I miss my freedom, however I recognize I’m freer from fear than I have been in a long time.
While living in Denver for six months, launching Yoga on the Fly, my judgment lapsed. Caring for my start-up business, my baby, became more important than caring for myself. Yes, I went to the doctor and took my medication, however I did not prioritize sleep, healthy eating, or meditation, as I have preached to so many people.
Yoga on the Fly’s temporary location in Denver International Airport closed. It was a success. My business partner and I celebrated and hopped on one of those airplanes to San Diego, where we reconnected with nature, and as a result, ourselves. Its outcome was effective; we both left reinvigorated and ready for Yoga on the Fly’s next steps.
It became clear that I should stay in Denver – the perfect balance of city and nature, full of people who prioritize self-care. “But you’d be alone,” so many people pointed out. I’ve lived by myself for nearly 10 years, however I didn’t realize during those years I had a support system outside of my apartment and family only hours away.
I flew to Orlando to see my family, a stopover before a business trip to Atlanta. I woke up the following morning in an ambulance, not knowing how I got there. I’d been here before. My body had let out all of the stress that had been building up over the past year in the form of a grand mal seizure. Previously my mom was able to manage them, however this time warranted a 911 call.
I’m ok. I made it to the other side. My mom managed me in the ambulance and in the ER, my sister picked us up from the hospital. My niece and nephew helped nurse me back to health. We had a family discussion about what the kids should do if they’re ever alone with me while I have a seizure. We also had a family discussion listing all of the reasons why I should not move back to a place without a support system, and why I should let others take care of me – something I’d resisted for a long time.
They raised some pretty fair points that I couldn’t argue with. I did stop prioritizing my self-care. I was pouring from an empty cup. But what I was about to do, what they were asking me to do, was more than reigniting my self-care routine, but giving up my freedom, my privacy, my routine.
What the event reignited was actually my PTSD. I was scared, and I was triggered. And I needed to be cared for, because sometimes you can’t get through the tough stuff alone. It’s not forever, and I was losing only one fragment of my freedom. While I’m living in a house with four other people, I’m living feeling freer than I have in ages.