Distilled Moment

Almost a year ago, some harsh accusations were hurled at me.  I did not think I would have taken this long to grieve the immense hurt.  I guess what happened brought back the trauma of rejection and abandonment I felt as a kid.  I felt displaced and lost, like I did not belong anywhere.  The structures of my life got scattered and I had to reconstruct new ones before I could function in some stable fashion. As mentioned by Gabor Mate, trauma is a psychological wound, even if the wound has healed, the scar remains.  At the crux of my hurt, is that as if I don't matter.  Like no amends were made to help me make sense of the need to hurt me, or a sharing of what happened in them that they felt right to say those hurtful words. Just like when I was a child, no one acknowledged that I was hurt.  No word of comfort, explanation or God forbid, an apology after a severe beating.  Like I was supposed to just take it in my stride, like nothing happened....

Thursday, 4th of August, I went for a walk in the rain. It had been raining for more than a week. I missed my walk very badly.  I put on a hoodie and a pair of comfortable slippers and splashed on.  It was cool and breezy.  Very refreshing.  After a short distance, a wall of tears hit me.  I took deep breaths and continued my zikir.  That took me by surprise!  With curiosity and self compassion, I calmly entered the memory. What were the tears all about?  I was probably eight.  School just finished.  It had been raining all day.  The school was empty.  The world seemed dark and gloomy.  Most kids had been picked up.  I was feeling cold and hungry, standing by a pillar being invisible.  When the rain did not let up, I decided to brave it and began to walk home.  With that decision, I pushed down all the feelings that were welling up. I sat down on the first bench I saw and mentally hugged my younger self....

As my grief moves from centre stage, my forlorn rebounder (tiny trampoline) and slant board gain my attention.  So too my various weights and resistance bands.  All were gathering dust in the past three or four months.  Grief took a lot out of me.  It is still there, I am allowing it to come and go as it pleases, but it no longer consumes me.  I am beginning to take tiny steps to regain some physical strength.  It is very easy to give in to pain and not move at all.   I used to read, listen or watch Peter Attia and he offered ample evidence that flexibility and mobility could be maintained if, as we age, muscle mass is not excessively lost. https://peterattiamd.com/ “Peter Attia explores strategies and tactics to increase lifespan, healthspan, and well-being, and optimize cognitive, physical, and emotional health” Time to read my unopened emails from Peter! My easiest go to movement is walking  https://youtu.be/R10u9h7j24E This video points o...

My last post was done on April 10.  I have not done much of anything in the last three months.  I do the minimum to keep my plants alive and my living space reasonably clean.  I cook a little to keep from getting hungry.  I have thousands of unread emails.  In the past, even if in pain I would do some basic movements to keep my body from jamming up.  Would read a book or two to keep my brain fluid.  These past three or four months, I have been feeling broken:  mind, body and soul.  Nothing seems to add up.  Lost a sense of myself? For those of you who have read my previous posts, you would have figured out that my childhood wasn’t exactly peachy.  I thought I worked pretty hard in building something better, but a series of events indicated my efforts came to naught? Today I went for a walk, stopping at the many benches to cope with my pain and lack of stamina.  I was also constantly praying to Allah, asking a way out of this mu...

  When my son was five, he started kindergarten.  We were studying in Canada.  To my chagrin, his teacher discovered he was so short sighted he could not see the board.  I was shocked!  All of a sudden, the puzzling incidents of the past came tumbling out to mock me.  Why didn't I think of that!  Never crossed my mind he had issues with his eyes.   He loved stories, on TV or being read to him.  Yet, he hated “going to the movies “.  The only movie he liked was ET.  When I looked back, we watched ET in the front row with our heads bent backwards.  It was very uncomfortable, but he enjoyed it.  We were a bit late and all comfortable seats were taken. He watched TV real close, and even when told to move back, he would end up right next to the screen.  He enjoyed the colourful autumn leaves, but only those on the ground.  He refused to look up! There was one incident where he ran ahead and hugged a man that look...

  Whenever I felt like I was going out of my mind, I walked  along the Swan River.  I walked alone, mile after mile, at times for the whole day.  There was a secluded spot that was somewhat a sanctuary and at the same time an enticing place to just walk deeper and deeper into the water and not look back.  Death seemed so blissful then. I forced myself to stay away from the place and sought refuge in the library instead.  Three books provided significant roadmaps to help me move out of my confusion: Alan Watts. The Meaning of Happiness: The Quest for Freedom of the Spirit in Modern Psychology and the Wisdom of the East  Erich Fromm. The Art of Loving  Viktor E. Frankl. Man's Search for Meaning  I plucked the courage to major in psychology.  I was always curious about the underlying mechanisms of people's behaviours.  I managed to enroll in three subjects: psychology, anthropology, and basic philosophy.  I had to take another cla...