Inspired by Shannon Ashley's everyday courage and strength, I take on a typically dreaded chore: Weed Whipping the Front Cottage Lawn.
Step One:
Lift the cloth tool kit from an upper closet shelf, focusing on Lat Expansion for floating the Shoulder Girdle. My nearly sixty-nine-year-old body is grateful for all opportunities to stretch, but my wrists and fingers protest with blunted sensations as if they live somewhere else and waking up is painful. I successfully set the tool kit on the kitchen counter.
Step Two:
Unzip the tool kit, remove the extension cord, trim line, screwdriver, and scissors, adjusting my underlying story from a dread blend woven with fear of pain threads to movement pleasure.
Rev. Sheri Heller, LCSW, RSW, frequently reminds me that CPTS (Complex Post Traumatic Stress — minus disorder now that I am rewilding labeling patterns as disorders) can be a treacherous map to explore. I adjust my Trek Barometer for a potential Xtreme Challenge Level.
Step Three:
I take the tools outside, listening to Take My Breath Away by Berlin. My knees threaten to buckle, stiffness and pain intermixing. I meditate on keeping my pelvic bowl neutral to keep me grounded, following the music into a distant grief reveal. There is a faraway land. The Chant Singers line the…
