Part 1: HELL

I would like to share what my big travels have FELT like for me in 3 parts. This is how I made sense of what has happened to me, this is my understanding right now.

As sad of a start as it is, the first chapter of my travels took place in HELL. I don’t really mean figuratively, for about 1,5 months, I was stuck in hell.

Let’s start at the very beginning

Moving out of Frankfurt was not easy neither emotionally nor physically. I did not exactly leave enough time for myself to process that, I rather jumped straight to the final preparations for my big trip. During this time, I was stuck in ‘go go go’ and ‘do do do’, not able to truly rest at all.

I’ve arrived to Thailand last November exhausted. I did feel quite a bit of relief when I have finally made it to the other side of the world, but the anxiety returned quickly afterwards. When I first left Thailand, I’ve arrived to the rainy season - both literally and emotionally. Once I was alone, everything I was not capable of feeling through before came through. Bodily illness, depression, chronic pain becoming unbearable, very difficult emotions surfacing. The reason I left Thailand and went to Malaysia, then Indonesia was to meet up with a friend of mine. In the end, we only got to spend one day together, which gave me a bit of relief again and at the same time left me even sadder, feeling completely alone and isolated with my hardship. I felt that I could not stay there, in the rain. Deciding where to travel next was a huge challenge though. I was so incredibly anxious, so stuck in a ‘flight’ mode that making even the smallest decisions was extremely hard. It took me enormous effort to decide where and what to eat, what to bring with myself when I go out or even whether to cross the road or not while walking.

In hindsight, I understand that my nervous system got completely destabilised when I left behind all external structures that held me beforehand - my job, my apartment, my place of living and an entire life I had built in my dear Frankfurt, as well as all friends and family I could physically rely on. Suddenly, all these structures were either abandoned or simply left behind on one side of the world, while I found myself on the opposite side in completely new environments, countries, climates with very little preparation of what I would actually do, all by myself. Wisdom usually comes in hindsight - indeed, thinking back, no fucking surprise my nervous system was panicking like crazy.

I ended up travelling to Australia next and tried slow travelling, hoping that my nervous system would feel more comfortable with that. It was not enough, my state has just gotten worse and worse. It has gotten to the point that I was not able to be present in my physical reality, I was disassociating about 85% of the time, my body was in constant pain and my mood was incredibly low.

That is when, as much as my mind wanted to continue ‘go-go-go’ and see the world, I made the hard decision to STOP. I paused travelling altogether, and from that point on, my sole focus has become to HELP HEAL MY NERVOUS SYSTEM.

So,

how did it feel to be in hell?

I know for a fact that those who have been through this state will understand my choice of word to describe it as hell. The experience of the world shrinks to the sheer panic one feels. Everything feels scary, everyone feels potentially dangerous, anxiety is ever-present and there’s very little capacity left to think logically about anything. The mind is stuck in scanning for danger, while a part of it is fighting the panic, arguing with itself with logical arguments. ‘We are not actually in danger’, and ‘we should be enjoying our freedom’ do not make any difference to a nervous system in panic. Neverending racing chaos inside the head. So much confusion, question marks and reasons to worry or pressure myself everywhere I look. As much as my mind wanted to ‘enjoy my travels’ so much, when my entire system had to use up all available energy to SURVIVE, there was simply no room left to enjoy. At times, it felt impossible to go out of my room (my only safe space) and be around any other human being. Sometimes, I’ve only made it to a food source when I was very close to fainting. I’ve had multiple severe panic attacks.

It was horrible. I felt so lost, so isolated, so helpless.

I was not at the bottom of the sea 100% of the time, but my baseline emotional level was frighteningly close to it. Even when my wave went up from the baseline, it was still, oh, so incredibly low.

Being stuck in this state for 1,5 months is incredibly challenging psychologically. I definitely experienced derealisation a bunch of times, I felt that I completely lost touch with who I actually was. One day after an important shift (see Part 2 of the story) I saw my own smile in the mirror. I thought to myself ‘Wow, I have not seen you in such a long time’. Those who know me, even a little, know that smiling is a lifeforce for me. Keeping up a spirit of positivity is one of the deepest layers that sustain me. I am heartbroken even now when I think back to this - I got to a point when I started loosing hope. No smiles. No hope for it to get better. Just being stuck in hell, day after day, not knowing what even is real at that point.

What’s interesting is that this hellish state of being was actually not at all unfamiliar to me. I have been stuck there before, that’s probably my luck because this way, even when it felt unbearingly difficult, I could somehow hold myself. I have discovered not super long ago that I’ve had a very traumatic childhood which naturally spilt over into my adult life as a bunch of difficulty. I had to learn (and will continue to learn all my life) how to cope with this existence, how to heal the gigantic fragmentation of the self trauma has caused. Being in hell is by definition incredibly isolating, and while I have felt in hell before, I don’t think I have ever felt this alone. I don’t think I have ever been this alone before in my life.

That’s what hell feels like.

Gratitude from a more stable place

Peaking out of the dark chaos, there were moments when I got to remind myself that I can trust myself and hold myself no matter what. That it is going to end once, even if I don’t know when. I am so incredibly grateful for these moments. These were the breaths of fresh air that kept me alive while I was drowning in an aggresively stormy ocean.

I also feel the need to emphasize that all of this has happened to me because it has had to happen. This was the way life taught me how to recognise so much quicker when I am starting to approach a non-safe nervous system state - and change directions when I do. This might sound like such an obvious thing for someone with a spacious and stable nervous system. But for someone who’s default state is living in anxiety, even noticing it tends to be difficult. It’s easy to forget about any background noise when it is ever present in one’s life.

Hell ended as a result of a blissful shift, which I will write about in Part 2. That’s when I’ve started to very intentionally heal the damage. It was long and difficult. Now, my nervous system feels a lot more stable. While I still feel quite fragile, I have more and more moments, hours, sometimes days when I do not feel anxious anymore. It also gives me incredible confidence that I trust I can notice and navigate when I drift into more unstable states. The journey is far from over, but the agressive waves have noticeably calmed down.