One Hard Thing Substack Podcast

This quest I’m on to find my own home, and then, for goodness’ sake, stay there for a little while, is one hard thing. I’m continuing to challenge my patterns, here. I’m a little Edgy, this morning, and I am asking Tundra to support me in following through a routine task with the goal of reducing challenge, not adding it.

On Monday I wrote about the difficulty of detaching. Here I’m trying to keep track of my own energy and level of stress, as distinct from Tundra’s. She is her own being, and her behaviour can tell me how I’m doing in calming down, but it helps if I don’t expect her to be the same as me, or follow me exactly, or vice versa. We’re both on the walk, in other words, and we are both experiencing it from our own vantage point.

I think you will notice your own mirror neurone firing in sympathy with my clear state of slight nervousness. I do settle, in a way I can feel, although I certainly don’t make it all the way Home in the time span I’m videoing today. However, looking at a walk with a horse through this lens is so great for helping me “train” her. I’m not needing her to do stuff I want; I’m needing her to give me space and time and polite accompaniment while I deal with my own “stuff.” That’s a different ask, and allows me to stay very patient with her repeated bumps into my bubble, because I’m not reading it through a story of anything but her nervous system resonating with mine.

Used to be, I would have started out Edgy, tried hard to ignore or even push through this state into a higher one, and then spent the whole time with my horse demanding perfect manners and obedience, because their response to my energy was scary, and confirming my initial nerves, to boot. We would have enmeshed in a tight spiral of escalation up the tall building of stress, with me having less and less connection to the ground, to my “self,” and certainly to the reality of our relationship in real time.

Today, I’m dealing very differently. I’m Edgy. That’s a fact. Also, the environment is less friendly and helpful in de-escalation than a pretty summer day would be. I’m working, therefore, to acknowledge my internal reality, the external environment, and my horse’s logical (given all that) responses in the here and now. The upshot is that I enjoy the walk I was so determined to keep in my day. Tundra is able to question me, listen to my answers, and help me out by her patience and clear ability to stay at least slightly below where I am functioning. It’s not about her behaviour; it’s very much about our conversation, which stays well within a Just Right Challenge.

This ability to relate with connection but not enmeshment is very liberating. I will keep working on this, and I hope you can keep on joining me. Wednesdays are for walking, and talking, and breathing, and letting go.

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Still reaching for language…!

I know there is this country where control is king, and we all fight for limited resources and might makes right. The illusion in the country is that chaos and death can be cheated. There is a game that can be won.

I don’t want to live in that country (anymore!). I want to live in the other one, across the fence, where something else is in charge. Not sure what, or who, but it’s a very different set of laws and outcomes.

If I’m not tasked with controlling - you, them, this, that, and most especially, the future, then…I can live in Reality. Which may be the name of this other place. Truth. The real world. Where you, them, this, that and the future are alongside me, and of value and weight, but not under my…control. Nor do they ever need to be. I can relate with the chaos outside, as well as the intermittent peace, with an alternating rhythm of calm surrender, and then using my own muscles and bones and energy to strengthen my structure to deal with the reality I find myself in. Quite different from a zero sum competition to win.

Anyway, that’s the fence I’m sitting on this Friday. You’re welcome to come alongside, survey the view, and as always, contribute any thoughts that come to mind. I’m curious.

Thinking about placing my horse time into my Home is…well, it’s going to take a few more walks. I get so happy, and excited, and full of ideas and enthusiasm around these beautiful animals. But that translates into a slightly higher level of alertness and energy than is really comfortable to sustain. So, as I often seem to need to do, I have to work to consciously de-escalate myself. This is the only way Tundra has a shot at letting herself relax, and I want that for her.

It’s very clear how Tundra mirrors me, my habitually fidgety sort of movements, and the slightly impatient way I go through a task. I’d like to use her large reflective information to give me the information I need to Slow Down, not just in pace, but in my whole being. Home Base is a place to chill, relax, be in the moment, and not rush or evaluate or pressure myself, after all. But getting there? That is one hard thing.

A horse is so helpful, and you can see I do get somewhere here, based on her body language towards the end (especially compared to the beginning!). But I wonder if this tracks with any of you. Do any of you reading/watching/listening also struggle with a slow climb of concern the closer you get to truly peaceful and safe surroundings? Is it hard for anyone else out there to relax while being happy? How to pair a deeply damaged nervous architecture with a secure and welcoming activity?

Well, that’s today’s topic. Come along. Keep breathing.

