I’m all for trying new things, and a few years ago I began looking into the Kadampa Meditation Center here in New York. I actually love the idea of it. Sit quietly, breathe deeply, reach enlightenment, and find your Zen. Who wouldn’t want that?
However, I just didn’t realize how difficult it would be for me.
As you know by now, I live with CPTSD, which means my inner world is less Zen garden and more chaotic kitchen where someone leaves the faucet running and the water has started overflowing, and no one can find the damn shut-off valve. So, when I decided to give meditation a try, I approached it with optimism and a mop.
I figured, how hard can it be? You sit, breathe, and let your thoughts go like leaves floating down a stream. Bliss, right?
Not quite.
Minute 0:00 – The Setup
I light a candle. Find a comfy spot, and cue up one of those “soothing voice meets rainforest” audio tracks. A calm British woman tells me to “gently close my eyes.” I do so, and instantly I start remembering that one work email and how I should have written it better.
Minute 0:30 – The Brain Notices
My brain, previously distracted by breakfast and that email, realizes I’m trying to relax. And of course, It panics.
Brain: “Relax? We don’t do that. Who do you think you are, Thich Nhat Hanh?”
Cue the floodgates. I remember that one awkward conversation from 2012. Also, I can’t remember if I put the trash out. And is that a heart palpitation or just emotional baggage?
Minute 2:00 – Chaos Ensues
The calm voice says, “Let your thoughts drift away like clouds.”
Brain: “Clouds? Really? You think I can walk on those without falling through?”
At this point, my brain formally files for divorce from my body. Cites “irreconcilable differences” and “excessive silence.” Threatens to go live with Anxiety.
Minute 4:00 – The Compromise
I crack open one eye. There’s a bug flying around. I try to focus on my breath again, but my inner monologue is giving a TED Talk about every bad decision I’ve made since puberty.
I attempt to return to my “anchor,” the breath, but it feels more like I’m clinging to a pool noodle in the middle of the ocean while my brain heckles me to swim faster because there is a shark nearby.
Minute 7:00 – Acceptance
I finally give up and just sit there, letting my thoughts run wild. I stop fighting. And then, weirdly, something shifts.
For about 10 seconds, I feel still. Present. Safe-ish. It’s not enlightenment, but it’s not a panic attack either.
Victory.
The Takeaway
Meditation with CPTSD isn’t easy. It’s not the Instagrammable version where you’re sitting on a cushion and all your worries vanish. In fact, it’s more like inviting your inner demons to a tea party and asking them to use coasters. You know they won’t. But you ask anyway.
That’s what mindfulness can feel like with trauma in the room. It’s awkward and gritty.
Sometimes, it’s seven long minutes of sitting still while your nervous system acts like it’s trapped in a burning building. Other times, it’s simply resisting the urge to bolt out the door.
Healing is weird like that. It’s not about perfection. It’s about practice.
Trying is the real win. That’s why finding different things that work matters. Some days it’s breathwork. Some days it’s staring at a wall, and some days it’s simply walking slowly through your neighborhood with music in your ears because that’s where you find your peace.
For me? Meditation, wasn’t it. But don’t worry, wait till I write about that one time I attempted yoga…