Living with CPTSD is a trip…and not the “ooh yay, this is fun” kind of trip. In my opinion, one of the most ominous and annoying things about CPTSD is the constant struggle to stay rooted in the present. It took me decades of living in purgatory between then and now to realize I wasn’t fully “here” most of the time. I’ve been working hard to be present in my life. While CPTSD survivors battle a flood of unpleasant side effects, we also have a superpower: we are a force to be reckoned with. We seem to have a bottomless well of strength to get us through whatever life hurls our way. This piece explores a trek gone wrong before it righted itself in all the ways that matter. It illuminates the strength that CPTSD survivors wield when we grab hold of the present with both hands.
Capsized Plans
Nature is a balm to my soul, and a few years ago, I took up kayaking. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a skilled kayaker. In fact, I’m barely competent, and I have gotten by on sheer luck. I put that luck to the test last month when I decided to kayak the most turbulent section of a nearby river at a time of the year when the water is highest and flows the fastest. Because that decision wasn’t questionable enough, I decided to also go at it alone. Twenty minutes into the adventure, I approached the strongest rapids the river offers. Having cleared them in a kayak only once in August when the water moved more slowly, this time, I approached the rapids with trepidation, hoping to stop on the riverbank and assess the flow. Well, much like life in general, the river had other plans for me. The strong current pulled me to the center of the river where the rapids flow over a series of ledges. Because I tried to deviate from the natural flow (and because I didn’t know what I was doing), the current pulled me down the ledges sideways. Having seen this happen to several people from the shoreline over the years, I knew what was coming.
I had enough time to take a deep breath and accept that I would capsize.
I’m wrong about many things, but my prediction was spot on; the river overturned the kayak, briefly pinning me under it. I’ve learned from my experience floating down this river on my back that it’s essential to avoid panic when caught in the grasp of its current. (Side note: When I’ve “body-surfed” this river in the past, the few people I’ve seen along the way always assume I’ve lost my kayak. I helpfully assure them that it’s my mind that I’ve lost, and they paddle away from me as quickly as possible.) Anyway, when my kayak tipped and I became submerged in the water beneath it, I very calmly extracted myself from it. I popped up to the surface and grabbed hold of my kayak before the current could whisk it away. I struggled to free it from the current as water poured into its gaping belly. Meanwhile, I helplessly watched my paddle float down the river. On the bright side, I could barely see the paddle because the river had also stolen my favorite pair of glasses.
I took yet another deep breath, silently admitting that this was not going as planned. Knowing that I had no one but myself to save me, I somehow managed to wrestle my waterlogged kayak from the current. Silently questioning my sanity at tackling this solo adventure, I pulled strength from my internal well to drag my sinking kayak to the shoreline. Along the way, as I fought the current, I sliced my foot on a rock. I had no choice but to trudge through the stubborn current toward the beckoning shoreline.
Upon escaping the grasp of the river, I pulled my water-laden kayak onto the shore, where I struggled to turn it over to free several gallons of water from its carriage. I then experienced momentary panic when I discovered the plug had come loose and lay hidden in the grass. Somehow, despite my blurred vision, I found the plug and returned it to its place. I then fished my phone out of what was supposed to be a waterproof storage compartment. Assuming I had any cell service in the river valley miles from the nearest occupied house and hours away from my pickup destination, I figured I would at least touch base with the outside world and reevaluate my plans. Well, once again, the universe didn’t agree. As it turns out, the “waterproof” compartment was not waterproof. My phone was inoperable. (It still is.)
Where Do We Go From Here?
Resigned to my fate for the afternoon, I realized I had three options: 1) I could leave my kayak and walk the trail that follows the river back to my vehicle. It took twenty minutes to travel along the strongly flowing river, so I could expect at least an hour’s walk in unseasonably hot 90-degree heat. I’m not a fan of heat, so that would have quickly evolved into an angry stomp through the woods; 2) I could ditch the kayak and float down the river on my back to where my family was scheduled to pick me up three hours later. That wasn’t out of the question since I have floated down multiple stretches of the river on my back in the past; or 3) I could continue on my merry way without a paddle and, thanks to a hasty departure of my glasses, with limited vision. I went with door number three. I’m willing to try most things at least once, and continuing my half-blind, paddleless trek to my destination felt like the best plan. I learned a long time ago to trust my gu,t and I had already ignored it once that day when I questioned my proposal to charter tricky waters without skill or backup.
Not that long ago, my reaction to my situation would have been different; I still would have made it through in one piece, but I don’t think I would have been able to enjoy much of it. Actually, “old me” would have probably used the personal time off work to scrub the toilet or something equally tantalizing. Fortunately, I had over a year of therapy and a ton of work on reclaiming my mental health under my belt. At this stage in my journey, I have finally begun to learn that it’s okay to enjoy life. Therefore, on that unseasonably hot spring day, I was determined to embrace the day, even if it wasn’t going exactly (well…at all) like planned.
