Averyl.com

I started this blog, being newly retired, so that I could finally write about living with PTSD since I was a child, and how I have cultivated healing and comfort for myself without the use of recreational or prescription medications. I wasn’t sure if I’d have the courage to begin this new chapter in my writing career, but this morning helped me finally take the first deep dive into sharing a part of me that I mostly hide from the world.

It’s a secret to no one who knows me that I’m a fierce advocate for wildlife and nature. Not only are they the underdogs but they are also a major source of my healing and coping.

Just this past spring I was a lead voice with my town to place “ducks crossing” signs in a high crash area; I brought to the public’s attention that illegal clearcutting has been taking place, and as a result I have helped facilitate and shape a new ordinance, still in progress, to help reduce that from happening; I have begun a conversation with my state rep to update the fines for illegal clearcutting to keep them in line with inflation; and finally I made a large donation of vintage goodies to a local wildlife rehab’s fundraising auction.

Those are just a few examples that are most recent. I’m sharing them here to illustrate that while I’m not afraid to speak out for those without a voice, I do not do the same for myself, in particular in relation to my PTSD. I carry shame that I know objectively isn’t deserved, since I don’t like to be perceived as weak. There have been times I took a chance and opened up about it but was derided. I live with hypervigilance and am somewhat good at masking it.

The reality is that I do not function well in large crowds, and so I have spent a lot of my life avoiding them. There’s a reason why I haven’t gone back to visit NYC in over a decade. I will not go to a “general admission” concert. I have missed out on many events. It’s a big reason why I’m an “early bird” so that I can venture out while the world is still waking up. I actually had agoraphobia for many years so rarely left my house.

So this morning my husband and I headed to the Maine Audubon Native Plant Sale very early…we arrived at 8:00 a.m. knowing the sale started at 9:00. There are thousands of people who go, it’s very popular. We went three years ago, arrived early, but it was pouring which seemed to slow it down a bit in the beginning, and people were waiting inside. We were first standing by the glass doors looking out. It wasn’t too crowded. It felt manageable to me that time.

This morning there was no rain, and I saw on Facebook that over five thousand people had responded to the event! When we went inside the building, I was approached by a volunteer named Louis. I was thrown off when I saw that people would be waiting outside and I was envisioning maybe having to leave. Louis asked if I was a volunteer? I smiled and said no, just early because I don’t do well with crowds. My husband, who had been browsing in the gift shop, wasn’t aware of this conversation.

“There are three plants I’m looking for: Butterfly Weed, Blue Lobelia and Red Cardinal Flower. Do you know where I can find them? That way I can make a beeline for them and leave quickly.”

Louis let me know to look under the white tent. I thanked him. I quickly mentioned I have PTSD so his letting me know really helps.

People began “lining” up around and behind us, I have learned to cope by being in front so that I have that space. Then I can turn and keep watch. But it was a wide area, and the uncontrolled crowd would be forming all around. I was about to go into hypervigilance overdrive which I can only describe as that I am nervously looking around, my heart rate increases, and I’m planning how I will break away if I need to. I know it probably sounds crazy if you don’t live with PTSD, but when you survived multiple attacks and assaults in NYC as a child, it seems crazy not to be on guard. But what makes it PTSD is that it’s not a choice for me, but an involuntary reaction to a trigger,

Louis returned and waved me over. My husband didn’t know what was happening. “You can come on in,” he said,

I was shocked. I hadn’t asked him to let us in early. If this has been a yard sale, yes I would have so I could get first dibs, but not this main Maine event! I immediately began to tear up which frankly felt embarrassing. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting what felt like unsolicited radical kindness. My husband and I quickly grabbed the plants we wanted to purchase, and Louis then brought us to a nice open area away from the growing crowd.

“You can wait here, there’s lots of open space, and when the registers open at nine you can be first to pay.”

I was thanking him and this time my eyes were watering up so much that I needed to steal my husband’s hanky (we’re old school) just because this was not at all what hypervigilance anticipates: unreasonable kindness. I just didn’t see it coming.

Then Andrew, the Native Plants Program Manager, came around and told us we could go pay right then. Ok, so then I was really crying, thanking all of them repeatedly. I have never experienced anything like this before.

When my husband came out wheeling the plants on a cart, a woman (a shopper, not a volunteer) came up to me and said: “I thought the sale starts at 9:00.”

I wiped my nose. “It does, but they were kind enough to make a reasonable accommodation.”

“Reasonable accommodation! What’s THAT?!”

In that moment I didn’t quite know what to say. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but I also wanted to plainly state the truth about my invisible wound.

“I have PTSD and don’t do well with crowds.”

She snickered at me and kept walking.

Just then Andrew met up with us and walked us to my husband’s car. I told him how our beloved groundhog leaves these native plants alone, and how we love and welcome her. Andrew said they have lots of groundhogs including babies. He assured me that they are welcome at their Center.

On the way out, Louis was at the entrance directing traffic. I rolled down my window to thank him again.