Dissociating at the Nail Salon
and crying at the boxing gym 💅🥊
There is no place I’d rather dissociate than the nail salon.
My hands are on the table like a criminal.
There’s drone footage of nondescript beaches playing on a loop.
The speakers are bumping lo-fi covers of 2016 club bangers.
My phone is in a completely different dimension (my back pocket).
The stage is set for me to do a little wave and leave my body for 50-70 minutes.
Normally it’s blissful. The salon is the perfect dog kennel for my bitch-ass brain.
But recently I’ve been in intense trauma therapy to deal with my sexual assault. (Actually, it’s just normal trauma therapy, but is there a version that isn’t intense?!?)
So yesterday I sat with those tiny tinfoil hats on my tips and couldn’t drift away into nothingness.
Instead, I plummeted into a pit of overwhelming sadness.
Not cutesy. Not demure.
For the whole appointment, my mind was fist-fighting with old memories.
My emotions were fizzing around like Mentos in Coke.
My body was saying “Yes, that’s fine” to a shade of green called One In A Melon that I would definitely, 100%, without a doubt regret on the way home.
I made it out without bursting into tears, but this wasn’t my only emotional ambush of the week.
The first instance happened on Thursday in a dance class. More specifically, it was in my first heels class since my show in December.
There is nothing quite like the confidence I’ve gained from dance. Heels is where I play and feel sexy without pressure.
My friend describes studio time as a series of “positive mirror moments.”
You see yourself differently dancing than picking pimples in your bathroom mirror, trying on jeans in a changeroom, or catching your reflection in a store window (yuck!).
Dance is one of the few times I see my body as an instrument instead of an irritant.
Over time I noticed that my inner dialogue shifted from “Why don’t I look like the teacher?” to “Wow, look at ME.” That mindset is powerful (and if you need proof, I can guarantee that Raygun is fuelled by 98% positive mirror moments)
Despite spending eight months out of the studio, I expected to see myself the same way I did when I was dancing three times a week.
Instead, I felt timid. I badly executed beginner-level choreography like I was apologizing for being there.
I couldn’t see or say anything that wasn’t a criticism:
“Your movements are too small.”
“It’s embarrassing that you missed that step.”
“You should have pushed yourself in a harder class.”
The more I berated myself, the more potent my emotions became.
That same, heavy, sadness hit me hard. Tears brimmed so close to the surface that I thought they would spray out of my face like a sprinkler whenever we turned.
(They didn’t, but how crazy would that have looked?)
Today’s article is late, because I went to a “brat summer” boxing class (priorities).
Considering the emotional week I’ve had, I thought it might be helpful to punch through the permeating gloom.
Heavy beats and heavy bags work wonders for catharsis.
At minute 48 of 50, the instructor dialled up the usual group fitness mantras:
“We are in this together!”
“Don’t give up on yourself!”
“Be the person who chooses to finish something difficult!”
I nodded along, beating the shit out of my bag, and trying to push through the rising wave of tears.
This time I lost the battle.
I found myself crying into stinky, rented gloves next to a group of out-of-towners celebrating a birthday and wearing matching outfits.
No bueno.
These crying fits, I realize, are part of a larger healing process.
They are also super fucking annoying.
My therapist loves to remind me that I’ve earned these tears.
“You’ve held so much in for so long,” she said.“The feelings need to go somewhere eventually.”
And so here they are!
Every pent-up salty drop coming at you hot from the nail salon, the dance studio, the boxing gym, and who knows where else!!?!
Maybe at work tomorrow!
Over a Slack message!
During a meeting!
How long will this go on??
How soon until the next thing propels me into a blubbering mess???
How many times will I have to explain that no, I’m not crazy, I’m just doing a lot of trauma work and it’s impacting my day-to-day but please don’t mind me, it’s fine, I’m fine, just go around me and I will stay and cry here quietly????
ANYWAY — If you catch me crying, no you didn’t!
And, if you’ve gone through this before or are considering it, I commend you. This process is no joke.
(Not that that will stop me from joking, but you know what I mean…)
Hanging Thoughts and Recs
Maybe I need to chill with the images I choose for the blog because Pinterest sent me this email today:
lol, whoops! Sorry, Pinterest admin! I am not fine and I will not be stopped!
🎧 Healing Trauma Podcast
This show has been a great addition to the therapy work! If you or someone you know is going through a trauma-healing journey right now (or are even just considering it), give this show a listen!
💋 Is Everybody Horny for Ezra Klein, Bustle
I have no business including this article after a post about my trauma journey, but I’m doing it anyway because It’s important, well-written, and worth your time:
“When I have the same conversations with my brilliant, kind, wonderful husband, we end up pissed off and annoyed at one another, even if we’re on the same side. Happens every time,” says Emily S., 42, a producer from Palm Springs. “But when Ezra says it, all I want to do is go on a long walk on the beach with him and then spoon all night.”
