Tag: neuropathways

Don’t Stop Believing

This song. This concept. This idea. It’s overused. But when dissected, it continues to ring so very true.

We used this song at our wedding reception entrance. My husband and I both loved Journey, and this genre had composed much of our childhoods and our parents’ music. Isn’t it funny how, when we are young and innocent, we compose ideas that we have no idea how true they may become? But what’s more, isn’t it “funny” how deeply memories can run and how random circumstances align to bring them all to the front?

At night, somehow our family transitioned from singing songs to playing songs on YouTube, often classical, as part of our daily bedtime routine. My husband insisted on beginning to teach them the classics, and it stuck…a little too hard. They now request two of three songs. Every. Night. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m a sucker for tradition, repetition, and consistency. But…well…the songs get played out. As an episode of HIMYM depicted in a long road trip and a stuck car cassette tape, “it comes around again”…and every once in awhile, the song hits.

Tonight, as I lay in bed with my oldest, our normal “quiet, in bed” song ‘Moonlight Sonata’ ended. My oldest begged me to stay another “one couple minute” before going to my middle’s bed and so, as YouTube has it, another song began. Tonight, it happened to be the third of our three…’Canon in D’, or, as my girls have dubbed it, “the marry song”.

Guys, I have listened to this song a thousand times. Honestly, likely more. It plays at Christmas. It plays at weddings. It plays in our evening routine and in our classical piano Pandora “get-the-kids-to-fall-asleep-in-the-car” playlist. Heck, it was the song I requested played as I walked down the aisle myself in lieu of the traditional wedding march. I have heard it played by piano, harp, guitar, and everything in between. But tonight…tonight, the synapses flared, connected…and punched me in the gut. Tonight, I had flashbacks of my wedding…and my dad walking me down the aisle.

It’s funny how the paths fire from there. I have fully watched my wedding video maybe one (or two) other times…the most recent being last September. (Of course, I think of my dad often, but not often in the depth of “holy crap, he’s gone” mentality…well…not as often as it used to be.) But tonight – tonight hit me like a ton of bricks. Tonight swarmed me with memories and smells and senses that I thought were lost. Experiences I thought I was no longer capable of remembering. So, of course, I went straight to our pile of CDs and watched the wedding video, slightly disappointed at the lack of footage of the classic father/daughter dance but delighted at close ups of my dad walking me down the aisle and cracking jokes. Enthralled with watching his face as he danced with my mom. Ecstatic at just seeing him be him. “Don’t Stop Believing” was our reception entrance, so of course, I watched that too, and enjoyed once again the thrill of the wedding reception entrance and the celebration that ensued. As I completed paperwork later tonight, one of my guilty-pleasure sitcom reruns (don’t judge…I was in “glee club” too…) played a flashback episode, performing “Don’t Stop Believing” with a now deceased actor in a lead part. Yes. I lost it again. For the third time this night.

But the point. To continue with the theme of seasons, my memory, my health, my mind, my emotions…they were in a winter. I couldn’t remember experiences, even with my hardest attempt. I could literally barely remember the day before in spite of practicing mindfulness even in a moment I wanted to hold, so without extreme intentionality and a direct (unknown) trigger, I could not recall a whole heck of a lot. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t process in my head, I could barely hear my own thoughts in the midst of dead silence and stillness and struggled to think things through. I honestly feared I was watching a vault close on a very deep, important, intricate, and complex part of what has always made me who I am.

A few days ago, my family and I traveled to Hampton Roads and used many of the roads and areas of our old stomping grounds…my work, our old church, routes we took, places we camped…and a flood of memories I couldn’t even fully bring to consciousness began to come. Things I never thought I’d remember and just added to the list of the “unknown life” that had been my past. A time that stress and overwhelm and extremities and changes pushed into the depths of the darkness that had become “my story” and my past.

But tonight I think I’m forming a new hypothesis of how memories…and memory recall work. Tonight gives me hope that not only is a vault not closing, but that there are areas of my brain that can still be awakened. Tonight I felt a sense that perhaps – just perhaps – those memories in times of great stress and struggle are still formed, but require something a little bit different to bring to recollection, and that there is a possibility that the person I was, the person I could be, isn’t gone at all.

Tonight, I realized that if I keep believing, I just might find me again.

New Pathways

Tonight.

Tonight, I write, because  promised my friend I would start again. I write because I had a long conversation with my sister that’s heavy on my heart. I write, because that’s what I do. Or at least, I used to.

I stopped writing for a long time. I could pretend I was too tired – I could pretend that I got busy, that I couldn’t process or think, that it was too much work. And some days, that was my truth. But when I really think about it – when I really dig deep – I stopped writing because it MADE me feel. It made me experience these big emotions that I did not know what to do with or how to handle. Writing made me dig deep inside this portion of me that just wanted to Shut the F down. It was so much easier to pour a glass of wine (whiskey on the rocks, please!), turn on a television show, and Zone. Out. Shut down, turn off. Not have to think about me – I spend all day thinking about others and helping them through their situations and figure themselves out and know themselves better.  And meanwhile, I was going to doctors and doing research and burning out. There was seriously a point that I remember thinking, “I’m so tired of psychoanalyzing myself and exploring and digging deep and processing. I just want TO STOP.”

So that’s exactly what I did. Not purposefully, I don’t think – not really even a consciously. It was more a perfect storm of postpartum depression, anxiety, a newborn with two other littles, work, exhaustion, fatigue, sleep deprivation. It was an “easy out”, so to speak, and I veered steadily in that direction.

But it wasn’t…it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t an out. Shutting my brain down to emotions and to overwhelming thoughts was not the perfect ending to a beautiful story. Instead, it began to slowly shut me down. It’s reminiscent of the squirrel in “Ice Age” – remember him? Constantly chasing the acorn, not caring the trouble it got him in but persistently going, nonetheless? There’s a scene where he gets excited and spikes the acorn into the ice. It starts a small crack – which grows and spreads and, well, you know the rest… Shutting down an emotion or intense feeling or painful thought is a bit like that. It starts as one act – an isolated moment. But after that moment comes another and another. Eventually your brain has burned a path that makes it an automatic response – yep, you form a pathway that now NATURALLY responds in the same (or similar) manner to the same (or similar) situations and experiences.

Yikes.

Tonight, I’m starting a new pathway. New pathways – new electricities – aren’t easy. They take intention. They take awareness. They take some focus (don’t worry, we’ll go there…). They take repetition. Like any new goal, forming new habits take a lot of supporting factors. But the pathway can be burned, and the habit can change.

People can change, if they want. When the consequences – or the rewards – are big enough, people can make changes, one intention  – one step – at a time. But if – and only if – the desire is there.

Tonight, I take my first step.