I will definitely be practicing and re-wiring for longer than 6 months.
However, as far as the mandatory one hour of brain-retraining practices that I must do each day to set my limbic system firmly on the road to recovery, I am halfway through!
Part of the brain retraining involves incremental exposure to previous triggers to help the limbic system remember that things like scented hand soap, going on a hike, or eating vegetables, are not dangerous. Well, I made an 'oops' a few weeks ago. I overwhelmed my limbic system, believing it was ready for a certain level of challenge when it was not--at least, certainly not under the circumstances in which I challenged it.
The 'oops'es are to be expected; I am re-negotiating my relationship with my nervous system, some facets of which have been my "normal" for over 30 years! There's bound to be some missteps along the way. Insert flare-up here.
It was a long, painful, uncomfortable several days, I'll give you that.
And yet.
In psychology and neuroscience there is something called the Window of Tolerance (WOT). It's essentially our capacity to handle everyday stresses and challenging situations. For someone whose limbic system has become stuck in a stress response (🙋🏻♀️), the WOT is smaller, meaning it doesn't take much to go from "I got this" to "I don't got this."
It was actually towards the end of August that I noticed my WOT seemed to have expanded. I'd had a handful of somewhat aggravating situations over the course of a couple weeks that, in the past, would have each triggered an emotional response much greater than what the situation called for--essentially falling out of the Window. But they didn't--each of the situations was like, "well, darn. Okay, Plan B. No big deal. I got this."
I was so proud of my nervous system!
I didn't mention it in my 2-month update, because it still seemed surreal. Did my Window just get bigger? Y'know, it does look wider. The ledge seems thicker too. I'm sure there's more light coming in...
In the past, nothing sent me spiralling emotionally like a flare-up; they were unpredictable, painful, and each one took more foods off my tolerance list. Not only would I fall out of the Window, it felt like I also landed in the thorns of the rosebush below. Even at my 'best' over the last 5-6 years, I've spent most of my time sitting on the Window sill, legs dangling over the edge.
With my recent 'oops,' I certainly fell out of the Window; anyone would. However, rather than drop to the thorny ground below, I managed to grasp the sturdier Window ledge with my hands on the way down. I hung there for a minute, facing to the wall. "Damnit." Took a deep breath. Found my feet and placed them underneath me. And then, with a strength I haven't had in some time, climbed back in through the Window.
I sat on the ledge for a little bit, as I caught my breath and brushed the dirt off my hands.
And then I made my way back to standing inside the window, looking out and admiring the view.
I don't know that this analogy does justice to the significance of this milestone. Physical well-being aside, the hardest part of the last several years has been the increased volatility of my emotions: extreme emotional reactions to any level of stress, with poor recovery time;* not really ever feeling at ease; and certainly not feeling like 'me.'
To see the change in my response to mild stressors is one thing. To see the change in my response to one of my biggest stressors leaves me in a little bit of awe, to be honest.
I really am proud of my nervous system--and pretty proud of me as well.
