BloodMoon
Beloved Grand Eagle
Bette Davis is often credited with saying, “Old age ain’t no place for sissies” — and neither is TMS!
I believe TMS is an overactive protection mechanism that runs amok, sounding alarm bells and making a bloody nuisance of itself.
But I’ve also developed my own way of thinking about it when it comes to handling my remaining symptoms.
I like the image of the gunfight at the OK Corral. I'm not going to be a sissy, I'm going to stand my ground, look the opposition squarely in the eye and refuse to be intimidated.
When pain or other discomfort shows up, I don’t immediately try to distract myself. Having acknowledged their presence, I stare them in the face. I concentrate on them and breathe into them.
If it’s in one particular part of my body, I deliberately focus on that area and breathe into it. If it’s in several places, I breathe into each of them in turn. And when it’s a whole-body experience, I imagine my breath travelling all the way down to my toes and then slowly working its way back up to my head.
I’m not claiming to have all the answers, and I certainly still have difficult days — yesterday was one, and it inspired me to write this post. But there’s something empowering about facing the sensations rather than being overwhelmingly intimidated by them.
I used to be bedridden, and my only “weapon” was a knife to peel carrots for dinner from bed, just to feel I was still part of ordinary life. Now, thankfully, I’m still standing.
If you’re in the middle of it right now, I know how frightening it can feel and what an uphill struggle it can feel and be — but you are not weak, and you are not alone.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is that, in my experience, recovery has involved learning to square up to TMS as best I can. It may shout loudly, make a bloody nuisance of itself and try to convince you it’s in charge — but don’t back down.
I believe TMS is an overactive protection mechanism that runs amok, sounding alarm bells and making a bloody nuisance of itself.
But I’ve also developed my own way of thinking about it when it comes to handling my remaining symptoms.
I like the image of the gunfight at the OK Corral. I'm not going to be a sissy, I'm going to stand my ground, look the opposition squarely in the eye and refuse to be intimidated.
When pain or other discomfort shows up, I don’t immediately try to distract myself. Having acknowledged their presence, I stare them in the face. I concentrate on them and breathe into them.
If it’s in one particular part of my body, I deliberately focus on that area and breathe into it. If it’s in several places, I breathe into each of them in turn. And when it’s a whole-body experience, I imagine my breath travelling all the way down to my toes and then slowly working its way back up to my head.
I’m not claiming to have all the answers, and I certainly still have difficult days — yesterday was one, and it inspired me to write this post. But there’s something empowering about facing the sensations rather than being overwhelmingly intimidated by them.
I used to be bedridden, and my only “weapon” was a knife to peel carrots for dinner from bed, just to feel I was still part of ordinary life. Now, thankfully, I’m still standing.
If you’re in the middle of it right now, I know how frightening it can feel and what an uphill struggle it can feel and be — but you are not weak, and you are not alone.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is that, in my experience, recovery has involved learning to square up to TMS as best I can. It may shout loudly, make a bloody nuisance of itself and try to convince you it’s in charge — but don’t back down.
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