Am I weird? Probably! I Am a Stimmer

 

 

I gotta share something with you:

As I age, and, now, living where all I have to do is take care of myself:  physically, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually I am given time to reflect, to discover, to dream up adventures for myself, and to become more aware of my weirdness’s that have not extinguished as I age.

I am multi-talented so, when I am working on one, other talents have to wait.  Sometimes it makes me frenetic and disjointed, if I let it. When I feel like I am progressing in one area, it leave the other areas vulnerable to me just putting them away and finding them, later…much later... and I either redo it or continue on it.   Every weakness I have seems opposite to the strengths I have.  I am an eccentric soul but, some find me endearing.  I embrace these weird traits as just part of my personality.  As my friend Bonnie says, “I think you are an alien”, when something weird happens to me.  If you spend much time around me, I show you bits of my true nature; a slight glimpse:

As we become more self-aware, and aging gives you the time and space, we are confronted with whole we are, deeply, sacredly, aware, of our personal nuances.  We are uniquely individuals, plowing our way through life.  We have been busy with outward lives.  We have struggled through our teens, and some of us have drug parts of that teenage-personality into our adulthood.  Our ‘weirdness’ is not a negative.  We have done a massive job surviving to our ‘agedness’.   In fact, most of us would see our little weirdness’s as things we would have hidden, but were expressed, unconsciously nonetheless.  Our weirdness’s help us be truly ourselves, in fact, they make us original; set apart, sometimes through tyranny, sometimes simply ways of soothing ourselves. 

We know that Japanese sculptures will actually break a piece of perfect pottery and then replace the broken parts, adding gold to the fracture(s) to highlight the imperfection.  That is what we should do, we should accept the beauty of our weirdness’s. 

I have a few I can think of, or that I am aware of:  I have caught myself whistling under my breath during quiet times.  I wake up and there is music in my head and I realize, as I am sitting out in the morning sun, for instance, that I am whistling low, beneath my breath.  I have tried to be conscious of it and try to name the song I have been unconsciously whistling.  Is it for comfort? I try to sort out what makes me whistle so.   I am a “stimmer”.  I bounce my knees.  I tap my fingernails on surfaces.  I used to love biting the skin on the back of my hand – which may be an expression of my infancy.  My adoptive mother said I had sucked a red bump on the back of my hand from sucking on it.  They put socks on my hands.  As well, I bit my fingernails through childhood.  Perhaps, even smoking is an expression of that infantile reaction to abandonment, rejection, lack of nurturing until she got me.  And, yes, the whistling. 

Stimming is a self-=regulating behavior, natural, that a person uses to regulate emotions, to manage sensory input, and can be associated to ADHD or even autism.  Stimming is a way to deal with our anxiousness or stress.  It gives a sense of comfort and control. It seems to help with frustration.  (When I am frustrated, anxious, angry, I choose to walk in circles, talk myself down. and sort myself out.)   These kinds of weirdness helps us deal with thoughts, or life, in general, and soothes us with situations that overload us.    Stimming releases endorphins that help us focus, is pleasurable, and is a replacement for being able to give words to what is stimulating us. (When I was a young wife, I used to catch myself pinching at my throat rather than speak the words that needed to be spoken, in fear of the reaction of another.)  All of this is about adapting, personally, to outside, and inside, forces. 

Have people ever pointed out an odd trait you have?  Have you become self-aware enough to find those odd behaviors that it seems only you have? Why do you think you do them?  Do you try to hide them because you have thought only you do such?  Did you place negative connotations to “weirdness”?

Let us celebrate those personal things we do as what makes us real, gives us comfort, allows us to deal with life. 

©Carol Desjarlais 7.12.25

 

 

My Word of the Year Was COURAGE

 

 

I gotta share something with you:

I chose the word COURAGE as the word of the year.  Little did I know how much it was going to take.  Nor did I have an inkling in what ways I would need courage.

