My 3 Not-too-Serious Methods for Self Soothing in Times of Distress
As I write this today, March 9, it is the one year anniversary of my cancer surgery. The one year anniversary of the beginning of a journey to healing. As I remember it, it’s fuzzy. It’s a blur. I was in a lot of pain prior to my surgery, so I was actually looking forward to getting the surgery. In my mind, it would stop the pain. I had no concept of what a week in intensive care would feel like. Having a tracheotomy was something I knew I would wake up with, but I didn’t really know what it would entail. I didn’t know about the swelling. I didn’t know about not being able to lift my head unassisted. I didn’t know I would be connected to so many “things” and need more than one person to help me to the bathroom. It was a long road that included surgery healing followed by radiation and chemotherapy. By the end of summer, I was regaining my strength and energy.
I have come a long way from last year. So long! I am waiting for the sadness today but it isn’t coming (so far). I have noticed over the past year that I am easily triggered by certain things. Any time I am forced to feel like a patient, I fall into a type of numbness. I need a day or two to do nothing but indulge in some extra self-care. At first it blindsided me. The first time it happened was when my feeding tube came out. I was expecting to feel exhilarated and free, but instead, I was emotional. I realize it for what it is — trauma. I recognize my triggers and have learned over this year to be gentle with myself and acknowledge it. Through my morning routine of journaling, affirmations and meditation, I am not shoving down my feelings and pretending everything is OK. I am reflecting on it and processing what has happened to me.
What I have come to realize, is when I’m in the midst of something stressful and traumatic, I want to find comfort in the familiar. I need to self-soothe in the best way I know how. So what do I do? I wish I could tell you that I began journaling and meditation in the midst of my trauma, but that comes later. I look for easy. I look for mindlessness. I immerse myself in something that won’t blindside me with too much emotion that I’m not prepared for.
The following are my go-to soothing, not-to-serious methods:
I re-read a huge book series. I love young adult fiction, especially the world-building, fantasy type that deals with post-apocalyptic life. A few years ago I read the sprawling Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson. I loved it. It was 13 books long and heavy. Not a light read. Near the end of 2021 when I was beginning to realize the “ulcer” on my tongue was not getting better, and I had that nagging feeling it was going to just get worse, I started reading the series again. Why? Because it was familiar. I didn’t have to worry about finding another book to read. I didn’t have to worry about a surprising, gut-punch of a plot twist that would make me feel too much. I knew all of the surprises already. I knew what would happen. I already knew who would win, who would lose, who would die, and who would triumph. It was a familiar plot in a time of unfamiliar personal feelings. It was just what I needed.
I re-watch all the seasons of my favorite show. During 2020, as all of us were dealing with a more than crazy and traumatic year, I started watching Gilmore Girls again, for the third time. I don’t care if you roll your eyes and judge me for the cheesiness of it. I love Rory and Lorelei. I can get lost in it. I become emotionally attached to all of Rory’s loves, and am fully invested in rooting for the dark and brooding Jess every single time. But the reason that it’s so comforting, is that I know the ending. I know what happens when Lorelei makes yet another bad decision to sabotage her happiness. It’s predictable. And when the world is surprisingly tumultuous and turned upside down, predictability is oh so comforting.
I watch the Food Network. All. The. Time. I remember my dad and step-mom visiting after my surgery last year asking me how I can watch cooking shows when I wasn’t able to eat anything. The reason? It was comforting. I will watch the same Chopped and Diners, Drive-ins and Dives episodes over and over again. I love cooking because of the creativity of it. Don’t get me wrong, I also really love food. But when I was starting to feel myself again, I started cooking for my family, even though I couldn’t eat any of it. It was satisfying. It’s also another activity that is comforting in its predictability. The chopping, searing, sauteing, and stirring is therapeutic in its simplicity. It’s knowing that something good will come out of the effort.
I know that these activities allowed me to avoid facing my life that was a little too scary. They let me escape from the reality of having cancer and being exhausted from treatment. They were not productive. They were not moving me forward. But they were all that I could handle at the time. The key to healing, though, is to not stay in that space. Use it when you need it, knowing that you will need to leave it in order to heal. At some point I knew that it was time to venture out from the cocoon that I had built. It was time to leave the safety and predictability and begin to live and heal and create again.