It’s going to be o…kay…

:)

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Well, once again, you get to hear me think out loud. Okay, that’s really probably all I do on Substack! But this one is so important to figure out, and like so many tricky concepts having to do with stress and associated topics, the language is lagging. I realize that “flooding” is a clinical term and as such, means a certain technique that has mixed results. It also is a very accessible water term, that most definitely does not imply anything good. Having lived through quite a few years of “flooded” land, I have very visceral associations to the word.

So…it seemed to me a good idea to try to pull apart how I’m using this label, and maybe come up with some clarity. I am not sure I succeeded here, but maybe this podcast will generate some thoughts and questions and observations from you, with all of your lifetime wisdom and experience and leadership (in any capacity) expertise.

Pushing out limits so we inhabit ever larger spaces, without losing access to our centre, our home, our identity as worthy individuals no matter where we go or what we do…that’s one hard thing. Anyone who is engaged in this endeavour in their own inner team, or any outer team at all, is going to relate to the threat of moving from a difficult and somewhat uncertain place towards either: a greater sense of competence and self-control, OR conversely, being pummelled into the opposite sensation of helpless overwhelm by forces too large to fight.

I want to acknowledge the very good work and the very admirable intentions of people who grade challenges for others (or for themselves) such that what was formerly a vague and smoke-filled environment of anxiety or even fear, becomes clear, navigable, and possible. The work of a firehose, directed at specific sources of danger, in service of health and safety and function, is a good one.

On the other hand, a firehose can be used against people, and in that way become a weapon instead of the life-saving tool it was designed to be.

Would love to hear your thoughts on my thoughts! I think, as always, for me it comes down to the very real limit of, well, one hard thing. At a time. Because that’s really all we can do, in the real world. Sometimes that one hard thing is pretty hard, but if it’s presented with love, respect, care, and a good bit of skill, it’s probably one good thing.

Happy Friday! Stay safe, and kind, and self-aware as you climb the fences and/or think about moving them over, just a little…

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The interesting thing about using states as a way of interpreting What Is Happening, is that it creates an entirely different set of guardrails around an experience. Instead of measuring the quality of the response to my cues, I’m measuring the continued availability of my horse for sensory input, leading to an adaptive (by her), and therefore informed choice as to motor output. I want to see evidence that she’s opening up, and regulating within the challenge, not shutting down and simply complying.

I find it very meaningful to grow my skills in reading the small communications (nonverbal, but quite apparent if I pay attention) of my animals. In this walk, I’m looking for movement within the state of Just Right Challenge - and I’m actually thinking of a little dial going from 1-10, based on Tundra’s body language. 1 = super easy and almost (but not quite) Home-like in routine and expected and automatically adapted to. 10 = a very high level of attention on a possible threat, but without escalating into the very different floor of Anxiety, where those threats become all she is able to think about.

With this in mind, you can watch (along with me) how Tundra experiences this little walk together. I see her moving quite fluidly up and down the “1-10 levels” within a level, but I don’t see her escalating to a whole different floor. Nor does she descend into a state where she is not even trying (which I would designate as a relaxed and sort of self-caring attitude to the experience; like she approaches eating). The whole walk (in my opinion, anyway) was a Just Right Challenge, and mutually enjoyable. I stopped the video because of time (trying to respect your attention spans, and your JRC parameters), but she did indeed calmly and happily move with me back to the herd and the second breakfast, with a pause to let me unsaddle her. No escalation. Enough stress that she is moving her “limiters” of inexperience and lack of confidence outward.

This sort of experience where I’m not exactly co-regulating; rather keeping the experience graded so she is successful in self-regulating, is very transferable to humans. Think about your own approach to a challenge which could be fun, could be too easy, or could shoot you up into Anxiety if some variables are shifted slightly. It’s not about someone “helping you do it,” so much as it could be someone helping you stay within a space where you can do it “yourself.” That attention to the parameters of the task or environment, by watching your own small movements up and down the stress ladder, is a form of care that is (again, in my opinion) very magical.

Some people’s nervous systems are naturally robust and not so prone to escalation out of a Challenge and into the higher stories. Others are more “mobile.” This is not a weakness (in fact it is a very valuable strength), but it can be tricky for someone with this characteristic to manage all the boundaries on the experience, while also focusing on the task. Helping by holding the space, slowing down the pace as needed, and keeping distractions a little less apparent is not enabling in the codependent sense. I think it is a really precise (and very technically elegant) form of coaching, personally.

