Snow Globes & Prime Day & Trauma Responses

You know the chaos that comes from shaking a snow globe? Things feels serene, maybe even picturesque. Then all of a sudden everything is up in the air. You can’t tell what’s up and what’s down. That’s how the last two years feel. COVID. Cancer. Life and loss that continued in between.

Sometimes it would subside and glimmers of calm poked through. Remission. Vacations. Vaccinations. Celebrations. Breathwork Certifications. Boring weeks. Decisions that felt good in my body and soul.

Then another shake. Getting COVID. Canceled trips. Getting COVID again. Chaotic work weeks. Getting COVID again. It honestly feels like Darla from finding Nemo is holding my snow globe.

There were some self inflicted shake ups. It’s not ALL Darla. Moving to California was a big one. Accountability is key. I am both the victim and the perpetrator here. BUT Darla’s not entirely off the hook. She started it!

When the snow globe flips, I go into survival mode. My nervous system gets nervous. Fight or flight is activated. My brain sees a threat and disconnects from my body to protect it. My stress response cues chest pain, fatigue, and a cough. You know, exactly how I felt right before I was diagnosed. My doctor is accustomed to my sanity check blood tests to confirm it’s not what my body is truly scared of.

Survival mode is a weird place. It can be my busiest place, my funniest place, even my friendliest place. It turns me into an iPad kid, glued to my phone oscillating between different apps mindlessly scrolling. Hours go by, text messages go unanswered, social media time limits are overridden. The weird place LOVES a list. A to-do list, a life list, a packing list, a travel list. Even better than making a list is checking something off a list. No errand goes undone in the weird place.

The vibes in the weird place are off. My intuition lacks clarity. I feel everything while simultaneously feeling nothing. My usual tools to return to myself are harder to access. Finding my voice is like listening to a radio stuck on static. Does Gen-Z know what a radio is? Are they vintage now? Radios are how we used to listen to music long before Spotify. Static was the WORST. You could faintly hear your favorite Backstreet Boys song but there was a loud fuzzy noise overpowering it. I try to tune in to myself and listen through breathwork. Sometimes the static is too loud. Sometimes it subsides and I can experience the song and feel the feeling the weird place is trying to keep me from.

My inner dialogue from the weird place sounds something like this…

“Feelings? You don’t need them. They hurt you. The weird place keeps you safe,“ my ego interrupting me trying to do breathwork.

False. Feeling feelings helps me move through them and grow. I’d rather get hurt than stuck. The weird place sucks. Get out of here, trauma response.

“If I’m choosing chaos, it can’t possibly choose me! How can I get ahead of the next shake up?” my silly little brain whenever the calm pokes through.

No, relax. Just let life happen. Let it be. In California though. Let it be in San Diego.

“That throw rug is perfect. Buy it NOW. Check that off your list and you’ll never worry about recurrence again,” my ego scrolling Instagram decorating my apartment.

You’re right. That is a cute rug. Are we sure my doctor didn’t say that? Wait, no. Stop. This isn’t true. Stop shopping. Stop making lists. Take a break, take a deep breath. Wait, it’s Prime Day. PRIME DAY. Oh my god, the discounts. I need a vacuum. And an air fryer. Another shake up!!

Trauma is scary but Amazon might be scarier. What is Jeff Bezos even doing now that he isn’t CEO? How do the packages arrive so quickly? Did they already know I wanted that bamboo shower mat? Will my new electric fly swatter come in handy when the climate wars start? I digress. Trauma does a lot to our brains, including but not limited to throwing off our focus, shortening our attention span, and trying to protect us from threats that aren’t really threats. Like a poorly decorated apartment.

On the other end of the spectrum from the weird place is the wonderful place. The place where life flows with ease. The place where my voice comes through loud and clear. Where I can tune into my body and listen to my intuition. The place where there’s no shortage of creativity and inspiration. Where I shop local and support small businesses. The place where my cup is so full it’s overflowing for others. Where my brain can take a break because it knows my body is safe to just be.

The wonderful place passes the vibe check with flying colors. Text messages are answered. Social media time limits are honored. Intentions are clear and manifestations are abundant. Focus, attention span, and presence are sharp. Feelings are felt without judgment and every ache and pain isn’t a red flag of something deeper. I write, I dance, I sing. I live, I laugh, I love. Should I get a live, laugh, love sign for my apartment? Definitely not, that’d be SO cheugy.

Anyways, my most recent shake up of moving to California threw me into the weird place, as expected. I’m not too proud to admit that a part of me is running away with this move. I’m running from the life the disease took from me. From the reminders of my diagnosis. From the places my body doesn’t feel safe. From who I was before all the shake ups. I would probably still be sitting at a bar in the East Village if it wasn’t for that whole cancer thing. That Shannon was FUN but she lived in the weird place thinking it was the only place.

This move isn’t going to make any of that go away. The memories and the grief are still here. Thankfully Delta didn’t charge for that baggage. Flying is expensive enough right now. In some ways, it makes life harder. I miss my mom. She’s the best. If only she could come with me instead of the PTSD and the way it lives in my body. I already had my first San Diego sanity check blood test. It came back clear. I’m optimistic my new doctor will be open to keeping them in my care plan but I’m hopeful they won’t need to.

The trauma I’m working through is overwhelming. Wanna know what’s even more overwhelming? The possibilities of what’s to come. Overwhelming in the best, most exciting, most expansive and beautifully abundant way. These are the vibes the move is really for. Ever since stepping off the plane in California, life feels lighter. So light that I can stop running and start walking. Truthfully, I haven’t gone for a run in years. I hate running. Sunset walks on the beach on the way to the wonderful place will do.

Leaving the scene of the crime isn’t about pretending it didn’t happen. It’s about making space to process it. Space where I’m not consumed by it. Space to let go of who I was and be intentional about who I am becoming. Space to take care of myself. Space to take care of others, even if it’s from another time zone. Space to get clear on my voice and use it. Space to build a life where cancer is just a chapter of my memoir, not the whole thing.

Life’s not about running from the past, it’s about cultivating your future. It’s about accepting the chaos in a way that helps you grow instead of keeping you stuck. It’s about balancing the weird and wonderful and staying present for the in between. It’s about finding the time and place and space that brings you peace. It’s about letting Darla live her truth so you can live yours. It’s about letting go of control and letting life do it’s thing.