Somehow time slips by us. I once wrote when we are older we calculate time by the deaths of our loved ones and the births of our loved ones. I’ve received several messages asking if I was still kicking and was I still writing. I’m still kicking and unfortunately only writing in my head. I’ve spent the last months getting back to me and still adjusting to being gone from my old job. What I miss the most is helping people. The guilt of not doing that is heavy and that’s the tangled part of the adjustment. I was finally able to certify a group of officers in Critical Incident Stress Management. It took me a bit to get out of the chute but once I found the old uncomfortable part of teaching, my heart and souled poured to those seeking a path to help others.
Since my last post my head is full of all the things I write about. But having the time to put it on paper and having someone to transcribe it is hard. I write like a very uneducated person who has hit his head too many times. So the stories sit in my head.
Bow deer season has now been open for several weeks and now that I’m getting back to me I climbed a tree this morning for my first season hunt. I watched the sun come up over the pond and as soon as it was light the file folder of stories inside my head begged to be released.
My new job keeps me very busy and most days and nights I work alone. I have plenty of solitude in nature to process life and the life of a 53 year old man. Life to me is about our comfort zone. We find our zone and stay in it. Trauma rips us from our comfort zone with violent force, sometimes emotionally and sometimes physically, and sometimes both. We search for a way back to our comfort zone and adjust to what many call the new norm. The last few months I’ve thought about this definition of trauma and the comfort zone.
My last post was about two young boys who tragically lost their father in front of them. I’ve done what I can to help them accept the new norm but as Dr Mitchell teaches in his CISM system timing is critical. The boys have still not really talked about it (the evening their dad died) but they know that I’m part of their new norm. I’m confident there are times they would talk but again it’s about timing.
As I thought about them being ripped from their comfort zone that evening, it occurred to me to gently pull them from their new norm and adjusted comfort zone. To pull them from their city life, soccer fields, and a house with no dad. It occurred to me to surround them with the earth, men who harvest the earth, and to take them from their new norm. Take them to an unfamiliar place but this place was simple, full of life, and in the end it would become a comfort zone that their mind and soul could relate to.
As we pulled up to the peanut field the boys had this look on their faces. A look of fear and curiosity. Each boy jumped in a tractor and I sat up on a peanut wagon and watched the earth unfold before me. As I said I’m no doctor but just a simple man, but in my opinion some of the best therapy takes place in some of the most non conventional places.
When the boys got back in my truck they both said thank you for bringing us here. I asked again do you all want to talk about “it”. They both said no. My response was this. “It’s ok to have a sad day or a bad day but just because your dad died does not give you the right to bad behavior and attitude”. Their answer was “yes sir.”
I’m sure my comfort zone is the trees that surround me but even here trauma has found me both physically and emotionally. Some of it is in the past and some of it is the present. No matter when it occurred I adjust and accept the new norm as they call it.
I apologize that the above was not edited by someone who does those things. I write from the heart not my mind.
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