low lows.

a song to set the scene // minuscule by jiří horák

I was having what I call one of my low lows.

Snotty nosed and once again hiding in the closet, knees pulled up to my chest and drowning in waves of sadness, I found myself in this all too familiar place feeling these all too familiar feelings.

I was lost, alone, and scared.

Of what?

I didn’t know.

But my body, and the terrified little girl inside, was afraid of something out there.

I don’t know how to help you anymore.

I don’t understand why you’re feeling this way.

What would help you right now?

Your life is so brilliant and beautiful, what could you possibly have to be sad about?

Why. Why? Why are you feeling this way?

Unable to process what brought me to this fetal position in the first place, I was at a loss for words.

How could I possibly explain to others what was wrong if I couldn’t even understand it myself?

On top of feeling the way I was feeling, I then had the corrupt chorus of self-hatred slither its way inside of me.

You’re a dissapointment, a failure.

You have a problem, and it needs fixing.

It’s always your fault.

It’s always my fault.

Carving cuts into my already too tender heart, I realized that the thing I was now hiding from, the thing that scared me most wasn’t something out there, but something in here.

I was turning into that very beast:

The one who, instead of holding that petrified little girl in the corner, was berating her, blaming her, and lashing out at her because they didn’t get it, didn’t understand.

I was becoming that thing which scared me most: the thing that believed she needed fixed, her emotions managed, her disregulation understood.

Of course I couldn’t see that in the moment.

All I saw, all I felt was anxious, depressed, and deep in the depths of my low lows: weeping, sleeping, and wishing the day would wash away and I would float down an ocean of tears like Alice.

I knew something then though: this soft little girl craved something.

To be held, loved, appreciated, or comforted.

Because she was terrified… of herself.

Stuck in fear, I stayed cocooned in bed for the rest of the day, emotionally exhausted and physically spent.

I didn’t know what could possibly help.

Little did I know, that it was good ole fashioned play that would resonate with that trembling traumatized young part of me.

My gem, lost as to how to help me, tried what would become the most bizarre, and yet somehow also the most memorable thing to bring me back home.

Crawling on top of me, he announced, to no one in particular:

“Today, I am going to show you how to prepare an Elan.”

Starting from my toes, and working his way up my body, he spoke in the most ridiculous accent and described the “most tender” parts of “an Elan.”

Julienning here, chopping there, and massaging this part here, I couldn’t help but sneak a smile.

Of course, as soon as he saw me try to hide my contagious grin, the “Chef’s preparation” became even more outrageous.

It was nothing I expected, yet everything I never knew I needed.

Discarding arms (to be used in a stock pot), and massaging bellies (the tastiest part of an Elan), it was turning into the best medicine.

Unbeknownst to me, my gem was activating what’s called the brain’s “play circuit.”

His actions were triggering a part of my brain that motivated me to engage in the playfulness surrounding me.

I mean, it’s no surprise that play does wonders on the brain.

Known to reduce stress, release endorphins, and improve brain functionality, playing isn’t just for kids though: it’s integral in the health and well-being of clearly adults too.

I’ll never know what prompted my gem to do what he did (and I don’t think he knows either) but I learned something invaluable that day: sometimes all a scared little girl needs is a little comfort, a little care, and apparently, a whole lot of play.