Breathe (2 am)

When I awoke early this morning, I became aware pretty quickly that my body was in fight or flight mode. I can tell because it feels like I can't breathe properly -- my exhale won't go past the base of my ribcage. (I can also feel that my diaphragm is moving in the wrong direction but that took much longer for me to understand.) I didn't remember any dreams and I didn't wake with any specific thoughts, but it was obvious to me that my body was either experiencing or remembering something that had upset it.

As I lay there, the words to this song started to go through my head, specifically the chorus:

And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

And it occurred to me that although it sounds simple, it can actually be incredibly difficult to follow that advice when you find yourself inhabiting a body that has endured and stored trauma. These trauma come in all shapes and sizes -- and this song mentions a couple with which many of us can relate:

2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake,
"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?,
I don't love him. Winter just wasn't my season"
Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes
Like they have any right at all to criticize,
Hypocrites. You're all here for the very same reason

'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

And then I realized that it is helpful to remember to focus on breathing even when, or maybe especially when, it feels the most difficult. Because until you die, you are breathing, even when it feels difficult or scary, even when it's compromised by fear. And on some level, that can be reassuring all by itself.

There are a bunch of ways I've managed to tune into my body after being so separated for all those years when I was a kid and into early adulthood. Yoga is a powerful tool, and so is Alanon. I went to a meeting last night and heard stories not unlike the one in this next verse:

May he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
"Just a day" he said down to the flask in his fist,
"Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year."
Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,
Wanna hold him. Maybe I'll just sing about it.

Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you'd only try turning around.

Yep, there's a lot of pain in the world. We all have ways that we isolate ourselves from one another, but some of us have less awareness around it, and this has a tendency to make it more painful for those around them. Alcohol is certainly not the only means of doing this, but it is one with which I'm intimately familiar and most scared about winding up having to deal with again, just like when I was a kid. That's a real theme around those tables -- people saying geez, I grew up with this, I never wanted this for myself, how did I end up married to an alcoholic?

I feel fortunate not to have gone down that road myself, and I intend to continue to be in the world with increasing levels of consciousness, because I think this is the best way, maybe even the only way, to ensure that I don't slip back into old patterns and wind up in a relationship where I'm using all my energy to try to make someone happy or fix them -- the way I tried to do with my Dad. Guess what? It didn't work then and it won't work now, because that's not how it works. All I can do is stay awake myself.

Yesterday in the car my daughter and I were discussing the Ghandi quote that we have on our fridge: "Be the change you want to see in the world." My choosing consciousness over numbing and opening my heart over isolating are probably two of the most important ways for me to be the change.

Because then, when I wake up in panic mode for no apparent reason, I can just be with it. I can get up and practice yoga, which I'm about to do. And I can write about it, both in my blog:

2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to

...and in a memoir, which I think would go further toward achieving what Anna talking about here: maybe if I get it all down on paper, it won't be inside of me, at least not in the same way. But there's definitely a scary element of exposure that I have to grapple with every time I try to write it.

Thank goodness not being able to breathe properly and feeling scared are now the exception and not the rule for me. It really raises the stakes for me to get out into the world (by teaching yoga, by writing) and see if I can't help others figure out how to breathe, really, truly breathe:

But you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand.
and breathe, just breathe
woah breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe.