Comfortably Numb

There is no pain, you are receding

Apparently all of my posts are going to have song lyrics as titles because I’m so often inspired by music! I’m learning to let inspiration simmer, to float up from the depths, instead of using my old strategy of pushing and trying and getting frustrated before ultimately giving up. As I allowed different ideas to simmer (and noticed their tendency to flee when I grasped too quickly), this Pink Floyd song occurred to me. “There is no pain, you are receding. A distant ship, smoke on the horizon … I have become comfortably numb.”

Now what does this have to do with complex trauma, perfectionism, and healing? Quite a lot. When life is overhelmingly painful, we seek ways to soothe that pain (all too common in the era of late stage capitalism). Drug use, as suggested by the song, is one way to do this but it’s certainly not the only way. Some of us become dissociated overachievers. Perhaps many of us. We turn off our feelings and we figure out what our environment needs us to be in order for us to both stay safe and to get the care that any human needs. It typically works, often for a long time. But the challenge here is that this pattern is entirely unsustainable. When the pattern begins, it’s necessary for survival. Yet long after we’ve survived, the pattern persists and we have trouble shifting out of it.

Image credit: Pixabay

By the time I realized the full weight of the mask I’d been hiding behind for decades, it wasn’t something I could easily put down. My partner, some colleagues, and various healers pointed it out to me over and over and over again until I could finally see just how heavy it was, how draining. I am so thankful their patience and support, especially because I wasn’t exactly a gracious recipient of said feedback! Once their reflections started landing, I wanted desperately to put that mask down permanently, but I had “promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.” (I express emotions via song lyrics and poems; a post for another time). I was entangled in three jobs and probably still volunteering at church – when I say I’m a recovering overachiever, I mean it – plus I was completely exhausted and experiencing health problems. Y’all… I got shingles TWICE in my 30s and it isn’t typically an illness that strikes younger people. Not only that, but I also had a severe exacerbation of lifelong asthma that at one point left me thinking I had lung cancer. See, the attitude of “I’ll rest when I’m dead” is a great way to get dead.

Others in this U.S. capitalist system really like when folks buy into the hustle and grind mentality. They tend to like it MUCH less when anyone, especially women and other marginalized groups, start setting boundaries and declining invitations. Still, my extraction from overachieving had begun! Over the next several years, I slowly exited the two additional jobs I had beyond my full time job in non-profit mental health. I rested a lot and no doubt cried even more, as I learned just how much pain I’d been running from in my life. As noted above, the running worked. It got me far enough away from those who harmed me that I could find my own way. The trouble was, I got so much praise for all the pleasing and smiling and performing… I had no idea it was a set of survival skills. I thought it was me. The reality is, those qualities can indeed be who we are at our core. But they get twisted up when we’re trying to survive an environment that is actively harmful or more benignly, poorly attuned to our needs.

I genuinely enjoy solving problems, laughing, connecting, teaching, being silly, or fighting like hell for what’s right. The younger version of me only knew how to do those things as a type of performance. She didn’t know how to rest, how to have fun without “earning” it, or heaven forbid, how to truly BE herself (especially if that was going to upset someone). The mask was everything. Because it protected the real me hiding underneath it. The real me who was punished as a child for expressing needs or wants or instincts that challenged the chaos being created by unhealthy adults. This is where healing can be rough. We see the mask, but need time to untangle all the ways it’s connected to and suffocating our true self. If you’re doing that work already, stay the course. I understand how painful it is and how frustratingly long the process can feel. Healing takes the time it takes. Pushing yourself harder will only create setbacks. I’m sure you’ve experienced that yourself, so you don’t have to just take my word for it. Leave the drag performances for drag queens and kings! Wishing you moments of calm and safe connection as you keep finding your way back to the real you.