BlissChick

WHERE Did I Put My Head!?

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 15:01:00 +0000

After months of agonizing and then some time spent just patiently waiting, I finally got the name for my "business" and then the logo came to me during a prayer/meditation session with Mary. I think this image speaks volumes to people immediately. I am pleased.

After it came to me, I went right to work on brochures and posters and all of that, feeling pretty darn energized by the "rightness" of it all.

Then...

Then I seemed to misplace my Head.

This always happens. I start to feel some momentum and then it stops. It just Stops.

There are various ways it stops.

Usually, I do something to put a roadblock in my way.

This time, I took on some college composition teaching at the very last minute. I only had about three days to get ready to teach a subject I had not taught in many years. Three days to come up with a theme and create a calendar and get started on assignments. Three days also to get all the security for the school I am teaching at, which is a bit like Fort Knox. (I am teaching at the local campus of my Alma Mater.)

And now we are in the second week of the semester already and I am exhausted. Ex. Hausted.

The stress was huge.

The story that I started to tell myself, though, is more dangerous (and more exhausting) than the stress.

I started to tell myself that I had somehow gotten way off track, that I was lost, that I was confused, that I was not living the life I wanted to be living.

On my first day of class, on the drive over to the campus, which is outside our small city, I was almost to the school, when out of nowhere a huge Red Tail Hawk swept down in front of the car.

The Red Tail is one of my life totems and he was there to remind me of something I was forgetting.

He was saying, "Um, HELLO!?" (He's a smart ass.) "Um, yeah, remember the BIG PICTURE!?! Hello!? You took on THIS teaching to specifically support your dancing and teaching dreams!! This is money for trainings or for advertising or for SPACE!! Get a freaking grip!"

Oh, right, thanks, Giant (smart ass) Bird.

It also turns out that I am still very good at this teaching college comp thing. And that my students are rather...wonderful (unexpectedly!).

((Picking up my head and putting it back on))

Story telling...it can get in the way.

Or not. Here's the new (and TRUE) story: I am teaching college comp because I am good at it and it comes naturally to me and so I don't have to totally angst over it and it can provide me with these other opportunities to expand my "real" work -- dancing and yoga and teaching dance and yoga and creating new methods to help other sufferers of Complex PTSD to reunite with their bodies and their most fulfilled lives.

THAT is worth the doing, I would say.

DO NOT BUY THIS BOOK

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Short post today because I do not want to give in too fully to this anger that is boiling in my belly, that is making my scalp tingle, that is making me make some very. ugly. faces.

You all know that I tend toward the "it's all good" argument in terms of types of yoga, and I still feel that way.

We have no idea what another person is getting out of anything, much less their yoga, regardless of where or what or how.

Furthermore, some people get their "union with the universal/divine" experience from running or from soccer or from...whatever. It's not ours to judge.

But as teachers of yoga or dance or movement of whatever system we are utilizing to help people come to a deeper understanding of their own capacity for joy and peace, we bear a burden. We are to be held to higher standards. We should be held to higher standards by our own hearts, but there are lesser evolved humans in every sphere of human action.

And the lure of celebrity status is not known to attract the most...selfless among us.

I am particularly angry, though, about this current yoga "scandal," because it is being perpetrated by a woman against other women. A woman who calls herself a yogi, at that.

Do not buy Tara Stiles' new yoga weight loss book.

The advertising is base, classless, and cruel.

Thanks, Tara, for setting unrealistic and unhealthy goals for the women who look up to you. Thanks, Tara, for contributing to women's self-loathing. May your namesake Hindu Goddess bring you the wisdom you desperately need to use your privileged platform for good rather than self gain.

Enough said.

(Though if you need more, you can read Linda or Svasti, both of whom are covering this debacle wisely.)

Instead of wasting any money on that book, go out and take a class with a rockin', local teacher, or purchase some excellent music and dance in your living room.

It is never too late to embody your bliss, as I like to say, and that means swayin' those hips and lovin' that booty, until a smile is inevitable and self-hate is impossible.

Remembering 12 & A Giveaway!

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

You know that one of my favorite questions to ask people who say they don't know their bliss is: "What did you love when you were 12? Why has that changed?"

It changes, of course, for 1 million reasons and for no reason at all, as I like to say about the depression that almost stole my life and with which I battled tooth and nail until it coughed up my Dancing Soul.

It changes because we hit puberty and something happens to us...something inside starts to feel so precarious that outside forces start to have way too much power.

Instead of being protected from those outside forces by the women around us, a lot of those women offer us up to them.

