Living As All of Me

[HannahOne]

I start every day by getting dressed. And the process is an exercise in being aware of my CPTSD. I start by making choices. What do I want to say today? How do I want to feel? And try things on until I feel an internal yes. I have to allow time for this. I cannot be rushed.

My parents would say this is frivolous, self-centered, ridiculous and inane. Who cares what you're wearing? Who do I think I am?

I get it. What a luxury to have thirty minutes to try on clothes. And new clothes! And impractical shoes! And yeah, who cares? No one. But I care how I feel. And I care about who I think I am. I care about what I want to say. And it's my life! It's now or never.... I ain't gonna live forever! I just wanna live while I'm alive.... Thanks, Bon Jovi! Getting dressed is about expressing who I am because that's what I want to do. And it's my life.

The process of getting dressed is an exercise in CPTSD. Which parts of me do I want to extrovert today and which parts do I want to protect and keep internal? I need to keep the child self with me in awareness, I need to embody the adult that I am, I need to exhibit intentionality and self control and I want to exhibit approachability and fun. I have to battle through the internal critic where everything I put on is ugly, makes me look like a slut, makes me look like a country bumpkin or a pretentious city slicker or makes me look too big or too small or..... 

Getting dressed is worth spending time on. I start the day by making conscious choices, decisions. Not on automatic pilot, not being run by old programs, not unconscious. By the end of the process, I'm as embodied as I can get, as conscious as I can be, of who I am and what I am about that day. I've thrown off the nightmares, oriented to time and space, done a life review of all the me's I've ever been and am likely wearing remnants of each. I've got the childhood bracelet, the suit pants from my office jobs in my thirties, the slouchy sneakers from the teen years, the college t shirt over a lace blouse like my grandmother wore, the mom era jean blazer. I've got all of me.

If I just throw on sweatpants, I'm ripe for an emotional flashback, easy pickings for anyone who wants to ignore or disrespect me, set up to fail when I run into the school principal or a client, and skulking around trying to be invisible.

Better to show up as All of me.