Get Back To Grounding, Emma

I’ve been doing training days this week… and today ended with a Domestic Violence training presentation for RNs. Specifically recognizing red flags and screening patients as well as next steps if we were to identify a domestic violence concern or high risk of danger situation…

As the presentation went on, I felt the familiar hollow but heavy feeling start to grow in the middle of my chest. I know that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t know how else to describe it as yet.

My heartbeat became more pronounced as it reverberated in my now otherwise hollow chest cavity.

“They often feel shame or embarrassment…”

I heard these words echo in my ears… but instead of a seasoned RN and a PowerPoint in front of me, I saw myself looking at the ground while standing in front of a cop, next to a black pick-up truck that one night.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hear my own voice saying in the distance. I can’t see my own face flushing in the dimly lit scene, but I know it’s occurring. My face tingles in the moment, remembering the feeling of shame, the sight of my high-heeled black boots on grass as my eyes avoided the cop’s eyes.

“They may have a hard time accepting help or believing that anyone can help them…”

My arms are crossed as I look up at the cop, his distant voice saying “we can protect you.”

Louder than that – as if I was reliving the moment now instead of watching from a distance – my own inner voice says “yeah, right” just as it did all those years ago.

With every word that described my own stories so closely… so succinctly… with every bit that reminded me of David… my chest became more and more hollow. There’s nowhere for my lungs now… how am I to breathe?

I see the PowerPoint. I feel the pen in my hand, my thumb and forefinger pressing hard into the color changing panels. I become aware that I’m periodically changing the colors… black, red, blue, green. Black, green, blue, red. My other hand is clenching on and off. It doesn’t know what to do with itself. I become aware of how still I’ve been sitting, except for the movement in my hands. I wonder if anyone noticed I’m not really participating in this lesson, unlike most of the other sessions.

…Get back to grounding, Emma.

Now I taste… the Bic pen, I suppose. I’m alternating fidgeting with the pen, to putting the very top little knob bit between my teeth and biting gently down on it.

I… can breathe.

It’s OK, my lungs are still there.

But I feel the need to be cautious with my breathing… slow and slight; I don’t want to scare my lungs away. They’re already skittish having to share space with my currently raucous heart.