Then we are lost, and if we are very persistent and very determined and do not harden our hearts, we find our way back, eventually, to ourselves. Often this happens at around the age of 40.

(Marcy and I will be both writing more about this phenomenon in the near future, because we are both experiencing it in profound ways.)

Here is step one on this Quest: Remembering Twelve.

Who were you before the hormones washed over you? Who were you before the cultural expectations grew dangerous claws and swiped at you every chance they had?

What did you love when you were twelve and what happened to it? Where is it now? What are you willing to do to get it back?

Answer those questions in the comments and you could be one of two people to get a sampler box (30 mixed packets) of this great, natural electrolyte drink that practically saved me from collapse when I had to teach in unbearable freaking heat this summer!

Ultima Replinisher asked me to try their product and I told them, sure, but no promises, because I only ever tell you guys about things I really truly like. And I think in over two and half years of blogging, this might be only the second (third, max) time that I have done this.

I like this stuff. A lot.

My dancing self loves it.

My students appreciated the fact that I could last through a class even when it was over 100 degrees (with humidity) and we were working in a studio with no air.

Enough said. Leave a comment about those twelve year old related questions and you'll be entered in a drawing.

Put Down that Book!

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

(Lilly cat is one of my main gurus. You can see why, I'm sure.)

I have mentioned many times that reading pretty much saved me when I was young. I would just dive into books and stay there for hours and days on end. I think, too, that books gave me these wonderful glimpses into other ways of being.

Any time I was interested in anything new, my first instinct was to head to the library and read about it. Part of this was a general fear of living, a fear of anything new, and a safety inside those pages, and another part was that, due to my home life, it was very unlikely (pretty much 100% of the time) that I would actually get to try any of those newly intriguing things.

Living vicariously, for sure.

This habit continued into adulthood and only recently have I started to see how negatively it has impacted my life.

(Thank goodness I did not just stick to reading about dance, for instance...or yoga! Thank goodness I also DO those things.)

I have also mentioned, only half jokingly, that I have read enough in the field of psychology to be awarded some level of degree.

So when we finally figured out that I suffer from Complex PTSD, I started doing my thing. I started reading anything I could get my hands on about it. I started looking for the most current thinking about treatment. I started digging into the cutting edge work about what they think is going on in the brain.

And then it happened.

Something I thought would not happen to me, for some reason.

Have you ever seen those blog posts written by trauma people that say at the top "Warning: This may be a triggering post."

I always think, "Yeah, whatever..."

I don't know why I have dismissed this. Perhaps because I have just always seen reading as part of my "medicine."

About three weeks ago, I was reading about how and why our brain will cut up the most difficult memories into sensory chunks, storing them in different parts of the brain and not creating connections between them. This is why a smell can bring back part of a feeling of a memory but not the whole thing, for example.

This article really stuck with me.

And then...a wave of partial memories started washing over me. One after another.

It made me sick to my stomach.

I used to get so angry that I couldn't "complete" these bits and pieces of memory, that I couldn't figure out what and when they came from. Now I know that my brain is a bit smarter than I have ever given it credit for.

Sometimes our brain is protecting us. Sometimes things aren't meant to ever be remembered whole. Sometimes our brain knows that that would be too much for us.

We had a couple of very difficult days here at the Lilypad from my reading induced trigger episode. But we got through it.

And now I have some new rules for myself:

First, no more reading (for now) about Complex PTSD; it really can trigger you, even just the theoretical stuff. Or maybe MORE SO the theoretical stuff because it allows your triggers to fill in the blanks, so to speak.

Second, no more disrespecting my brain's wisdom. I go on and on here about body wisdom, and I often bash brain, but brain is part of this body and now I see what it has been up to all along.

This is not about intentionally repressing. NO WAY! But it is about appreciating the function and efficacy of the brain's natural tendencies.

It is also about respecting the fact that I know enough of my own story (in great detail) to know why I am the way I am. I know enough to now notice my triggers and to work with and through them. I know enough to figure out why I behave the way I do sometimes.

I know enough to heartily and steadfastly work toward health.

I know enough to respect the intuitions of my brain and body and put down those books.

And She Returns Amidst Some Chaos...

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

This photo is just a sneak peak into my brain and things that are whirling around in there regarding this blog. And yes, those are my feet at our lake.

My time off from blogging daily has been a much needed break, and again, I thank all of my regular readers for your patience, and I welcome all the new readers. Posting less frequently seems to give the material time to be read by a larger audience, and so, though I have learned tons that I will be sharing over the following days and weeks, one thing I have learned about this blog in particular is that I change the content way too quickly and way too often.

