What to do when your self-talk tries to take you down.

I haven’t craved a cigarette in over 14 years.  I quit my pack-a-day habit when I was 26 years old and thankfully never looked back, until Tuesday last week.  

What came along with this craving was a heaviness that was evident on my face if anyone looked at me, reminiscent of the stress I used to wear like a badge of honor.  If I’m not stressed or complaining about my stress, am I even living? The destruction that this martyrdom role infused my life with is not far from my awareness.  It’s what keeps me grounded in my practice and healing journey. Having porous boundaries with myself and others was categorically killing me at a young age, so much to my surprise, when I woke up craving cigarettes, I knew something was surfacing, but I just hadn’t figured out what yet.

Two days prior I participated in a workshop dedicated to learning about my menstrual cycle.  I know, taboo subject. I’m almost 42 years old and this was the first time I was leaning into understanding my body. Something I should have been taught when I was a young girl.  It left me feeling renewed in my body with a personal understanding of my energy, and equally pissed that I have been living my life SO restricted and shamed for what can essentially be seen as my super power. You know, I am woman, hear me roar! type of stuff.  It feels good to tap into that empowerment when you’ve been told your entire life that your natural bodily function that creates life, is disgusting.  Or it needs to be ignored, covered up, pretend like it’s not happening for fear of making people uncomfortable. God forbid you are vocal about your period cramps in public or at work.

Ugh. Even writing this has me activated with shame, anger, injustice, and she-ra style empowerment.  It’s fascinating to me that multiple emotional responses can be true and present simultaneously.  THIS in itself is part of the healing journey. I totally dig it.

I digress, back to the cigarette craving and the effects of this workshop that left me in awe of my own damn self, as well as celebrating the skills I have been taught to navigate heavy emotional blankets of despair and self-hate.

I’ve learned to let things sit in my psyche without action for about 24-48 hours to see how I really feel.  As stated the workshop was revelation after revelation, I was in a state of joy and equal exhaustion afterwards.  Often after I am immersed in learning, I check out for the day and climb into a pause of processing.  My body is very loud when it doesn’t like something and my nervous system usually unearths some emotional injury that I never see coming.  So in anticipation, I chilled out and spent some time outside with my family. Then, Monday happened.  Trust when I say, I woke up cranky a.f. with a side of jittery and this ominous fear that was causing some all-to familiar brain fog.  Because the brain fog distorts my executive functioning, I was completely unaware that I was cranky until the noise of my furnace was too loud and I was too cold, I was hungry but didn’t want to eat anything that wasn’t junkfood and my opened wine bottle from the night before was looking deliciously soothing at 11 am.

Uh oh. This is not good. The next morning, much the same, but this time the sound of my son chewing on his cereal had me wanting to throw his bowl through the window.  I quickly explained to the kids that mommy was not feeling herself and that I was going to require a bit of patience that day.  I was mad at myself and irritated with the fact that I was irritated. Mommy needed a cigarette.

That’s when the self talk started making her appearance, and this self talk was not nice.  She was a downright nasty mean voice and she was determined to take me down.

Here is what my self-talk sounded like:

You’re disgusting.  You’re a bad mother.  You look SO old, there is NO way you can fit that fat ass into a bathing suit this summer. You’re a fraud.  You are lazy and will never amount to anything.  You deserve to suffer. You are crazy. Anyone who compliments you, pities you. You are a worthless piece.of. shit.

This is what I heard in my head, one on top of another, all.day.long.

Let me be clear in sharing this.  I do not logically or emotionally feel this way about myself, but I used to.  This was how I used to talk to myself every day of my life.  This type of self-conversation was normal and consumed my thoughts.  I had no confidence, no self-worth and truly believed that everyone felt that way about me.

It took me a long time to unlearn these beliefs.  Healing my emotional injury and trauma was paramount in re-parenting myself and learning what worth looked like and how to turn those ugly truths into empowerment.  I had to theoretically transform myself from believing I was less than shit on a shoe to a she-ra inspired care bear that beamed love at myself every second of the day. But I did it.

SO mark me dumbfounded when this voice came roaring back like a vengeance and beat me with metaphorical fists until I surrendered into a bathtub of my own tears that night. The guilt was all consuming and I felt the familiar emotion of defeat.  My throat was tight, my stomach would not settle, the heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe and the tension in my neck was sending sharp pains up behind my eyes.  My concussive symptoms decided to pop in as well, you know, for good measure.

I was a sobbing disaster.

