I’m on a train this morning. I love the train. I have always thought I would take one of those cross-country train trips one day. I feel calm on the train. My parts seem happy on the train. I can write well. Some of my best blog posts have been written on trains. This morning, my over-thinking tendencies have led me to contemplate why. And I have realized that being on a train makes me feel separate from the distracted and rushed life of the collective controller. It is as if the stress is happening out there and I am speeding through it. It feels like I am protected from the chaos because it happens “out there”. On the train, those problems don’t exist.
Of course, that isn’t true. American trains aren’t known for their timeliness and their unreliability can cause me all sorts of anxiety. And no matter what I do while on the train, life is still happening and waiting for me to acknowledge it. But it still feels like a mini-vacation. When we have trauma, we are always looking for a way to disconnect. But the controller is always finding a way to stay hyper-vigilant. Let’s face it. That’s exhausting. Somehow on a train, my controller takes a break for a few minutes. They calm down. And I love it.
It feels especially nice these days as my controller and goddess have been battling it out. My controller has been extra fearful lately. They are terrified of their own annihilation. And they are terrified of what will happen to the system if they cease to exist. No matter how much I tell the controller they aren’t going anywhere, this fear won’t quit. To the controller, life exists because of hyper-vigilance. The minute we step down from Defcon 1, we die. The minute we have faith that life will support us, life is over. The minute we consider the possibility that we can’t control everything, we can’t control anything. We become a sitting duck. Life will swallow us whole. The strong survive because they have found the magic formula that keeps all the bad things at bay.
But I know this isn’t true. I am aware that life doesn’t exist because we control it. Ever since my first yoga class, I have wanted to find the flow around me. I have only been able to feel it intermittently, but certainly more in recent years. I know there is a way to flow with this life. And I know my controller is the one who puts up the dam against the flow. I feel it. It happens in my body. The muscles tense, the body gets cold, bloated and numb, and the mind starts to race manically. I am stopped against the flow. It is like sitting on a rock in the middle of a river refusing to dive in to the water because I don’t know where it will lead me. Of course I don’t know where it will lead me. How could I? But my controller is 99% sure it’s heading straight for a waterfall. It is better to be stuck on the rock.
And maybe that’s why the train is such a great change for me. The train flows to its destination without my help. The train passes the rest of the world by. All the world’s problems seem so distant. The traffic, the rush to work, the hospitals, the shopping malls, the school buses full of kids all seem so far away from the flow. I am moving while the rest of the world stands still in their controller-enmeshed world. Is it an illusion? Of course. There are plenty of people outside the train who know how to “go with the flow”. But it feels how it feels. For those moments, I don’t feel like I am in a fight. I am just moving. I am moving without effort. I am moving without pushing and clawing and fighting like my controller does.
It is the same forward movement I feel in recovery. I have actually had visualizations of trains leaving stations at different points in my own journey. Recovery feels like the flow, like movement in a stagnant world. It feels like I am moving toward something the outside world can’t give me. It feels like something I can only find if I am protected and safe from the distractions and obsessions happening externally. So maybe I have answered my own question. I love the train because it is movement forward. I love the train because it flows. I love the train because it takes me somewhere I need to go. And that feels familiar. It feels right. It feels like home.
This is so interesting. I feel the same way about riding the bus. It’s a practice in letting go of control…I cannot control when it comes, when it leaves, or if I’ll make my destination on time. I am so clearly more gentle when a bus rider, because I give myself permission to not take full responsibility (read hyper vigilance and blame) for the unfolding of Time and Life. I was also just wondering aloud, in the midst of setting boundaries that feels much more like pulling teeth from a wet angry cat, will I ever stop fighting? I think my controller needs some airing out. Thanks for sharing your story, I so often have uncannily resonated with your experiences. I appreciate your wisdom and courage and commitment and have always (for the past two years) wanted to tell you.
Thank you so much Stephanie! I could see the bus being a similar experience. All of our controllers could use a little calming I think.
Every time you write a post it feels like finally someone understands my brain. Great piece.
Thank you so much Chloe! I am so glad you feel understood.
This is a great piece Elisabeth. I am similar in the peace I feel when travelling on a train (especially a long country trip) & for much the same reasons as you. I noticed the other day that I had a similar flow experience when I was painting the front fence – I had a clear purpose, the task was straight forward but it required some skill, focus & resilience. My parts settled down & got behind me on the job. Very different to the external challenges & inner parts challenges of normal, day-to-day life.
Yes! I get in that flow with tasks like those too (sometimes). It takes effort, but when I flow, it really does feel like home.
It’s almost unbelievable to me how perfectly your blog posts capture my own lived experience. Every word of this could be my own musings on long distance train journeys. Thank you so much for your work. It has really inspired me to write more myself in the knowledge that perhaps someone else’s perceptions, thoughts, experience and feelings could be validated by my words in the same way as mine have by yours.
Thank you so much Sasha. Please do write. There is nothing better for survivors than to share and see what others share. We can finally feel less alone.