So I will, for a time, be experimenting with a three-times-a-week schedule, starting this week.

The chaos to which I refer in the title is that some unexpected and good things have happened during my time off.

I was out of the blue offered a writing class to teach at a local college that is a branch of my alma mater. I have not taught writing in any setting for a few years and so I am nervous but excited to begin TODAY.

In the meantime, I have been trying to finish up with some project work centered around my yoga and dance teaching, and eventually, hopefully quite soon, you will see the fruits of that around these parts.

And in just under two weeks, I will be headed to a weekend retreat with Erich Schiffmann, my first teacher -- via video, and I am super excited to meet this man. I adore his writing, his teachings, and his VOICE. (Giggle)

After Labor Day week, I will be changing and adding to my yoga and dance teaching schedule, so, for approximately 12 weeks, I will be teaching 7 days a week! I am NUTSO, obviously.

How about you? How are you all doing? Anything new and exciting going on during this back-to-school time?

Trying Too Hard with a Little Side of the Reality of Injury

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 17:18:00 +0000

This is another check-in post to let you know a bit about where I am in this process of learning about and working with Complex PTSD. I think I may get back to regular blogging next week, and I appreciate all your patience and your helpful words of wisdom.

Recently, I've had a bit of an epiphany about how I go about Pushing Through Life.

When you are a small person living in precarious circumstances, you learn a few things about Trying.

You learn to try really hard to keep the peace.

You learn to try really hard to help other people feel good.

You learn to try really hard to be the person other people need you to be, according to whatever is happening in that moment.

You learn to try really hard to never reveal your fear.

You learn to try really hard to justify your very existence.

Living in an environment as I did (and as many of you did, I'm sure), you learn, one way or another, that you are not valued simply for being you.

You definitely get the message that you may very well be a waste of space, a waste of breath. So you learn that if you try hard enough, maybe, just maybe some day...some day, someone will say, "Okay, you earned it. You're allowed to be here. You can relax."

Of course, this never happens, and so we grow into adults who think we have to prove ourselves.

We grow into adults who assume, for instance, that people don't simply like us but that we must earn their tolerance, and one wrong move...

It's a little like being perpetually on audition, but, of course, it's much worse than that.

This habit of trying too hard is very tiring, indeed.

I am always, pretty much, exhausted. And I am always, always, always whining about this and wondering why. Wondering what food I could eat or what exercise I could do or what magic pill I could take to feel energized.

But it's not about what I put into my body; it's about the injuries that I have in my Being. I don't mean that I am intentionally holding onto those injuries (and please don't insult me by leaving a comment along the lines of "let it go...").

When your physical body is injured, there remains forever a shadow of that injury, whether it be a scar or that place on a bone where it has re-knit after a break which can be seen on thousand year mummies. You know...evidence.

But we, as a culture, don't allow for the fact that the same happens to our emotional bodies. We are not weak for having scars on our psyches that will forever be shadowy reminders, occasionally aching like a phantom piece of ourselves.

We would never say to someone, for example, who has lost a limb, "Why don't you just grow that back? I mean, if you would just get over it, I bet that would grow back all on its own..."

Stupid.

Okay, I am getting off track.

Trying too hard...

I do it every day and it's worn me out. So now I have to figure out how to stop. How to get to that place in Taoism of "no effort."

Have any of you succeeded with this? Are any of you struggling with the same?

This Pain in My Ass that is Chronic Fear & Anxiety

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 18:12:00 +0000

(Title + Photo = Weird Juxtaposition but oh, well...)

I am not back to daily blogging by any means, but I wanted to write a "what's up" type of post.

I recently wrote about the awareness of pain and that continues to be the thesis of my daily life -- the recognizing of what I have been living with in this body for many decades. The feeling of it. The noticing of it.

Layer upon layer of noticing. (And I thought I was a fairly awake kind of person so there is this added layer of "what the...")

The newest thing I am recognizing is the pervasiveness of fear and anxiety in my life. Like pervasive as in "never goes away."

Anxiety and fear may simmer at low but they are never just gone.

Around every corner -- whether literal or in my mind -- there are threats to be negotiated.

What a way to live! Sometimes I don't know how I have managed thus far (oh! Hello, repression).

Though Marcy would argue that I was born this way (and not because of genetics or biochemistry but because of some things that happened while I was in the womb), I would say that at the very latest, this manifested by the age of four, when I heard someone's life being threatened. No more details necessary.

This was a key moment in my little life. At the time, I stood up and left the room in which I was sitting, thinking to myself that that was something I should not have heard. This memory is crystal clear to me.

So when I say I suffer from chronic anxiety that is the moment it was born.

