Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Panic Attacks and Pear Trees

I'm going through some shit. Don't know if it's a Dark Night of the Soul, or what, but I'm coming apart at the seams. I also don't know what started it all, or how long it will last, or any useful information that would still my freaking-out head a little bit. But there are layers: something I'm trying to write, which is forcing me to deal with some old, shoved-under-the-rug emotions; a psychic reading my hubby received; general stress about doing everything right; cutting out sugar; and heightened food sensitivities. All of these layers have woven together into a tapestry called Panic Attacks. Racing heart, sweaty palms and feet, dizziness, fear, and jelly legs. Got tested for hypoglycemia, anemia, and thyroid problems. All fine. Trying to gently allow the stuffed anger, sadness, and fear to come up. Trying to not get completely overwhelmed. Putting my life on hold, which is hard when I'm a homeschooling mom to two smart and emotionally sensitive kids.

While I feel frightened and overwhelmed, I am also receiving little signs of support from the universe. All one can do in the middle of a panic attack is breathe, or try to, and pray. And today, in little nudges, I got some small assurance that everything happens within God's arms, and I will be okay. Like a song the kids haven't played in ages that they played on repeat, a song from my childhood that brings up layers of sadness and also a sense of being cared for. Like in the midst of my creating a rebirth/spring altar, my nursery plants arrived (pear, forsythia, and grape!), and I had just enough time to put them in the ground before it rained. Like the rain, which calms my selkie self and reminds me that it's okay to cry.

As I planted one of the dwarf pears, I shook apart the rock-hard clay soil that hadn't seen sunlight in possibly 60 years, and I let it represent the old stuck parts of me, the fear of being myself. Thunder rolled in the distance, and at first I felt afraid, for people do get struck by lightning here, but then I let it be the fire of transformation, the flash of anger I need to safely let out, and the passion I am trying to allow myself to own. Then I planted the little dormant tree and asked the devas to ground pear in my yard. I dedicated these pears to the sweetness of growth, and to crafting life where there was stuckness.

So mote it be.

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