After ten years, life became more difficult.  I was in a space where I was not able to take care of myself because life required of me to take care of someone else. My health issues were ramping up.  It had always been there, but I have been a woman of patience, believe it or not.  I tend to always take care of others before myself.  I was starting to have more and more health issues.  I had to take care of myself as best I could, but the issues were gaining ground and I needed to be at my daughter’s for support and care as I transitioned and have been going through weekly appointments, tests, and more appointments and more tests.  The dilation of my heart was, I figure, the hardest one.  I was so proud of myself that I could drive up to Calgary, find where I was staying, and find the heart clinic by myself.  Then I was able to drive the 8-hour trip to Edmonton, to my son’s, at the army base.  I love driving but I am not a big city driver, but I aced it.  I have been able to come back down through the two big cities.  It was huge.  I am on my 78^th circle around the sun.  It all took courage.  But huger courage was need in February. 

I was driving home after a visit in a nearby town and I, suddenly had to pull over because I had a huge explosion in my chest.  I breathed through it and was finally able t drive home.  It was becoming more and more painful.  Instead of driving into our driveway, I drove to a friend’s…our angel neighbor.  I found her in her shop.  I told her I thought I might need to go to emerg.  As she drove, she kept talking to me and I was barely able to answer her.  I never even h4cked in before they rushed me in and hooked me up to everything.  The pain would not subside.  After a few hours of several pain meds, they were able to diagnose what it was:  Pericarditis.  I was so grateful for them.  They had specific drugs for that and I gained relief.  I got to go home and continue on the meds and bedrest.  During tat time, I felt so alone, worried, and came to the conclusion, with my daughter’s help, that I needed to come home.  Then came one of the most courageous things I have had required of me.  I slowly began to pack.  It took me two months for me to tell my partner what I was doing.  I was going home because I was really not doing good and I needed to be near my doctor and my family who could help care for me.  The boxes piled up and we had a yard sale, all the while I was gathering up the courage to tell him.  Two weeks before the end pf April, I sat him down and told him.  Every day for two weeks, I had to repat the whole painful thing.  We cried.  Next day, I had to tell him again.  And the next…and the next.  My daughter and her partner came and stayed overnight loading up a trailer.  The morning we were leaving, he asked, “What’s going on?”  He could not remember.  I had to retell it all again.  Walking away was heartbreaking for all of us.  I felt so much guilt but upon arriving at my daughter’s, a sense of relief.  Every day I hone in the morning and in the evening.  He has many crises but I have him lean on this middle daughter.  He is still alone and not really managing.  I know she is not caring for him.  He continues to say how he needs me there to help him remember things.  I continue to tell him of all my appointments and say I will be back.  I cannot go through the gruesome story any more.  I do have things to collect here, so I will be going back.  That, too, is going to take courage.  It will be the finality.

But my sons are visiting often, I putter around the house, I go through more boxes of art supplies (omg).  I eagerly await my daughter and granddaughter each evening.  They have my Grandson, Teo, 17, coming to stay with me as my daughter and her partner and PJ go to Ghana.  I won’t be alone here if my episodes get worse (they are, in fact, more often and last longer).

Ok, Episodes:

About two years ago, I began having these episodes where I would go down and be like paralyzed from the waist down and it would last about ten minutes before I could get myself up or have help to get up if anyone was around.  They were random.  I could not tell when one was coming other than a numbness that came.  Most times I would be outside, then sometimes they were inside.  Only a couple of times, my partner was there to help me up. Most times, I would be outside and sprawled in the rain or snow.  I had one when I had gone to the vehicle to get something but I never made it back and I dented the side of the house in my fall. Again, they were random.  

When I had pericarditis, I started having full body episodes without falling down.  It would start like a foot going to sleep that would go up thew right side of my body.  I had told the dr, and he said to breathe through it.  He began sending me to all kinds of lung and heart specialists and tests.  Now, they are coming more frequently and lasting longer.  It is not really a pain.  It is more a burning heat as it fills my chest.  Then the sweats and the weakness.  I am awaiting results I will get on Monday.  I had five episodes yesterday and two during the night that wake me up.  They are getting worse, whatever they are.  I breathe through it all.  I keep track but I do not bother anyone else about them.

