I spent last weekend in Knoxville with Emily’s parents. On Saturday, her mom was going to the monthly meeting of the bereaved mother’s group she found, and I tagged along. They had a guest speaker, a social worker sharing tips for “surviving the holidays.” A lot of it was insights into stress and anxiety management, which I think will be incredibly helpful this year when I’m far more aware of everything instead of still being in shock.

The final activity the social worker did was a guided meditation involving “a calm place” for each participant. I’m very familiar with how guided meditations work and have done one similar to this countless times since my time in DBT. And yet, on Saturday, it took me a while to settle into the meditation because I just kept thinking about Emily.

A Spiral Staircase

One of the first guided meditations our former DBT therapist introduced us to was one about “a spiral staircase inside of you.” It’s a fairly basic guided meditation all things considered (this version is pretty much the same script the therapist used). I didn’t mind it, and my staircase was never the same twice.

Yet, because Emily often takes things very literally, she hated this one. She got hung up on the staircase being “inside of you” and something about the words the therapist used made her envision a staircase in her chest, leading to her (transplanted) heart.

She told me all about it once, and it was quite hilarious. Basically, she couldn’t get past it being wet, her heart beating, and anything else you can imagine if you pictured a staircase basically where your lungs are.

So, because I loved to tease her, I would frequently use that as a sarcastic solution to any problem. When she was anxious, I’d sometimes say, “We can do the spiral staircase mindfulness exercise?” and she’d laughingly yell at me. When she needed ideas for group activities during her time at Park Center, I’d suggest that meditation and she’d smack me. It was fun.

Conveyor Belt of Thoughts

I remember another guided meditation Emily wasn’t fond of. This one, which our therapist referred to as the “conveyor belt of thoughts,” required you to put each thought that crossed your mind into a box and label it. So, if you started thinking about how hungry you were during the exercise, you’d throw that thought into a box labeled something like “Hunger Cues” or “Physical Needs” and send it down the conveyor belt (meaning you let it go and stopped thinking about it).

I think Emily had so many random thoughts in her head at any given time that she found this activity to be overwhelming. Or she’d struggle with the labels and letting go of the thoughts and her conveyor belt would stall out or break. My words can never do hearing her talk about it justice, but her explanation always made me laugh.

A Calm Space

During our time in DBT, we also did the calm space guided meditation several times. Each time, the therapist would encourage us to briefly share the space we pictured. And, every time, Emily’s place was the same: Turtle Reef.

Because it was a beach she went to every year, her imagery was very specific. Every time, she’d be out in the water, looking toward the shore, floating in a donut-style tube. She loved the beach, so I wasn’t at all surprised by this, especially once I learned the full extent of her family’s annual vacation there. To her, that was the most peaceful place on Earth, feeling the waves move her back and forth, and seeing her parents nearby on the sandy beach.

Funny enough, her mom focused on the same beach during the guided meditation on Saturday. It’s just a special place for their family.

Meditating With the Kids

Of course, Emily wouldn’t be Emily if she never tried to use therapy tools on the kids. I remember one time in particular that ties into meditation.

We went to Gatlinburg during fall break in 2020. We spent an entire day at Dollywood, from when it opened until close to closing. By the end of that day, everyone was exhausted and most of us were annoyed with each other. The kids were in the back of the car (fighting, of course), so Emily said, “Let’s try a meditation to calm down and be quiet for a bit.”

After the kids asked several questions about meditation, Emily went on the hunt for something online that seemed family friendly. The meditation started out basic enough: “Imagine yourself relaxing in a bubble bath…”

However, the longer this guided meditation went on, the weirder it got. Eventually, the “soothing bathtub” was supposedly floating in the sky and all sorts of other things were happening. I (quietly) accused Emily of picking someone’s hallucinations while high instead of a guided meditation and we laughed. Eventually we all agreed it was too weird and played some calm music for the final bit of the drive back to the hotel, but it made for a funny memory for us all to share.

Finding Calm Within The Chaos

I told Emily many times that I knew she was my person because she could always calm the storm inside me (my emotional intensity). And, as many people can attest to, it’s been clear that I’ve lost that calm in the past year.

But, on Saturday, after I shoved aside all of these thoughts I just shared about Emily and guided meditations, I focused on my breath and tried to let my mind decide what my “calm place” would look like. It took several minutes, my mind jumping from place to place, as if it was trying to recall any place it could ever remember me being “calm.” Spoiler Alert: I’ve lived with an anxiety disorder ever since I can remember, so there isn’t much “calm” in my life.

Eventually, though, it all fell into place.

I was in my bed, laying on my side, facing towards the center of the bed. As I “opened my eyes,” there was Emily laying beside me, smiling. From there, my mind dug in hard. All of my senses were aware of her, and I reached out to stroke her head. I could feel her hair, smell the shampoo she used, watch her smile and look into my soul with those beautiful blue eyes. I smiled, and she said, “Yay, I made babe happy!”

I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to open my eyes when the social worker instructed us to. I wanted to remain there, forever, in bed next to her, just like we would do on days when neither of us had to work and the kids were at their dad’s.

But that isn’t reality anymore. That calm place now only exists in my mind. It can never again occur unless I actively seek it out and will it to be with my mind. And, when my mind is filled with all the noise of life, the complicated emotions of my grief, and the worries of the future, it isn’t easy to center myself and revisit the calm.

It’s like… Well, to steal an example one of my best friends used the other night in a completely different context, it’s like I’m constantly stuck riding the bumper cars. But, really, all I want to do is get out of the car and exit the ride. Will I miss the laughter of others as they crash into me or long for the thrill of chasing someone down to bump into them? Maybe. But, really, I’m just tired. I need to take a break. I need off of the bumper cars. I need to experience the calm only one person can provide.

Thankfully, after the reminder about guided meditation and a late night with my thoughts last night, I think I can find that calm when I need it and when the time is right.