If you are a facilitator of anyone else’s learning, have a try at using this sort of observation to help them grade a new challenge (or even a moderately practiced one). It is a lovely way to engage a non-dual, or non-binary, or non-judgemental perspective. It’s not at all pass or fail. It’s all about the little dials that (limiters as they can be) can be moved just a touch, here and there, to support success.

The peculiar advantage of functioning in overwhelm is, of course, the absence of unrelenting, unbearable pain. The downside is the corollary: I can’t also feel much of anything at all. Anesthetic that it is, it does not discriminate between strong sensations, emotions, or even original thoughts. Overwhelm takes care of everything. For me. So I don’t have to. It’s a pretty good deal.

Or…?

I’m doing this podcast more or less in real time, debating internally the merits and disadvantages, and trying to find the courage to descend from the lofty height, where nothing seems to matter, down to the ground floor, where everything is Real.

One hard thing: choosing to live, which is so hard, when simple survival is so…soft.

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Playing with the skill of observing state, rather than simple obedience or response, is kinda fun. It’s kinder, too, because I can incorporate my own state into the equation. We are both in the here and now, in this video, even though I started out a little jittery. Just allowing myself to notice that fact, and tell Tundra that it’s not about her, and go at a pace that my nervous system can handle, in a Venn Diagram with what hers can handle, made for a much more ease-filled interaction.

What escalates me, or you, or my horse, is generally less important than acknowledging that the escalation happened, or is happening. If I allow myself to do that, and to actively work variables with the goal of bringing both of us (we’re both important!) back into a Just Right Challenge, then the likelihood of some nice neurochemicals being released grows. Oxytocin, serotonin, dopamine. Good, good stuff. I’m wanting to experience those pleasant feelings paired with a challenge, rather than only feeling the relief of avoidance or escape.

Some levers that I use with my animals (and myself!):

* repetition repetition repetition

* routine ("habit stacking” on successful mini-sequences)

* pausing between little tasks to process

* pairing new with good (treats, affection, attention, warmth, food, whole herd time…)

* letting Tundra follow her nose, give opinions, have a voice, be the leader, etc. but in between me having a turn at my side of the conversation - basically treating everything as a back and forth interaction rather than a top down hierarchy

* embedding a new or difficult challenge within a sequence of “easy” tasks so success is the overall feeling associated with it

* saying please and thank you (surprisingly, this really makes a difference, probably to my overall view of what kind of relationship we have)

* noticing very small tries and reinforcing those, rather than waiting for the big performative success to celebrate

* thinking about the rhythm in my walk, talking, movements, and requests - keeping the pace steady, not too slow or fast, and somewhat predictable

* supporting Tundra using her body (sensory systems on, not off), her mind (cause/effect predictions and efforts to experiment with hypotheses), and her heart (focus of attention) to communicate, and also to actively be present and learn (Note: a Just Right Challenge state will include far more “behaviour” because the person or horse or whatever is actively showing up. That’s a positive sign! Don’t worry about perfect when progress is happening!)

* being aware of signs of slight stress (ears back, more nibbling, pawing, moving away, head up, pausing in motion, eyes widening, breath holding, tension in muscles), as well as signs of releasing that stress (blowing, shaking out, relaxing muscles, licking/chewing with mouth, coming towards me, standing still but “loose,” following pressure on lead rope, nosing new things, ears up and moving, looking up/down and around rather than just off in the distance) - and responding to little signals by grading my challenge to Tundra, accordingly.

Tundra is a horse, and so this interaction shows a human/horse working together in a slightly new challenge scenario. However, this all is pretty equivalent to how a human/human new challenge can go, if you just swap out the horsey signs of stress and release with human ones. I’ll maybe leave that sort of listing for another post, but meanwhile, have a go at seeing how many of these were displayed in just this fairly unremarkable 10 minute video!

Happy Wednesday. Have a Just Right day if you possibly can (and it is something you can actively work towards, for sure).

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Thanks for reading One Hard Thing Substack! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Once again, I’m working off the levels of the Challenge Cheat Sheet, or the tall building of stress metaphor.

However I wanted to talk further about the very different experience one might have in moving up one level between Home Base (say, after a wonderful night’s rest) and into a Just Right Challenge (say, a fulfilling and engaging job, or contributory role with others), vs. moving up one level between exhausted Anxiety (say, after a fitful sleep punctuated with bad dreams and bouts of wakeful worrying), and into the Scary storey of fight or flight adrenaline - now needed in order to accomplish anything at all because one’s stores are still not replenished.

