As the crisp autumn air settles in and the days grow shorter, many of us find ourselves captivated by the beauty of fall. But for survivors of ritual abuse, mind control, and trafficking, October often brings a different kind of chill - one that seeps into our bones and whispers of past horrors. This is the reality of what many of us might call "Ugh-tober," a month fraught with triggers and anxiety for those who've endured ritual abuse and mind control (RAMC).
The approach of Halloween, with its ghoulish decorations and eerie atmosphere, can awaken dormant memories, causing our carefully constructed walls to tremble. It's as if the very fabric of our being, intricately woven with threads of past trauma, begins to unravel at the sight of a plastic skeleton, a front yard decorated with R.I.P. decorations or the sound of children's laughter echoing through leaf-strewn streets.
But recently, a beacon of hope emerged in my life - a compassionate soul who understands the weight that October carries for survivors like me. She introduced me to a powerful concept; the art of renaming my struggles.
"Ugh-tober," she explained, is a term that resonates deeply with many in the RAMC survivor community. It encapsulates the dread, the anxiety, and the silent battles we fight as autumn leaves begin to fall and Halloween beckons it's arrival.
Yet, in her wisdom, she didn't stop there. She shared how some survivors have found solace in reclaiming the month, christening it with names that bring them joy. "Cheese-tober" was for many the way they reclaimed the month with something that they would enjoy. I relaxed as I saw her smile and felt the understanding that she had that caressed my aching soul with the profound impact such a simple act can have.
Inspired by her words, I found myself drawn to the idea of "Leaf-tober." As I pondered this new name, memories of autumns past flickered in my mind - not the dark ones that usually haunted me, but glimpses of beauty I had just noticed today in my front yard with the maple tree that I love, their leaves a living canvas of color. In my mind's eye, I saw them again - leaves painted in hues ranging from soft honeydew green to vibrant yellow, warm citrusy orange, and deep crimson red.
This renaming isn't just a superficial change; it's a powerful act of reclaiming what was stolen by people who caused me such harm. By focusing on the aspects of autumn that brings me joy I realized that I was forging new neural pathways in my brain and taking back this month for how I choose to see it.
These new connections don't erase the past, but they offer alternative routes for our thoughts to travel, paths that lead to moments of peace rather than panic.
My friend's encouragement went beyond mere words. She gently challenged me to step outside, to push past the heaviness that mid-October brings, and to capture the beauty of Leaf-tober through my camera lens; maybe even zoom in on a leaf. Each photograph I can take is more than just an image - it's a moment where I choose to engage with the present, to see the beauty that exists alongside my pain bringing purpose into today.
This journey isn't always smooth. Recently, I found myself facing a significant challenge - a solo doctor's appointment in the very room where my husband had been given an injection which led to him experiencing a severe reaction by the time we arrived to our home which ended up with me taking him to the hospital just a couple months before. As I went into the same exam room he had been in, while contemplating the thought of needing to start weekly injections for my type 2 diabetes, I was concerned that perhaps I too would have a reaction to my shot. I sat there in the room alone, waiting for the nurse and the doctor to come in, memories of his distress - the pain, the chills, the hives - flooded my mind. My heart raced, my chest tightened, and my blood pressure skyrocketed despite my attempts at deep breathing and grounding techniques.
In that moment of intense anxiety, I was reminded of the physiological reality of trauma. Our bodies, trained by past experiences to be on high alert, can react powerfully to triggers even when we consciously try to remain calm. I felt like my body was betraying me despite my attempts at calming my body's responses. I felt like I failed until I talked to my friend about the importance of understanding that these reactions - the fight, flight, or freeze responses of our nervous system - are not failures on our part. They're the echoes of our past, reverberating through our present.
I felt empowered after our talk and realized that even in the grip of anxiety I can begin to create change. I knew that if I could just speak the words, "I'm scared" that would have eased some of the panic but at the same time I knew that if I did it could cause the littles to come to the front and I needed them to let me as the adult be able to talk to the doctor about my options and be able to make decisions about my care.
I learned today from this sweet compassionate person that I could not only acknowledge my feelings and my body's reactions without judgment, but I could begin a practice of saying, "Hello anxiety, thank you for letting me know something is triggering me". This creates a small but significant space between ourselves and our reactions. Following this with a gentle reminder of our current safety - "I am going to be okay" - we start to retrain our brains, signaling that the danger has passed.
I'm learning that recovery isn't about erasing the past or never feeling anxious again. It's about creating new experiences, new associations, and new neural pathways that exist alongside the old. It's about finding moments of beauty and peace, even when they're surrounded by challenge and pain.
So this year, as October unfolds, I'm choosing to embrace Leaf-tober. Tomorrow, I'm stepping outside, phone camera in hand, ready to capture the vibrant hues of autumn. With each photo, each deep breath of crisp air, I'm going to document the changing seasons - but that I'm changing too, one small intentional moment at a time.
To my fellow survivors of ritual abuse, mind control, and trafficking: our journeys are unique, but we're not alone. As we navigate this challenging season, may we find our own ways to transform Ugh-tober into something beautiful or at least less painful. Whether it's through photography, art, nature walks, or simply acknowledging our strength, we have the power to reframe our experiences and create new glimpses of hope and healing.
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