I decided to restart my journey at a calmer spot on the river. I dragged my kayak down the trail, hobbling thanks to the cut on my foot, the pain augmented after tripping on a tree branch along the way for good measure. I finally reached what I deemed a gentle enough spot in the river to get back on track. Exhausted after twenty minutes of unexpected rigor, I plopped down on the shoreline in a state of relief. Relaxed and free from the battle with the river and rutty trail, I looked around to discover a bed of shiny poison ivy surrounding me. I’m highly allergic to poison ivy, and I end up with a poison ivy rash almost annually. It looked like I was getting an early start on it this year. Wondering if, at this point in my journey, a bear would jump out of the woods and whisk me away in its hungry jaws, my little flutters of amused chuckles turned into belly laughter. Because sometimes…what else can you do but laugh? I dove into the water, hoping to rinse off some of the poisonous oil. (It didn’t get it all and I itched for the next week.) But…at least the imaginary bear didn’t maul me, so I’ll take the wins where I can get them.
Embrace the Journey
Once again, paddleless and nearly blind, I braced myself, took a deep breath, jumped into my kayak, and set sail. Although I took another involuntary dip along the way and almost lost my eyes and scalp to a few tree branches that the current steered me toward, I reclined in peaceful bliss for the remaining hours of the journey. Again, I took deep breaths, this time in gratitude for getting through the rough patches and my happiness at being surrounded by nature’s greatest gifts. The sharp contrast between the earlier struggles and the serenity of the trip enhanced the peace I felt within. I basked in each moment of the remaining “paddle” (without a real paddle) and in a state of euphoria. Only half an hour later than expected, I approached the shoreline of the pickup location, where my family greeted me with smiles and questions about why I was paddling with a stick. I gave the abbreviated version of what happened and told them I had a wonderful time. And I did. Throughout my trek down the river, I repeatedly thought, “Wow, I am so lucky to experience this.” I truly did experience every beautiful raw moment of it. As I trudge forward in my healing journey, I experience this more and more often, despite and maybe even sometimes because of the hurdles in my path.
Within the context of a place that soothes me, no matter what went wrong, I remained rooted in the present. Not that long ago, being able to achieve prolonged presence in any kind of activity was an anomaly. I have done a ton of work to learn to live in the present, and I often fail, but in the moments I accomplish the herculean feat of being “here,” I experience an unparalleled freedom. I think that as survivors of traumatic experiences, we develop what Finns call “sisu” (loosely translating to bottomless courage and strength) to get through whatever life throws at us. While I would have preferred avoiding at least some of the traumatic experiences I’ve lived through and would rather not have to fight to just be “here,” I think I’ve also learned that I can get through pretty much anything.
Lessons Learned
Some people are fortunate enough to believe that someone is always in their corner. I, on the other hand, live with the core belief that I’m on my own. As I heal, I am starting to learn that I’m not alone, but it’s a really difficult belief to unlearn. That day on the river, like so many days in my life, I knew that I had to summon my strength and courage, figure out what to do next, and fight to keep moving toward my destination. I also realized that while I couldn’t necessarily control what was happening, I could decide how I reacted. I could have let a ruined phone, bleeding foot, loss of my paddle, blurry vision, impending poison ivy rash, and a few close brushes with tree branches derail me. I could have ended the adventure altogether or continued it in angry annoyance. Instead, I accepted it for what it was and just kept moving forward.
Things aren’t always going to go “as planned,” and that’s okay. As I continue my ongoing, endless journey to healing, I will apply the three (blurry) visual images I have of my wayward river experience to guide me. I will envision rough waters followed by bliss, ending in fulfilled satisfaction. This lesson, like so many others I have learned, will help me get through whatever chaos lies around the bend. And…I will be “here” for as much of it as I can. I invite you to also recognize your strengths, find the things in life that soothe you, and continue moving forward, no matter what life has in store. After all, we are a force to be reckoned with.
Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash
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Finally feeling truly alive for the first time in my life, I am writing from a place of gradual healing with an eye to the future and a hope of connecting with others on similar paths. Forced to withhold a tsunami of emotions deemed irrelevant under the roof of my childhood “home,” the blank white pages of my notebooks invited my raw reflections without judgment. Writing allowed me to free the burdens of my soul, but at some point, I muzzled myself. My pen lay dormant for years until, at 41 years old, I experienced a traumatic flashback during an everyday activity that shook me to the core. Five days later, I started writing about the things I had long withheld. I couldn’t stop. Written words have once again become my refuge. I now recognize that these words, resurrected from the ashes of my pain, may have the power to help others. Above all, I want to magnify and share the messages that I have most treasured on my journey: we are not alone and we don’t ever have to go back. This is where we live now and the future is ours.