It is the same set of behaviours. In both cases one will get up, get moving, get dressed, and go to “work.” But the effect on one’s body, mind, and heart are completely and totally different.

Mistaking one for the other is easy, even when it's my own life I’m looking at. Because I spent such a very long time in that Anxious level, and even more time in the higher levels above it (particularly gravitating to the numbing effects of Overwhelm), it is quite the revelation for me now, to once in a while notice that I feel safe, secure, and calm, even. This is, I hasten to add, entirely separate from my circumstances and situation. Objectively speaking, those have become much, much more difficult, if not downright catastrophic. And yet, by changing the story, I have started to change a great deal of my perception of life.

I’m living, these days, more than just surviving. Which is a pretty big deal to my poor battered nervous system.

Anyway, that’s the fence - more of a continued discussion of the different views, options, and sensations available in each level of this building, which I suspect too many of us continue to ascend far more than is consistent with safety and goodness.

If you are a supporter or caregiver of an anxious soul, consider the idea that they may not know there are calmer storeys underneath their current baseline. Encouraging them to “calm down” might be meaningless to their grid of reality, in that case. It’s another hard thing to work with them to create that home - that base that truly is based on a ground level foundation of true connection and security. I’ll keep writing about that, too. But for now, let’s consider how we can tell the difference between home and that edgy storey that makes us feel less, rather than more, nourished and ready to engage.

Good morning!

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On a completely side note from the content of this video: it’s so fun to experience making it (subjectively), and then to watch it back (objectively), and thereby gain a lot more information from a different angle. What I get if I look at what’s happening with the sound off (nice, because I’m talking on and on and on…!) is that Tundra is asking me pretty much the whole time, “where are you?” And I’m not really aware of this as a question, because I’m focusing on you guys.

Where I am (in my head, anyway, which is not quite the same as my body) is with her, and I’ve sucked in my perimeter to about a cm outside my warm outerwear, clearly, because all her nibbles and head butts and gentle questing movements are not registering to me as invasive. The thing is, because my attention is so directed at my phone, and at my thoughts, which are being organized as I go, Tundra is a little irritated. She appreciates (as we all do) more clarity, more consistency, and also some more attention, given that we’re in such close quarters.

However, at one point she manages to actually go through my boundary, alert me to her real life presence, and get my full attention. Finally, I answer the question. You’ll know it when you see it. Tundra’s response, watching it back, is kinda funny/not funny to me, because her face looks so…”thanks for finally acknowledging that I was asking you something. You could have answered me a lot sooner, but whatever.” Which is a real demonstration of the work required within one’s home, as it regards the sources of energy and power and need and all that. Coincidentally, this is what I’m talking about in this post (if you turn the sound on again).

We hold so much latent growth, possibility, magic, inside that we can really scare ourselves, and end up with strategies of repression, absolute dominance over our own feelings. Even, sometimes, a sedation sort of approach to what seems like a large, beautiful, but a bit too powerful, animal. As in, our own Hearts.

So there are two major jobs I see in dealing with the arrival of significant anxiety in our vicinity. One is to correctly categorize what is in our control (very little, but still not nothing) and what is not. The second is to choose to do the work of not just containing the sources of emotion, power, beauty, strength, and even awe that are in our own interior spaces, but to tend them. Converse with them. Give them clear and fair and considerate boundaries within which they can express themselves, safely.

It’s not nothing to live with animals. But it’s also not nothing to acknowledge how much we carry inside in terms of our own stores of raw energy. Locking it down is one way to go. But anxiety tends to start to alert us (through our Bodies, usually) that this is only a temporary solution, and not a very good one, either. If there are no weather events outside, but my inside still feels like a storm is brewing, maybe there is some merit to paying attention to what my Heart is trying to be, become, and ask of me. There is work, for which we have authorization, tools, and space to operate within, in this regard, inside our Homes. Not easy work, but very, very possible.

Figuring out what that work is, as opposed to trying to control the “weather” outside, is the trick.

One hard thing!

See you next Wednesday. Stay warm in the meantime.

I think I’ve written enough words on this topic both leading up to this podcast, and continuing on after, so I’ll just say that this is one first step in staying both safe and also kind in the presence of this very destabilizing “fog.” It has helped me tremendously, and I hope it gives you the beginnings of a practical toolkit for supporting someone you love, or simply care about, who is battling anxiety. No fun, but it can be done!