A friend of mine from High School and College tragically passed away a few months ago. Because of extenuating circumstances, the funeral couldn’t take place until several weeks afterward.
I had those interim weeks to deal with grief, but even with time to process, I was not prepared for what happened when I went to the funeral.
The funeral took place in a church building in my hometown that triggered some painful memories for me. I was bracing myself as I walked in, telling myself I’d be fine to enter a space that I had intentionally avoided for many years.
Add on top, the moment I walked inside I was immediately in a crowd of dozens of peers from high school and college which immediately flashed me back to my adolescent insecurities.
Now my body is activated, but at this point I’m still managing ok.
I found a place to sit down and moments later glanced down the row and noticed I’m sitting only a few people away from a person who caused deeeeeeeeeeep harm to me and my family.
(The kind of harm that requires a lifetime boundary of no contact.)
That was the tipping point…
Instantly, I was in a full-blown panic attack.
My body started shaking, I started crying, and I couldn’t breathe. It felt like the whole world was closing in on me, and I was in a very public place where you’re expected to be reverent and quiet.
It’s been a really long time since I’ve had a panic attack.
But here I was.
Thankfully, people expect you to cry at a funeral. Although I shed many tears for the passing of my friend, in that moment the tears were all for me.
I wanted to stay and honor my friend, but my nervous system was freaking out in big-time alarm.
First things first, I moved seats. I found another place to sit several rows in the back.
And then, I started doing my nervous system tools.
The only person who knew what was going on for me was my husband.
Otherwise, everything was discreet and, most importantly, effective.
So many different triggers converged at the same time for me at that funeral.
Sometimes life happens that way.
But I was so profoundly grateful I knew exactly how to support myself in that moment.
Not only was I able to bring myself down from the ledge of a panic attack, I was able to regulate enough to pay attention to the funeral, forget about the harmful person, and afterward meet up with old friends and feel authentic joy and presence.
The only way I could have relied on my tools in the midst of a peak state was because I practice this every day.
I didn’t have to try to remember what to do.
My body already knew.
And this is one of the biggest reasons I created 40 Days of Peace as a practice instead of just a course.
Because the middle of a highly activated moment is not the ideal time to learn something new.
You want to have practiced beforehand.
You want the tools to already feel familiar.
You want to know which ones your body responds to.
You want to have some experience finding your way back before life asks you to do it in a moment that really matters.
That’s what the 40 days are for.
This isn’t about becoming someone who never gets triggered.
We’re practicing to support your nervous system enough that when life happens, you’re not starting from scratch.
You’ve already practiced coming back to yourself.
This is the practice of peace.
Come join me for the challenge.
With Peace,
Brooke