Safety

I was lying on the table this morning, receiving cranial sacral from my functional practitioner. We had just gone over recent blood work. One of the pieces tested was sex hormones. The last time I did this test was two years ago when I first went to see her. My numbers were markedly better. In fact, they were so good I could change my name to Mertle.  And my doctor said something along the lines… the marker of my hormones being so improved is a sign that my body feels safe.

When our bodies are in this fight or flight for their lives, they do what anyone drowning would do, pull on something that floats and eventually bring it down too. More or less for the past two years this is where I have been… drowning in Hashimotos.   

Two years ago I sat across from her for the first time fighting back tears because I had never ever felt further from myself. Having felt like I endured the worst with divorce and the early days of learning to single parent, all of a sudden my body started to fail me. I could barely scrape myself off the floor.

It was around this time I quite intentionally chose to pull back from everything. My writing became intermittent. My life got unsettlingly quiet. Hermit mode welcomed me like a warm, softly lit cave. Turns out the cave was filled with bats and spiders and a corpse or two. There also happened to be lifelong body image issues, self-hatred, insecurity… you name it, it was in that cave.

Safety and security are big themes in my healing. For as long as I can remember - even pre-divorce - I have longed for a home. A home, for me, is the representation of the safety and security I seek. When I feel safe, there is nothing stopping me. I am creative. My cup is overflowing. When I don’t, it’s quite the opposite. I pull back, doubt myself, hide away ridden with anxiety and depression.

And for the first time in two years, my body is letting me know that she feels safe to do her thing. Receiving this feedback feels like being wrapped in the embrace of my true love. It feels like venturing outside of the cave to see a rainbow, be warmed by the sun (and probably witness some fairies and shit).

Our sex represents creativity. It is the mark we get to leave. The songs sung, poems written, colors splattered across the sky. It is the doing your thang confidently, securely, regardless of who is watching because you are at “home” no matter where you are.

I’m still swimming my way to shore. Not everything is quite right on the blood work. I’ve got a buoy or two though and right now that feels good and worth sharing.