My favorite thing about the floor is that I cannot fall off of it. Isn’t that great? Anyone: if a major grief sweeps through you, go for the floor. Then you can roll around, flail, tear at your clothing and sob great gulping wet tears, and you are still safe! Yes, in a movie you will see actresses prettily fling themselves onto a bed to have a good howl—but they are acting. Real grief is best done on the floor. This is just an opinion, and we all have our own, but check it out.
A floor can be quite nice for extreme anxiety, too. There you lie, mouth dry, chest pounding, fingers clinched, and you are receiving the most reliable support you can get. Sure, it is hard on the bones and you might want to drag a pillow and a blanket down there with you. But you are supported. You don’t have to worry about falling, and that—along with loud noises—is a fear present from infancy. So enjoy the floor and check out what else is around. Is there a cat padding over, interested in curling up on your head? Are you about to receive a big, sloppy kiss from your dog? Animals get interested when we are down on the floor.
Floors help us get grounded. It’s a good place to be while you tell yourself what feels like the truth. “I’m freaking out! I’m scared! This anxiety is killing me!” Oh, that’s not the truth? Harrumph! Actually that’s just the Anxiety Narrative: what it feels like, versus what is actually happening. You are not actually dying from anxiety right now. (*See last paragraph.) Breathe. Pucker your lips as if you are blowing through a narrow straw as you exhale, nice and slow. It probably does not yet feel “nice”, but keep doing it.
Now tell yourself the ‘real’ truth. Example: “I’m overwhelmed; I don’t think I can keep caring for mother while I’m working and raising two small children; I need to get help! My body is telling me that this is too much: I need help.” Whatever the problem, that last sentence is key. “My body is telling me that I need help. It is registering my distress. I’m going to rest here for a bit, and then I’m going to call the Crisis Hotline //my brother //a friend //my minister //a therapist—and I’m going to ask for help. I’m going to listen to what my body is telling me!”
Consider your dear Body. It works for you all the time, doing its best in spite of being ignored and put through the mill. And how can it communicate with you, other than through sensation? That’s why getting grounded involves returning to the senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch. So you are on the floor. Feel it against your back? What color is the ceiling? How many cobwebs in the corners? Turn your head and count colors. How many do you see? What is the predominant aroma? Wet dog? Old beer? Baby powder? Just observe all this without judging it: relax into taking in your surroundings. If you are seeing a lot of grubbiness, welcome to the crowd. It’s hard to keep up with housekeeping when you are stressed, unless your anxiety expresses itself in obsessive cleaning. If you aren’t seeing much color, what about that? Do you have a favorite color? How about sprinkling it around?
Have you been able to nest in your current space? It doesn’t require a big budget—just attention to what you enjoy. For me color is important; it really lifts me up or drops me down. Also shapes: I love breaking up the boxiness of rooms by adding rounded shapes. Ahh! But scent is apparently our most primal sense—and unless you live above a skunk sanctuary, it is pretty easy to address. Go to a health food store and sniff the essential oils til you find what you really like, and then use that scent in your space. I know, so many of us are sharing space and hemmed in by life events. Yet small moments of pleasure, even joy, may press the reset button within and soothe the anxious system.
A floor can be quite nice for extreme anxiety, too. There you lie, mouth dry, chest pounding, fingers clinched, and you are receiving the most reliable support you can get. Sure, it is hard on the bones and you might want to drag a pillow and a blanket down there with you. But you are supported. You don’t have to worry about falling, and that—along with loud noises—is a fear present from infancy. So enjoy the floor and check out what else is around. Is there a cat padding over, interested in curling up on your head? Are you about to receive a big, sloppy kiss from your dog? Animals get interested when we are down on the floor.
Floors help us get grounded. It’s a good place to be while you tell yourself what feels like the truth. “I’m freaking out! I’m scared! This anxiety is killing me!” Oh, that’s not the truth? Harrumph! Actually that’s just the Anxiety Narrative: what it feels like, versus what is actually happening. You are not actually dying from anxiety right now. (*See last paragraph.) Breathe. Pucker your lips as if you are blowing through a narrow straw as you exhale, nice and slow. It probably does not yet feel “nice”, but keep doing it.
Now tell yourself the ‘real’ truth. Example: “I’m overwhelmed; I don’t think I can keep caring for mother while I’m working and raising two small children; I need to get help! My body is telling me that this is too much: I need help.” Whatever the problem, that last sentence is key. “My body is telling me that I need help. It is registering my distress. I’m going to rest here for a bit, and then I’m going to call the Crisis Hotline //my brother //a friend //my minister //a therapist—and I’m going to ask for help. I’m going to listen to what my body is telling me!”
Consider your dear Body. It works for you all the time, doing its best in spite of being ignored and put through the mill. And how can it communicate with you, other than through sensation? That’s why getting grounded involves returning to the senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch. So you are on the floor. Feel it against your back? What color is the ceiling? How many cobwebs in the corners? Turn your head and count colors. How many do you see? What is the predominant aroma? Wet dog? Old beer? Baby powder? Just observe all this without judging it: relax into taking in your surroundings. If you are seeing a lot of grubbiness, welcome to the crowd. It’s hard to keep up with housekeeping when you are stressed, unless your anxiety expresses itself in obsessive cleaning. If you aren’t seeing much color, what about that? Do you have a favorite color? How about sprinkling it around?
Have you been able to nest in your current space? It doesn’t require a big budget—just attention to what you enjoy. For me color is important; it really lifts me up or drops me down. Also shapes: I love breaking up the boxiness of rooms by adding rounded shapes. Ahh! But scent is apparently our most primal sense—and unless you live above a skunk sanctuary, it is pretty easy to address. Go to a health food store and sniff the essential oils til you find what you really like, and then use that scent in your space. I know, so many of us are sharing space and hemmed in by life events. Yet small moments of pleasure, even joy, may press the reset button within and soothe the anxious system.
*Health Caveat: I trust that you have had a physical: that is part of taking care of your body. Even appalling health care plans generally cover preventive care for free, so take the time to rule-out physical issues. This is especially important because panic attacks can feel like heart attacks. Here is a rule of thumb, affirmed by three doctors: if you can gallop up a flight of stairs, it is unlikely to be a heart event. During an actual heart event, moving the muscles calls for oxygen that the troubled heart is not able to supply. So vigorous movement causes symptoms to immediately amplify, with uber discomfort and difficulty breathing. I can’t tell you how many times I have galloped up a flight of stairs and then patted my chest with relief: Ahh!