 I was concerned yesterday as I was weak and felt “off”.  I did tell ShirRae that I had an off day.  Today, I have had two so far.  I try not to worry.  Courage, yes, Courage.   I will let you know how it goes.

©Carol Desjarlais 10/07/25

 

“Oh, I Remember It Well”. Or Do I? Eroded Memories

 

 

Just because I think I can remember things well, it does not mean it was totally true.  Think of it.  You see, MY perspective and other’s perspectives will differ.  Maybe not in huge degrees, but, maybe slight deviations to an incident.  For one, I am aging and memory changes.  Two, other people’s recall will differ according to their perspective of an event.  Three, we change our attitude towards things and this may color the memory.  We have to NOT rely on our memory of something.  Our attitude towards certain events may change and thus that memory can change to fit that change in us. 

 

Our brain tries to link a memory to the senses that are included:  A smell, a taste, a feeling, a sound, peripheral surroundings.  They say a dream, that is a message, and contains a truth for us, is one that is complete sensory.  Memories are influenced by forgetting, parts being dumped as unnecessary residual to that memory.  Those professionals that do hypnosis to retrieve memory can influence that memory.  I had an incredible experience with the professional that worked with me to train me to work with Multiple Personality clients I had.  I had some later in life flashes , or almost memories, of some trauma.  The flash backs came stronger and stronger.  I knew what the trauma was, but I had not had full body memory of it.  She put me under light hypnosis to retrieve the rest of the information.  All I knew was that some lace curtains in a rental we rented had stoked the flash backs.  She was able to help me by helping me see that baby and gathering her up to comfort her.  That baby had no words to express the trauma.  I was able to gather her up and rock her.  When she brought me out of the hypnosis, she had urged me to remember the incident and be able to ut words to it.  It was the most comforting, awesome, experience.  Knowing what had actually happened...including the WHO, gave me answers I had been questioning about why I reacted to certain things that had not made sense before.  It was as if a mountain had been taken off my shoulders/soul.  But I have heard of false memories being implanted.  I know my memory of this incident was real because all the sense returned and there was visual evidence for the reason of the flashbacks.  The curtains in a moonlit bedroom.  It led me to deo deeper and deeper self-analysis and healing and change in me.  Some memories are incomplete.  Some are not as vivid as time passes.

But I can also tell you, that I saw an airplane crash and there was blood on the highway.  I can tell you that, many times, I had to hide from an enemy, and ones I knew, and loved, and trusted, always brought them to where I was.  Complete memories with sound, smell, feeling, whole body memories.  Neither were true.  The first came from a terrible reaction to some medication.  The enemy experiences came as whole-sensory nightmares. ( I might add, that the enemy nightmare memories did come to the forefront many times in my life as I was betrayed by those I loved and trusted.  A soul-lesson brought through dreams.)

 

Our memory of things are not exact and thinking they are sways you from your truths.  We do not want to disappoint people, we do not want to be negative, we start coloring relating an incident for these reasons, as well.  When we talk with others who were involved in an incident, they may color part of your memory afterward.  They may even have us question your memory.  While it is good to investigate, internally, a memory, and start to question all your memories, remember your truth. After listening to others about an incident, their versions may dilute yours.    In a group, talking about an incident can cause shared forgetting so that you all change each others memory.   

 

Even the act of personal remembering, we seem, to me, to open that memory up to editing because we are putting our Present moment and understanding into that memory.  It is said that, if we deny a memory, it begins to fade more and more.  We may still have that memory tucked in our place of remembering, but it is fragile.  And we may stop trusting our memories. 

 

Stay true to your own truths.  Make sure you have not been influenced so that your truth becomes watered down or have false elements to it.  If they are true to you, then back up your truths.  As we age, our memories seem to resurface more often.  I believe there are some memories NOT to share.  Some memories are so very precious that we do not want them tainted.   

 

©Carol Desjarlais 02.01.25