Caught in a Thought Storm

Learning to move from my head into my body

Hello, friends and readers,

I wondered if I should start this newsletter off by talking about the pleasantly distracting fall day that’s happening outside my window, the gratitude I feel for the clear, blue sky and patterns in the leaves on the ground. I feel like I should say something pretty and calming that conveys my presence in this moment. But the truth is I can’t stop thinking about the thought storm I was in only last night and this morning, when my mind reached its breaking point and the only thing I could do was just…feel. Feel everything that little Aleesha wasn’t allowed or didn’t have the capacity to feel.

I find it difficult to share about certain parts of my life growing up. I am aware that my words have the ability to expose other people in a way that they never consented to, and I’m not sure when it becomes necessary to do anyway because their story directly impacted mine. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the way my primary caregiver’s mental health struggles have influenced my life and created lasting patterns of codependency and enmeshment that I am finally becoming aware of today.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been deeply engrossed in the work of digging up the roots of these patterns, sparked by the fact that my circumstances have dramatically shifted since my separation. I’ve been reading and writing and listening to podcasts and enrolled in a course that specifically addresses issues like this, finding anything to fill my brain with the awareness I need to take hold of those roots and weed them out.

This is all good stuff. But I think last night there came a point where I just couldn’t take in any more information. I needed to reckon with the reality that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—weed these things out overnight. It feels like these patterns are just who I am because those little tendrils have wound around places in my life I had no idea they could reach. It feels embarrassing to trace a finger along the myriad ways I abandon myself to make others “feel better.” I thought I was past this.

These patterns developed due to the fact that, as a child, my big person was someone I perceived as being unable to take care of themself, let alone us kids, and so while my brother acted out, I internalized everything as being my fault and my job to figure out. I’ve become pretty good at mindreading, noticing shifts in facial expressions and behaviour, dismissing my needs, taking responsibility for the emotional wellbeing of the people closest to me…

…a recipe for hypervigilance, anxiety, blurred boundaries, not ever feeling good enough, questioning if what I do matters, need for control, burnout. What I’m most embarrassed about, though, is the way I give other people the power to dictate who I think I should be and how I should feel about myself.

As I was in my thought storm, I lamented being unable to simply acknowledge and release these ways of being. But the truth is, there’s a gap between releasing that which isn’t serving you and showing up in a new way. And in that space, an overwhelming swirl of helplessness swirled through my body. The ways I had learned to cope were serving me as best they could, and without them, what do I have? How can I keep myself safe? If I can’t control other people, how do I know they will show up for me?

Tears. Sleep. Pebbling memes. Tears again. Voice note to bestie. Even more tears. Walking the labyrinth. Showing up and supporting Little Aleesha in the ways she should have been supported all those years ago. Letting go of the old ways, tendril by tendril, knowing that the process will take as long as it takes. Noticing when I hand my power over to someone else, and quietly but firmly reminding myself “That’s mine; I don’t need to give that away anymore.”

Does any of this resonate with you? It’s fresh and I have no other questions today.