I am researching natural remedies, though Marcy is actually encouraging a temporary usage of a pharmaceutical. I do not favor this at all, as any regular reader knows.

In the meantime, yoga, dance, breathing...all of that and more but I am still this little person walking around with continual fireworks going off inside.

It hurts. It sucks. I am sick of it.

(Do not mistake that for despair or depression or giving up. I do not and will not give up. It is my nature to keep learning and keep going. Period. But for the first time, I am admitting how very hard this has been.)

Yearning

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

But the monks of the Middle Ages, and the clerics too, believed that the inner paradise was the ultimate ground of freedom in man's heart. To find it one had to travel, as Augustine had said, not with steps, but with yearnings. ...Paradise is simply the person, the self, but the radical self in its uninhibited freedom.

Thomas Merton. Love and Living. (New York: Harcourt, 1965), p. 8.

Interview Over at Magpie Girl

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 14:27:00 +0000

Just stopping in for a second to tell you that I am part of an amazing interview series today over at Magpie Girl. She is talking to people about being creative in spite of chronic conditions.

Give Me A Break

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

I need a break. Quite uncharacteristically, I'm giving myself one. I've never done this in the approximately 28 months I've been blogging. I was proud of that fact, but now other things need to take priority.

I'll be back.

Things are just extra hard...

I did not realize how much of my experience I was not feeling, and now that I am feeling it and noticing it, I am overwhelmed by and flooded with fears on a regular basis. Welcome to awareness of Complex-PTSD.

I can't write a blog called BlissChick when I am feeling predominately like SadChick right now.

Sometimes Everything Tastes Like Medicine

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

(Warning: This is a bit of a Rant & Whine. We all need these once in a while.)

This is why people choose to stay asleep: it's hard to wake up. It's uncomfortable. It can be painful. It's so easy to just keep hitting the freaking snooze.

Like I wrote about last week, the awareness of pain can create more pain. I believe this is temporary (like anything), but it can get tough.

I had a really tough Friday that had been building for a couple of days before that.

At times like that, suddenly, everything in my life tastes like medicine, feels medicinal. Nothing is just for the fun of it.

I have to dance and move and do yoga...because it grounds me and gets rid of toxins.

I have to eat right...or I have no energy for the movement work that I have to do.

I have to sleep right...or I can't think straight the next day and watch out!

I need to spend time in prayer and meditation...or I become scattered and start to float away from myself.

You get the idea.

Everything I do is to help me Keep It Together.

All of these things are also the things that I love to do.

Here's where I get angry (and rightfully so): I could just savor this stuff; I could just freaking ENJOY MY LIFE and have a most fan-damn-tastic life, at that, but I have to really work at what comes quite naturally to many humans.

For whatever reason...

I know that injuries can also be gifts. I know that what I have been through has also made me who I am.

But what really, really pisses me off: Child abuse changes who that little baby girl was born to be. Then she has to fight damn hard to get back to that.

LilyPad Bliss

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Another key for me to living well with C-PTSD is taking inventory of all the bliss and happiness and beauty in my life. Every day.

So here is some of what is happening around our LilyPad lately:


A Baby Eggplant in Our Garden

A Decent Photo of Daisy, the Hardest Cat to Photo EVER!

Marcy and I took a short half-day trip to one of my favorite spots.

A few other good things:

This blogger, whom I adore and have had the privilege to meet, did a very sweet thing.

This came in the mail and I will be watching it over and over.

This also came in the mail. (We couldn't help ourselves.)

And finally, this came. I am devising a pretty different way to use it and will be sharing that with all my dear and lovely readers.

OH! And during a prayer and meditation session this week, I got major clarity on some design work for this blog and for my movement work. More details coming in the near future.

What are you grateful for this week?

The Key Question

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

One of the hardest things to deal with in Complex PTSD for the injured and their loved ones is emotional flashbacks.

Marcy and I have devised a few techniques over the last week or so to awaken me from these free floating pains and anxieties from the past.

First, we have created a safe haven for me in a prayer and meditation space that is dedicated to Mary. I sit there three times a day and ask for help and guidance and strength or to have bad dreams removed or to sleep better...whatever it is that I am needing.

Remember, I am a believer and so this works for me. I think it's super important that everyone who suffers from C-PTSD find something they can believe in besides their pain and their brains.

Second, we have purchased a comfortable blanket that is just mine. This sounds silly, but emotional flashbacks make us feel very small and very unsafe. Having something to hold onto, literally, can help in the worst of times.

And finally, we have come up with the Key Question.

