You are allowed

Just because you had breakfast doesn't mean you're not allowed to have dinner.

I'm paraphrasing Esther Perel giving advice to a young woman dealing with a traumatic past and its present repercussions. (Where Should We Begin, episode dated June 23, 2022) The young woman said that she didn't deserve to complain because she was lucky in so many ways.

Yes, and.

Yes, you are lucky, and you can feel pain. Privilege does not erase trauma; the two can co-exist.

Yes, you can feel confident in your professional abilities, and you can still panic at the anticipation of routine feedback from a boss or client. Esther talked about traumatic memory and the phenomenon of living in two time zones. I'd elaborate and say that to me, it is like being a time traveler where one can't quite control when one slips from present to past and back again. The mind goes, albeit subconsciously, to that place in time and memory where survival required vigilance. Simultaneously, the physical body, existing in the present moment, continues to experience activation, but it's no longer helpful or unnecessary. I need to read more time travel novels, but I imagine that mastering control of when, how, and where one travels back in time is the key to successful time-bending. But this isn't a journal on fictional interpretations of string theory.

Yes, you can acknowledge your past helplessness, and you can remind yourself of the power you hold in the present. This is the goal of many mindfulness drills: root yourself in the now, and hang on tight while the hard feelings wash over you.

I think law is too fraught for me, too much of a so-called time travel trigger. The capacity for mistakes and the resulting consequences are constants in the legal profession. Having been trained at a young age to live in an alert state meant every interaction at work had the potential to make me flinch at best and emotionally collapse at worst. I am good at tasks and terrified of people. Add a handful of entitled clients and the occasional self-important colleague, and law was the opposite of a tranquil profession for me.

I feel safer working with children and people with disabilities than I do in the traditional service industry. I do not need to worry about protecting myself from angry criticism, so I can be a more authentic version of myself. Power dynamics can be frightening and dangerous, but being an independent, competent adult, knowing I can protect others who are vulnerable, gives me a sense of purpose and courage.

This morning I reached out to a friend: If your child doesn't have dance class after school, could I trouble you to wait with my son for 15 minutes while I wrap up his monthly IEP meeting? It turns out my friend's daughter does have dance, but since her mother is taking her, my friend is available and happy to drive to the elementary school to be there for my son for 15 minutes. Nothing requires him to be at the school, and in fact he could be enjoying precious alone time; an hour or two off as a parent is a rare gift. But he did not hesitate. Here is another adult whom I admire, with his own life and responsibilities, helping me at a vulnerable moment; IEP meetings are emotionally draining, and I trust very few people with my son. What I felt, by this act of kindness, was surprise, relief, and deep gratitude. Activate tear ducts!

Yes, I can be afraid, and I can also be brave. The inconsistences of childhood are slowly healed by a nurturing present. It is empowering to create my own environment and humbling to find that those I have allowed into my life treat me with care and kindness. What a beautiful trust exercise. Yes, I can be vulnerable, and I can be safe.