Holidays are so hard sometimes, for the traumatized mind. Often, I have to balance celebrating a holiday with mourning what I’ve lost. Today I find myself not exactly mourning — it isn’t even sadness today, but more so old fear and angst and pain.

I don’t know if it’s because Passover begins this evening, or because I have been reading a book in which the main female character escapes a toxic abusive family, or because of any number of other frustrations. But last night, for the first time in ages, I had a vivid dream about my so-called family. In the dream, it was my horrid brother’s birthday and so I was in a horrid house surrounded by horrid people and desperately seeking escape while trying not to look like I was seeking escape. Anywhere I went in the house, I couldn’t seem to find sanctuary. The horrid people were everywhere. There was sneering and mockery and harshness and cruelty, and I’ve been operating basically with my nervous system on high alert ever since I woke up this morning.

I’ve thus been reminded that it doesn’t matter how many years of distance I’ve now gotten to put between myself and that reality. My body remembers, and it won’t let me forget, not entirely. When I came into the kitchen and my husband asked me this morning how I was, I told him I’d had bad dreams, about my family. He was sympathetic, but I did comment that I knew I could be grateful that at least now it’s just dreams and not my reality anymore.

But neurologically, my system hasn’t really gotten that memo.

Sometimes it helps to do a sort of body inventory to better pinpoint what I’m feeling and where. I know that what I’m feeling is anxiety and survival mode, so, let’s see where that lands.

There is full body fatigue, and mental fatigue. The sort of fog that used to settle over me as a protective film to minimize absorption of unpleasant things.

My chest feels tight, making it a little harder to breathe.

My limbs are a bit tingly.

I’m sensing a strong “flight” instinct trying to take over.

I’m fighting back tears.

My daughter dropped her fork at lunchtime and I had an inordinately big flinch in response.

In a few minutes I am going to retreat to the bedroom to try to regain some regulation, so that by the time we go to my in-laws’ house for Seder, I will be more present in today’s doings and less stuck in a very different and dark place. The trouble with bad dreams that stem from reality is that they’re much harder to shake off once you’re awake. They aren’t really “just” dreams, as much as I wish they were. I can’t wish it away.

My therapist has been pushing me to let myself properly feel things and let them run their course, so, I guess that’s what I’ll do. Reminds me of a lyric from a Teddy Swims song which is the title of this post. I’m “slipping into bad dreams”…hoping that I’ll come through to the other side of it in a better place.

Sounds pretty Passover-ish to me after all, actually. Fighting through the slavery of my trauma and pain, seeking deliverance from it, gratefully living a life of freedom and peace…pretty much nails it.

Gud Yontif, everybody.