me. The calm centre of me.

You have a calm centre of you.

When I stood on that literal ledge this week, I looked around and felt gratitude. I felt immense joy. The ledge can be a beautiful place. The wind rushed and the clouds swept by. The water below was jade green and crystal clear, becoming dark blue as it deepened. A hawk soared high above the water, but eye level with me, circling, playing on the wind. We all belong here, right here, where we are. Me, the hawk, the water, the ledge, the trees. You. There is no other place to be. You are here. You’re okay. You’re not alone.