This question would be different for everyone but also very much the same, I think, since Complex PTSD always comes down to feeling unsafe in the present because we are confusing it with the past. Well, our brains are confusing it with the past.

This question is a KEY in that it can unlock our frozen fear and walk us through the door into our current, adult life.

The question that Marcy asks me when it is apparent that I am not present is:

What are you afraid of right now?

We are new to this path, so I know that over time, we will just get better and better at this, and we will be sharing with you as we go.

(Feel free to ask any questions about all of this. Marcy and I would love to help other couples learn to cope.)

Top Yoga Blog

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 18:00:00 +0000

I'm not quite sure why or how this all works, but blisschick was listed as a top yoga blog by an online nursing school site.

I went back and forth about whether or not to post this and decided eventually upon the affirmative because of the company I am keeping on the full list. I LOVE so many of those blogs and am honored to be among them.

I'm a Believer

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Svasti and Marcy were both trying to help me to see something very vital about myself.

I was lost in the literal and the concrete, in psychological texts and concepts. This is all very helpful, but there is more to me than this brain. There is something much more powerful that resides in my heart: My Believer-Self.

Svasti kept reminding me that there is always a pre-trauma self, even if the trauma starts at birth because we are an eternal soul. (I am paraphrasing and putting her ideas into my own language here.) But I kept arguing practicalities with her; I kept insisting on thinking only on this concrete plane, forgetting it is an illusion, it is all temporary, fleeting.

Marcy sat me on the couch during all of this and asked me to think about where and when I have felt safe.

I spoke of my Great Aunt Ardelle, who so clearly saw me. To the point that I have memories of her and I together and we are literally surrounded by sparks of light. I remember those sparks of light as being physically present when I was with her.

I spoke of my time in Catholic school for a year and a half. A time when those nuns and teachers made me feel so safe that I was completely myself in that building. I had never and would never again be so creative in so many ways.

Through these memories there is a common thread for me (which would take too long to explain): the presence of Mary, a safe and loving mother figure.

Marcy said to me on that couch, "You are a believer. That is who you are. You can't not be that. It hurts you."

Yes.

Yes.

I had not been spending any time in prayer and meditation with Mary, thinking I had outgrown her somehow.

Not.

Svasti with her yogic wisdom and Marcy with her clear eyes of love reminded me that I do believe there is an essential self that I can re-member that existed even before this incarnation, this manifestation.

A Pre-Trauma Self of the Highest Order...and yes, she is Dancer and always will be.

The Light That Dispels All Sorrow

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

At one point over the last many days, I was feeling especially...negative about the possibility of healing, even in light of the new, more accurate, and more hopeful diagnosis of Complex-PTSD. I wrote about feeling frustrated about the concept of a pre-trauma self.

Svasti and I had some interesting back and forth in the comments of that post, if you've not seen it. I was getting additionally frustrated with her take* on it, feeling very stuck in my "what if I can't heal?" panic.

(*Svasti knows she is someone whom I greatly admire. She is one of the kindest, wisest bloggers out there, so don't mistake my frustration for anything about her!)

During all of that, a facebook email came to me from a yoga sutras group, and it reinforced what others were trying to help me to see.

This particular sutra is the Light that dispels all sorrow. It's about yoga and how it connects us to our essential, bigger-than-this-life selves.

You can replace "yoga" with whatever you big bliss is, and for me, of course, that would be dance.

When the email came, just like Svasti's comments, I wasn't ready for it, but I knew it was important because I starred it and kept it in my inbox. I kept opening it and reading it.

Finally, I opened it, read it, and smiled.

The smile came thanks to something really vital I re-membered about myself late last week and which I will write about tomorrow.

What in your life dispels the darkness when it descends?

The Awareness of Pain & the Pain of Awareness

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

I've been thinking about this post for many days, but it kept feeling overwhelming to me because I was in the middle of all the muck that I wanted to write about. Now I feel like I am emerging a bit and am getting some perspective...if not just a wee amount.

Remember, too, that I am really struggling with how much to write. I mean, I am essentially a private person. You'll notice (or not) that I don't write a lot of details on this blog about my past. I generalize, assuming that people who need the writing, people who have had similar experiences...they'll "get it."

Like we are talking in code.

At the same time, I want to be honest. I want to be open. I think it is super important to my own development and growth and healing, as well as to those who might be reading this blog for this very reason.

Here we go...

When I returned to dance just a year ago, it was a Miracle of the sort that cannot be overemphasized. My life was suddenly filled with the possibility of Big Happiness, a possibility I had sorta decided was just not for me. I had thought that the level of contentment, peace, and love that I had was more than enough, and it really scared me to even think about asking the Universe for more. I didn't want to "jinx" what I already had. And staying small and relatively unseen felt comfortable and safe.