Moments of bottomed out defeat and despair are moments where choice comes in for me, and there was no option at this point but to surrender to the voices that I had been resisting for two days. I needed to hear myself, to comfort the uncomfortable sensations that were happening in my body and allow them to integrate into one another.  It may sound counter-intuitive, but I’ve learned that resisting the emotions and self-hate only draws them in further.  So I started talking. 

The dark and ugly monsters of my mind were loud at first, obnoxiously hateful, victimized and remorseful, but the more I talked, the physical sensations started to ease.  The tears started to slow down and the velocity of my self-hate started to dissipate. Thankfully I am blessed enough to have a partner that knows how to hold the space for the echoes of my trauma without trying to dismiss them, equally valuing the process of required co-regulation and helping me ease through this wave of emotional injury that surged up inside of my body.  He quietly held me while I dove in and unearthed the ghosts of my past. Rooted in my value as a woman through my womb, this was a new layer of healing I clearly needed integrated.   And, as truth would have it my cravings for those darn cigarettes immediately disappeared.

The next step was to lovingly tend to my wounds with gentle holding.  After my cozy monster filled tub of tears, I climbed into the shower, placed one hand on my heart, while the other rested over my uterus and I praised every ounce of my body for walking me through the heaviness of my past shame.  I have come a long way since I was that innocent, beautifully wounded 26 year old.  I honor her journey and the voice of her suffering, and I hold her in reverence for where she brought me in life.

What happened next is why I value trauma recovery so much and dedicate my career to helping others do the same.  When I woke up the next morning the emotional heaviness was completely gone, I was joyful and cracking jokes with my kids in the morning and I made sure to tell them how much I appreciated their patience with me while I navigated sadness the last few days.  I loved on my partner for his profound ability to hold space for such pain and felt a creative spark shift with some much needed clarity.  The following nights were filled with dreams connecting my past to my present along with revelations of my purpose in life, and a desire to share this experience with the world.

By withnessing my negative self-talk and cultivating a safe and supportive environment to hear what my pain was telling me, I was able to regulate my nervous system and find a portal to gentle kindness for the process of integration. The bath helped ground me, my partners love helped me feel safe and held, my own expressive voice integrated my physical symptoms and the shower allowed me to honor the process with self awareness for who I REALLY am, not what the pain was trying to tell me. That night I slept solid and knew upon waking up that the unfolding process would take a few more days and may very well resurface with my first cycle next month. To maintain a healthy integration of my suffering, this past week I actively sought nature, laughter, connection and my keyboard to write out my experience. Today I share this story with a lot of self admiration in hopes that I may inspire one of you to welcome emotional injury the way I have learned. I am living proof that your trauma is not your limitation, but the portal to your success in life.  Tending to your suffering can be intense, sometimes scary and mean, but beautiful in how significantly it can change your life for the better.  

I have dedicated the better part of the last 14 years to the recovery of my emotional body and I recognize that I am practiced in the art of trauma integration, while for others; this process could very well re-traumatize them or trigger them in without the skills to pull themselves out.  Let me be very clear that healing trauma and emotional injury is a slow process that requires professional support and co-regulation.   Safety is the most important element to healing our suffering and my partner is comfortable in providing me that level of support, but not all of our loved ones can do this for us. 

If you are struggling with elements of your own healing journey then resourcing safety is imperative before you begin.  I encourage all of my readers to interview their practitioners, coaches, counsellors and therapists ensuring they understand the benefits of working with someone who is trauma-informed.

The workshop I attended was hosted by Mandy Sheen.  Not only is Mandy a dear friend who lives through her heart center like a legit real life care bear, she is a somatically trained and trauma-informed yoga instructor and womb healer.  Not all workshops lead to a layer of trauma healing like this one did for me. I was blessed enough to have a one to one session with Mandy and was fully prepared and ready to open up this next level of healing.  If you are interested in working with her proffessionally, you will find Mandy hosting beautiful temples for women seeking safe teachings in a way that honors your body.  Mandy also hosts an Instagram membership platform for yoga that all of my Heal Yourself Program clients get free access to for the duration of their time with me.  If this healing and womb journey resonates with you, you can find more information at yogawithmandy.ca 

For information on different trauma healing and modalities, check out my previous blog post titled The Best Trauma Informed Practices.

From my healing womb to your heart, I send you love and tenderness in your days,
Lea Morrison

Trauma-Informed Coach, Healer & Medical Intuitive
Empowering survivors through trauma-informed regulation and care
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