Hello,
Let's take a moment to get as comfortable as you can in this body that somehow feels like a crime scene and a sanctuary at the same time.
You don't have to sit up straight or be graceful.
You can be curled up on the floor,
In bed,
In your car or basement,
Wherever the storm dropped you.
Let's start with one very low effort thing.
Notice the contact points.
Where is your body touching the world?
Your back against the wall or floor?
Your legs on the couch?
Maybe your cheek against a pillow?
Your feet heavy on the ground?
You don't have to like your body right now.
Just notice where it's being held.
If you can,
Take a slow breath in through your nose and let it fall out through your mouth with a sigh.
Like you're slowly letting air out of a balloon that just survived a storm.
Again,
Inhale gently and exhale with sound.
Even if it's just a tiny hiss,
Groan,
Hum or whisper of an ah.
I promise you are not doing it wrong.
You literally cannot do this wrong.
Now in your mind or out loud if you can,
Repeat after me.
This is my nervous system in aftermath,
Not a moral failure.
Your brain might try to immediately argue.
It was too much.
I made a scene.
I scared them.
I should be better than this.
Let those thoughts be like ghosts passing through a hallway.
Loud,
Dramatic,
Not actually in charge of the house.
You don't have to chase them or prove them wrong.
Just quietly add,
Of course I melted down.
My body believed it wasn't safe.
My meltdown was survival,
Not shame.
Say to yourself now,
Something in me was overwhelmed and it makes sense that I broke.
Imagine your nervous system as a tiny monster slumped in the corner of your little haunted house.
They're exhausted,
Eyes puffy,
Fur,
Scale or skin is just cracking with leftover lightning.
They're not bad.
They're burnt out.
They pulled every alarm they had to keep you alive in that moment.
Picture yourself walking over,
Not as an angry parent,
But as a caretaker of this beautiful house.
You don't yell at the smoke alarm for being loud once the fire is out.
You don't scream at a monster for getting overwhelmed.
You just sit down nearby and maybe you say,
Hey,
That was a lot.
You did the best you could with what you had.
And guess what?
We survived.
Notice what happens in your body when you hear those words.
Tension might argue.
No,
We didn't.
We ruined everything.
And that's okay.
You answer gently.
We can repair what needs repair later.
Right now,
We recover.
Right now,
I invite you to choose one tiny act of care.
Just one.
Place your palm over your heart and feel its warmth.
Maybe wrap yourself in a blanket like a haunted burrito.
Hold a cold bottle of water,
An ice pack,
Or a stone on your face and your neck.
Hold a warm cup of tea in your hands.
Or simply just stare at one safe object in the room and trace its shape with your eyes.
Whatever you choose while you do it,
Pair it with this phrase.
I am allowed to be in recovery mode.
I do not owe anybody productivity or explanations right now.
If this feels too big,
Try.
I am allowed to pause.
I am not in danger this second.
Breathe that in.
And inhale to a gentle count of three.
And exhale slowly to a count of four,
Maybe five.
Blow out like you're blowing out candles in a dark room.
Do that a few times,
Letting the exhale be a little longer than the inhale each time.
That longer exhale is one way we whisper to our nervous system,
We might be okay now.
Your brain might be trying to run a highlight reel of what you said,
How you looked,
Who you saw.
Imagine that reel playing on an old projector in a haunted addict in your mind.
Now imagine future you,
Older,
Gentler,
Maybe a little witchier and wiser,
Walking into that addict.
They see the scene and instead of cringing,
They put their hand on your shoulder and say,
I remember this day.
This is not proof that you were broken.
This was proof that you were overloaded and alone.
You were never a monster.
You were the haunted house trying to survive the storm.
And if you can,
Breathe that in.
And if you can't,
That's okay.
Just let the idea sit like a candle on the floor.
You don't have to believe it today for it to start working on you.
Now,
In your own words,
Give yourself one permission slip for the next few hours.
I'm allowed to cancel plans.
I'm allowed to not apologize yet.
I'm allowed to say,
I can't talk right now.
I'm allowed to rest and do nothing heroic today.
Pick one,
Whisper it.
If guilt jumps in,
You can respond.
Guilt.
Hey,
You're trying to keep me from being abandoned.
And thank you for trying.
But right now,
Rest is my safest thing I can do.
Bring your attention back now to your contact points.
The floor,
The bed,
The chair.
Something is holding you up even if it doesn't feel like it yet.
Take one last deep-ish breath in.
And inhale.
My body was trying to protect me.
Exhale.
I am allowed to heal at my own pace.
And when you are ready,
You can wiggle your fingers and your toes.
Look around the room and name three things you can see.
Three sounds you can hear.
And one thing you can touch.
You don't have to be okay or better when this meditation ends.
You just have to be one inch further from self-punishment.
And one inch closer to self-permission.
My friend,
The storm is over.
The house still standing.
And so are you,
Haunted heart and all.
