Manoeuvred.

We climbed, we manoeuvred, we stopped, assessed, used our breath to steady. Her in front, me behind her, coaching her, reminding her when she was scared, saying ‘I can’t’ with short sharp breaths, that I had her, her harness had her, that the guy standing under her would catch her if she needed him to. Reminding her to see and feel her resources along with her body’s response to what she was attempting to do, had never done before.

I was her resource and to be that for her I had to have a strong grasp, a deep trust in mine.

I don’t usually join in. For years I’ve watched from the ground, with the baby too small to do the thing, on my hip. I’ve been sidelined for a while watching Dad be the adventurous one, the coach, the catcher. My adventurous muscles slowly atrophying over the years while the avoidant tendencies of my nervous system grew and strengthened into the space that was left. An ‘it’s ok I don’t need to this time’ story turned into an ‘I don’t want to’ into an ‘I’m not good at that’ and ‘I don’t like it’ into a ‘No, I can’t’ for a while. It all eventually became boxed up within, a perceived threat that I couldn’t see clearly enough to recognise or reconcile.

I had practiced and strengthened and become a ‘safety in standing on solid ground’ story for my children and also for myself. Throughout a time when my nervous system was chronically under threat, bouncing between fight, flight and freeze in my daily life I found my moments of safety in playing it safe, avoiding anything unnecessary and letting others be the ones to face and take care of any challenge.

I shrunk. I needed to, to survive. It made sense at the time.

Yesterday, the last baby on my hip jumped into her harness, insisted on going first and ‘encouraged’ me to keep up and not hold her back. Nobody needs me on the ground anymore and as I followed her from obstacle to obstacle, one course to the next it dawned on me that I don’t need me to be stuck there anymore either.

I first learned about attachment theory as a nursing student twenty years ago. In child development and psychology units I read about it and sat exams regurgitating what the books said. I knew it on a cognitive level from then, however I hadn’t seen it play out in front of me until I had my own children ‘attached’ and ‘attaching’ to me. For many of those twenty years I was too unaware of and enmeshed with my own attachment wounds to be able to use the knowledge to understand myself and my patterns. To seek, find or earn security for myself.

Last year I delved into ‘attachment’ on a much deeper level, a somatic level. In order to learn how to address trauma in the body, to move it in order to heal and move past it (for myself and others) I first had to learn how to see it and to feel it. In order to be a resource for others exploring and healing their past traumas and the fears that exist in their present that remain attached to that trauma, I had to have a strong grasp, an understanding of my own. An understanding of what I tend to react to, run from and why. Of what I avoid and how I shut down. It was a life changing process to go through and opportunities to put the understanding and processing into practice show up almost every day now, in my personal and professional life.

I supported my daughter through her fears and past many of them yesterday. I supported her by being with her right up to her limit. At times out of the way but always ready to be right there for the obstacle that wouldn’t allow her to go any further. I reminded her each time she stopped to question and explore whether she could go further, whether she could do it, if she wanted to, despite her fear and her body’s protective response. Reminding her that I was right behind her but also that her harness was there and would catch her. That she also had herself, she had strapped herself in, secured herself the way she had been shown and she could lean back into that support anytime she needed it. She had layers of support to be able to notice the fear, notice the sensations in her body and to stay with it all long enough to process it.

Not run in panic.

Not explode in frustration turned to anger.

Not shut down in order to not feel.

We found her limit together and when she could feel and decide that she didn’t need to or want to go any further in that moment she was able to say ‘no more’ and I could feel that it was time to support her and coach her back to the platform. She didn’t have to let her fear stop her, she also didn’t have to push through it past her limit. It’s a dance, an ongoing practice, a gentle stretching of ourselves while always staying connected to the limit and the boundary. It’s finding and knowing safety so that we can move and grow with life beyond where we are comfortable now.

We were doing boundary work, while playing. We were working with her nervous system to keep it healthy, flexible and resilient, while playing.

After she had moved on to the obstacles she felt confident and capable with herself, the ones adults weren’t allowed on, I wandered around for a bit before noticing the two biggest zip lines. I felt something in me stand up from its crouched, shrunken, comfortable position inside. I walked over, attached my harness to the bottom of the ladder, the way I had been shown and began to climb up to the tree tops.

Stood on that first platform I was transported back, to a time twenty five years ago when I was not ready. When I was not given the option or the support to feel my limit and work with it, stay connected to my body as I processed whether I was able to leave the platform or not. Where I was pressured and pushed, with an audience of onlookers, to override my self, do as everyone else was doing and jump for my own good. The feeling of terror came back, the feeling of helplessness and lack of control. It was too much, too soon, it became a trauma I have carried with me since that day. A part of me that has tried to protect me since that day by convincing me to not go anywhere near a platform like that or anyone who might cajole, coerce and convince me to ignore myself and listen to what they know is best for me and my development.

There was nobody else there yesterday. Just me and the platform, me and the trees, me and my harness. I stood and breathed, an acknowledgement to that young, stuck part of me. I let her know that her protection has served me well, that it makes sense that she felt she needed to stay right there to keep me safe. Then I clipped my harness onto the line, stared down and imagined the next step I needed to take, over and off the platform, feeling my whole body respond.

I felt into my response and my resources, what I have now within me that I didn’t have back then, what I know. That I could turn around and climb back down, if I decided that was my choice. I breathed, I lifted my gaze up to the green swaying trees, I sat back into my harness and felt the same support that the ground under my feet provides me and I let go. There were five platforms in total between me and the end of the zip line and each one felt easier, calmer, more like fun.

Each one separated me and my nervous system a little further from that day and how the experience has tied itself up within me for all these years. I healed a part of me, a piece of trauma in me while playing. Because I have learned the process and built the practice. I know my limits and my resources. I have been learning with support for a year or so and now I can support myself and others.

Working with ourselves and our nervous systems on a somatic level is so powerful. A year in time to learn how to unravel almost forty, as well as everything ahead. It brings up parts of us that we don’t even know are there. Yes, it asks us to step off platform after platform, to trust the process, to visit and revisit the unknown but never without a harness. Building up a practice also builds up layers of resource and support.

Working with someone closely and consistently means they become the person climbing behind you, out of your way when you need them to be and always there to help you to stop, steady, come back to your breath, feel into your limits and voice a true yes or no to continuing.

They also become the person to remind you in every moment that you have a harness on and that you have support within yourself, with your feet on the ground, your body held by your seat. You can rest back into that support anytime your legs feel shaky. The ground is always there and there will often be someone or something in your life to meet and catch you there.

I still return to my support people to hold space for me for the parts that are deep within and close up to my limit. But there are many parts, like this one in this story, that I can be with, dance with, process and support myself through every day now because I took the time for me, I spent the time to focus on this for myself, to learn how and to learn what it feels like to rest back and let go.