Then I started dancing again, and God, it makes me breathless to think about it. I cannot describe to you the Joy and the Big. I do not have the words to tell you accurately what happened to my heart. And what continues to happen to this day.

I really thought I was done.

I really thought that I had completely defeated all the demons in my life.

I did not know that my mind and body and soul were waiting for me to be strong enough to handle the demons that were hiding in the deepest and darkest places.

When my depression started to leak back into my life a few months ago, I tried to ignore it. I kept telling myself that it wasn't real, that it was just old habit, that more dancing was all I needed.

More dancing is always good, don't get me wrong. I continue to work on this every day because I know I am who I am because of it.

But the depression and anxiety kept growing regardless of the dancing and this just made me feel worse. How could this be? I had found my "thing!" I had found my bliss path. I had found what I was born to be.

I had, but like I said, the mind and body are brilliant and they knew to wait for my Strength to assert itself before allowing me to go all the way down.

I started getting angry. My argumentative defenses started to take over my life, which includes Marcy, of course. Poor thing.

I got to the point where I really thought (and Marcy really thought) that I might be losing it. That I might need to go into a hospital.

I was devastated.

And one day, Marcy came home with a probable diagnosis for what was going on. We were desperate for an explanation, for some sort of guidance through this hell, and a diagnosis seemed like the right place to start.

At first, it brought me a level of awareness that brought some relief. Naming something is very powerful.

But if you name it incorrectly, watch out.

When I first attempted talk therapy 15 years ago, my therapist immediately had me read a book about Borderline Personality Disorder, convinced that one of my parents fit the bill.

I came back to her and said, "But this is me..."

She said, "NO! Children of BPD often fit the bill but it's learned behaviors that can be overcome..."

Phew. Fast forward to recent time and Marcy and I were sorta convinced that I really was BPD. Like I said, at first, this felt like a relief...oh, look...this is what has been happening to me.

But then I started to get worse. As I wrote to a blogging friend, this diagnosis was birthing some serious self-disgust. I hated this person. Everything felt wrong.

Then (angels singing here and light coming down from the heavens) I happened upon the work of Dr. Judith Herman, who believes (and she is not alone) that many, many women who are diagnosed BPD are actually Complex PTSD, which leads to horrible consequences.

The mainstream psychological community, for instance, perceives most personality disorders as serious mental illness that can never be cured. On the other hand, Complex-PTSD is not an illness but an injury and just that change in language means the world!

There is hope! There are methods to overcome this. Lo and behold, one of the most promising methods is all about getting into your body.

So we come back to the beginning of this long story...dance.

Beautiful dance.

Also, as soon as we identified the Complex PTSD (which is way way way more accurate for me and my history), we created this boat load of coping mechanisms, and here is the most beautiful thing of all:

THEY ARE WORKING.

I have so much work to do, but I am not afraid of work. I am afraid, though, of being told that I am "crazy" and "broken" and completely "unfixable." That was too much.

Now I know with just time and patience and care that there really is that Big Happy in my future, that dancing was not lying to me at all. Rather, dancing was making me strong enough and brave enough to move toward the Big Happy.

Updated Teaching Schedule!

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 21:40:00 +0000

For my most recent local (Erie, PA) teaching schedule, go here. (You will also find some links to the new website for the studio where I teach!)

I am working on creating multiple variations of workshop material, from a few hours to a full weekend, so please contact me if you are interested or know of a studio that may be interested in hosting. (Email me using the button in the left column that looks like a letter!)

Working Past the "Hooey" of Bliss: A Note from a Reader

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Me among the rocks...a very unexpected bliss.

A couple of weeks ago, I got this amazing note from reader, Kimberly, whose blog you can find over here.

What I love most about her note is the unexpected nature of what she discovered. She thought she was happy and then she realized there still could be more.

Dear Christine,

Life is full of funny coincidences. I saw a new post from you come up on my bloglines and thought "I should comment sometime and let her know how she has inspired me." And then you shared that fabulous letter from Glenda and I knew it wasn't just a coincidence.

I started reading your blog perhaps a year ago. I followed a link from somewhere and liked what I read. I think you were talking about mindfulness, which is a topic very important to me. I subscribed, even though I thought the concept of living your bliss to be a little "hooey." But something niggled to me to subscribe and I did. At the time, I thought I was living a good, creative life. And it was. I co-own a quilting and knitting store, which surrounds me with creativity and community every day. I dabbled in fiber art and had even exhibited some of my work to good reviews. I co-created a happy home with my husband and kitties. I was happy. Wasn't that enough?

