I have a bench overlooking the Hudson River, just a stone’s throw from my apartment in New York City.
It’s nothing particularly special, just a bench beside the water. But over the years, it’s become somewhere I go when life feels a little too much. Sometimes I sit there for ten minutes, other times an hour, usually with my AirPods in listening to music while watching the boats passing along the Hudson.
There’s something about being beside water that I’ve always found calming.
When Your Mind Won’t Switch Off
Living with Complex PTSD means my mind is constantly on. I’ve written before about how hypervigilance can make it difficult to switch off, even when there’s no obvious danger. There’s a part of my brain that seems determined to find something to worry about, regardless of how well things are going in my life. I can spend hours thinking about a conversation that lasted five minutes, wondering whether I said the wrong thing or completely misread someone’s intentions. It’s exhausting, particularly when I know there’s nothing I actually need to worry about.
One of the things I’ve learned about CPTSD is that your nervous system doesn’t necessarily recognize when you’re safe. You can be sitting at home with absolutely nothing wrong, yet your body behaves as though something terrible is about to happen. The frustrating part is that you can be perfectly aware of what’s happening and still struggle to stop it.
Learning That Not Everything Needs Fixing
For years, I thought the answer was to understand everything I was feeling. If I could work out why I was overwhelmed, perhaps I could make it go away. But I’ve come to realize that sometimes trying to understand every thought only gives me more to think about.
Which brings me back to my bench.
I don’t go there expecting some profound revelation. I just sit with my music playing and watch the Hudson. There’s something reassuring about looking out across the water and realizing that the world is carrying on regardless of whatever is happening inside my head.
I’ve also found myself writing entire articles while sitting there. I’ll arrive with absolutely no intention of writing anything, and before I know it, I’ve pulled out my phone and started writing. It’s strange how I can spend hours at home trying to find the right words, only for them to come naturally when I’m sitting beside the river. Perhaps it’s because I’m not trying so hard.
Finding Peace in the Smallest Things
I think one of the hardest things about living with trauma is learning that you don’t always have to respond to what your mind is telling you. When you’ve spent years anticipating danger, it’s difficult to accept that an uncomfortable feeling doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong.
As I’ve got older, I’m learning that feeling overwhelmed doesn’t always require an immediate solution. Sometimes I need to give myself permission to have a difficult day without turning it into another problem I need to fix, although that’s still easier said than done.
I think we underestimate how important it is to have somewhere we can go where nothing is expected of us. Somewhere we can sit for a while without feeling guilty about how we’re spending our time.
For me, that’s a bench overlooking the Hudson. It hasn’t cured my CPTSD, and I certainly don’t come home with all the answers. But I usually feel a little better than I did when I left, and sometimes that’s all I need.
I’m learning that not every difficult feeling needs to be understood or fixed. Sometimes it’s enough to find somewhere that allows me to sit with it for a while.