If PTSD is like storms, I am like a chickadee.

I would be walking along in life when suddenly storms, snow and hail from within make me scramble for safety. Safety from everything. The world and myself.

Each time it is taken by surprise my still healing nervous system works harder and harder to figure out, how the element of surprise can be removed? How could pain be avoided? Over time both wisely and naively it expects pain everywhere from everyone. Storms become usual in unusual places like a planet changed by reckless warming.

In some ways, my nervous system is an emotional boy scout, prepared for every terrain of stress, for danger. It scans for threats. Expects it at every corner and heart. Survival is always paramount, paramount to connection even.

But, the truth is even the best trackers, and wilderness junkies come across a new landscape, a new interaction. Even those who know the wild as their own body stumble onto unknown situations. They know, some even hope with newness comes the possibility of pain AND delight.

So maybe, instead of being a boy scout, my nervous system is better served to be a chickadee. I learn from the words of Tom Brown Jr, that the chickadee loves to be right in the middle of the storm. To the chickadee uncertainty, and havoc are not only expected but anticipated. The chaos and cold become the perfect stage for her dee-dee songs. So maybe my nervous system could learn to see the possibility of pleasure in uncertainty. It could be just like the chickadee when danger comes. Perch up a swinging tree and sing loudly and joyously my song.

Then maybe PTSD is a storm just before joy. It is not a prison sentence but a harsh and honorable teacher. A teacher that teaches danger, to teach true safety. A sage that teaches pain, to teach true pleasure. A priestess that teaches fear, to learn true love.

Photo by Amanda Frank on Unsplash