But I kept reading your blog, kept learning about how you found your bliss (and how you have embodied it), and realized that something was missing. I was happy and comfortable, but where was my bliss? The question kept niggling at me. I knew I wanted to expand my life, and for a while thought it was in painting and mixed-media. But I held back. For months I collected paints, books, and ideas. I surrounded myself with intentions and wielded my supplies like a totem, as though wishing and wanting are whole in themselves.

Finally, this past 3-day weekend spurred me into action. I headed to my studio and prepared some journal pages and some paper-cloth substrates. Yesterday morning they were cured enough to work with. I started painting and inking and within minutes was enthralled in creative ecstasy. I realized I had found my bliss. I realized who I am in a truly meaningful and life-altering way: I am an artist and I need to create. It's like I see the world in an entirely different way now. Everything is possible.

Sharing your bliss inspired me to seek out mine. Thank you.

--Kimberly

P.S. A week ago, I was sitting on my patio, watching the birds swoop and glide and I thought "I'd love to be a bird." That was the first time in my life I ever wanted to be a bird. That gave me a hint that I was on the verge of a breakthrough.

The Power of a Simple Sigh

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 15:56:00 +0000

(Toby cat claiming my meditation cushion is really for him.)

I know that getting back into the body can seem like an overwhelming idea at first to people. Or we overwhelm ourselves by trying to make it too complicated.

So I have a super simple suggestion about sighing.

When I was doing my yogadance training at Kripalu, I had to attend 6:30 AM yoga classes every day. These were Kripalu tradition yoga classes, and let me tell you, they love their noise making there. At first, all the sighing and the totally loud exhales of yummy made me really nervous. I am a private person and very modest and more than a bit afraid of feeling exposed and vulnerable.

While I was there, then, I did not vocalize as we were asked to. I would pretend. And it wasn't like you could tell that I was cheating because everyone around me was so damn loud!

Cut to a few months later and I am teaching.

It became quickly apparent that for women this making noise and breathing deeply thing were all intertwined. I was (and still am) surrounded by women who breathe way up in their chests and who will not sing in public much less make other "unattractive" noises.

Talk about 5th chakra blockages! (For some work on your 5th chakra, go here.)

Now I see my main thing as a teacher is to get women to make noise. To let stuff out of their throat and shoulder and heart areas.

By my second class, I was demanding that they exhale OUT through their mouths and make the sound "Har," which in Kundalini is excellent for releasing anger. And I spend a lot of time yelling "I can't hear you!!!"

They laugh but they are getting louder all the time.

I even start classes with a bit of this noise making, and I have discovered that the simple Sigh is a very powerful tool.

Here's what I want you to do:

Sit comfortably. Start paying attention to your breath. Focus a bit on your shoulders and throat. Just check in.

Now take a very deep breath into your belly. You'll probably notice that this feels tight and is difficult.

Take another deep breath but pull it into your upper chest and scrunch your shoulders way up toward your ears. You are physically mimicking internal feelings here. Hold the breath for a moment and feel your feelings.

When you let it out, let your entire body drop into a sloppy, gravity-pulled hunch.

The exhale should be big, through your mouth, and powerful. I want noise here, people. Big. Loud. Beautiful Sighs.

Do this about six times.

Then sit and try to take that belly breath again.

Notice the difference.

And smile.

Body says thank you.

Working with Emotional Flashbacks

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 20:58:00 +0000

My entire sense of self and place is a bit askew right now, and though it's uncomfortable, I know it's all good, as I work with and through the concepts and ideas behind Complex-PTSD. I've never met such an accurate and helpful psychological model for myself.

None of the other boxes ever quite fit, and yep, you got it...I don't like boxes of any kind so instead I choose to see Complex-PTSD as a lens through which I am looking at myself and my life and how I do this thing called living and how I could do it so much better.

Through this lens, for the first time, really, I can see clearly and I can see far ahead and I can see that there is deep and abiding peace and joy awaiting me. If I am willing to do the work.

Firstly, I have been working with becoming super aware of my "emotional flashbacks." A bit different from flashbacks of the PTSD variety that are tied to a specific event, emotional flashbacks are more nebulous, not-necessarily-associated-with-anything feeling states.

Like abandonment. Which is my Biggie.

Here's a great little bit about them for you to consider from this site:

"...emotional flashbacks (are) sudden and often prolonged regressions ("amygdala hijackings") to the frightening and abandoned feeling-states of childhood. They are accompanied by inappropriate and intense arousal of the fight/flight instinct and the sympathetic nervous system. Typically, they manifest as intense and confusing episodes of fear, toxic shame, and/or despair, which often beget angry reactions against the self or others. When fear is the dominant emotion in an emotional flashback, the individual feels overwhelmed, panicky or even suicidal. When despair predominates, it creates a sense of profound numbness, paralysis and an urgent need to hide. Feeling small, young, fragile, powerless and helpless is also common in emotional flashbacks. Such experiences are typically overlaid with toxic shame, which, as described in John Bradshaw's Healing The Shame That Binds, obliterates an individual's self-esteem with an overpowering sense that she is as worthless, stupid, contemptible or fatally flawed, as she was viewed by her original caregivers. Toxic shame inhibits the individual from seeking comfort and support, and in a reenactment of the childhood abandonment she is flashing back to, isolates her in an overwhelming and humiliating sense of defectiveness. Clients who view themselves as worthless, defective, ugly or despicable are showing signs of being lost in an emotional flashback. When stuck in this state, they often polarize affectively into intense self-hate and self-disgust, and cognitively into extreme and virulent self-criticism."

Is this familiar to any of you?

Clearing Space for Clearer Thinking

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Lilly Cat has made a bit of a nest of my desk, but I have to take responsibility for the materials with which she constructed it. My desk is a mess, as is the rest of this writing room and pretty much, well, the house.

It's a lot like my brain.

We started the cleaning process yesterday. First, we cleared and rearranged the bedroom, and then we created a much needed meditation and prayer space at one end of that room.

Good start. I need a clear space to focus my mind.

All of this is so intertwined, isn't it?

I am writing from the Cleveland Clinic, having driven a friend here for some tests. Staying meditative in such a large hospital is still far beyond my capacity.

How about you? Is your meditation space literal or have your managed to clear your mind and heart enough that you carry it with you?

How to Know Your Bliss: The Definitive Guide

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 09:00:00 +0000

First Premise: "Bliss," remember, on this blog, right here?..."Bliss" is not some woo-woo feeling-state but a concrete thing that you are meant to do. And yes, it can change over your life time but identifying it and doing it...that's your work. And no matter what anyone says, sometimes work is hard. (Insert whining here and see me not listening.)

Second Premise: On this blog, according to this Chick -- this Chick who has been through some major shit that could have easily turned her against this Second Premise, major shit that she could have decided to use to disprove this Premise -- here, on this blog, according to moi and others, our purpose in this life is to See, Witness, and Love each other.

Conclusion: How to Know Your Bliss as Explained Via a Personal Example:

When I dance, I love you and you and me (which is giant) and you and you and you and you ... When I dance and when I am teaching dance and when I am surrounded by other dancers or even dancing alone, that love is Boundless.

That Love is a little Universe exploding inside and out of me.

It dissolves "me."

That's how I know.

How about you?

When do you Become Love?

The Problem of Self in Trauma

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 00:10:00 +0000

My main focus today has been on getting over this dang (and by "dang" I mean, "fucking") virus, because I have to teach on Saturday and will not cancel. Will. Not.

So no post...until now...because I am obsessive and I refuse to miss a weekday, which I have not done since I started this blog. My obsession has become a bit more tame if you consider that during the first year of this blog I would not miss any of the seven days of the week.

Today, what is on my mind has to do with Complex-PTSD. Well, really, this has been on my mind for many days, and it become clearer as I was reading through the archives of the fabulous Heal My PTSD that Svasti sent to me.

Complex-PTSD shares everything in common with PTSD but it has all these added layers, added...complexities.

So Heal My PTSD often speaks of the "Pre-Trauma Self," and my frustrated question has become:

What if there is no such thing as a "Pre-Trauma Self" because the traumas started that young?

Just something to think about...

I have some ideas about this but wanted to throw it out there to you, wise and wonderful readers.

Pass the Kleenex & Press Play on a Movie

pinkyogi@gmail.com (Christine Claire Reed) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 18:22:00 +0000

My body has decided that it has had enough of the stress I've been under, and in order to force me to rest, has gotten some bug thing. Today I am on the couch, in a nest made for me by Marcy, watching Star Trek movies and feeling rather miserable, but trying for once, not to be mad at myself...as if I am some super human who is never ever supposed to be "down" even for a minute.

I have been reading a couple of interesting books over the last week, including Age is Just a Number by Olympic swimmer, Dara Torres, and so I leave you with a quote that has been floating around in my brain since I read it:

"...the real reason most of us fear middle age is that middle age is when we give up on ourselves."

Yep.