Use relaxation strategies pre-bedtime to decrease the fear and anxiety associated with the “anticipation” of nightmares/inability to sleep.
If awoken by a nightmare:
Turn on a light and move to a different part of the room or bed
Get out of bed if you can’t fall back asleep and read, or do some other form of self-soothing or relaxing activity.
Get an ice pack or ice water and use for at least ten minutes to decrease arousal level that interferes with getting back to sleep (TIP).
Use grounding materials to be mindful (i.e., cat purring, worry rock)
Imagery Re-Scripting And Rehearsal:
Write down a new dream that you would like to have, and then practice the new dream (making it as dreamlike as possible) twice a day for 3 minutes. Any intrusive/negative images should be stopped immediately – not rehearsed. After a couple of weeks, the nightmares will dramatically decrease in frequency.
Breathing Exercise:
Breathe in, saying to yourself “Mindfully breathing…”
Breathe out, saying, “Letting go of distressing images…”
Repeat this for 10 minutes or more, especially when going to sleep.
Bedtime Script:
Say to yourself: I may awaken in the night feeling ____ (name of anticipated feeling, usually fear), and will be sensing in my body ____ (describe 3 or more bodily sensations) because I will be remembering ____ (‘title’ of trauma – no details). At the same time, I will look around, where I am now ____ (current location) in ___ (current year, date), and I will see ____ (describe some of the things that are present in current location around bed and room), so I will know ____ (‘title’ of trauma) is not happening now/anymore.
Grounding:
When awakened from a nightmare, turn on the light and:
Name 5 things you see, 5 things you hear, 5 things you feel
Name 4 things you see, 4 things you hear, 4 things you feel
Name 3 things you see, 3 things you hear, 3 things you feel
Name 2 things you see, 2 things you hear, 2 things you feel
Name 1 thing you see, 1 thing you hear, 1 thing you feel
Repeat as many times as you’d like
Disclaimer: BB does not own the above material. It was taken from Alyssa’s personal DBT notes. The author is unknown. No copyright infringement intended.
Also if you have a dog or other trainable animal you can teach them some tricks that would help. (Teaching a dog service dog tasks as tricks does NOT make them a service dog).
For nightmares the two that come to mind are pressure therapy – basically teaching them to lay on you. My cat is trained to lay on my chest with her forehead against my chin.
And clearing a room or house. (There are lots of ways to train this and I find video easier but basically you train them to search every corner and bark if they find someone. You can make this into a fun game of hide and seek during the day.)
Sara Jacobsen, 19, grew up eating family dinners beneath a stunning Native American robe.
Not
that she gave it much thought. Until, that is, her senior year of high
school, when she saw a picture of a strikingly similar robe in an art
history class.
The teacher told the class about how the robe was
used in spiritual ceremonies, Sara Jacobsen said. “I started to wonder
why we have it in our house when we’re not Native American.”
She said she asked her dad a few questions about this robe. Her dad, Bruce Jacobsen, called that an understatement.
“I
felt like I was on the wrong side of a protest rally, with terms like
‘cultural appropriation’ and ‘sacred ceremonial robes’ and ‘completely
inappropriate,’ and terms like that,” he said.
“I got defensive
at first, of course,” he said. “I was like, ‘C’mon, Sara! This is more
of the political stuff you all say these days.’”
But Sara didn’t
back down. “I feel like in our country there are so many things that
white people have taken that are not theirs, and I didn’t want to
continue that pattern in our family,” she said.
The robe had been
a centerpiece in the Jacobsen home. Bruce Jacobsen bought it from a
gallery in Pioneer Square in 1986, when he first moved to Seattle. He
had wanted to find a piece of Native art to express his appreciation of
the region.
The Chilkat robe that hung over the Jacobsen dining room table for years. Credit Courtesy of the Jacobsens
“I just thought it was so beautiful, and it was like nothing I had seen before,” Jacobsen said.
The
robe was a Chilkat robe, or blanket, as it’s also known. They are woven
by the Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian peoples of Alaska and British
Columbia and are traditionally made from mountain goat wool. The tribal
or clan origin of this particular 6-foot-long piece was unclear, but it
dated back to around 1900 and was beautifully preserved down to its long
fringe.
“It’s a completely symmetric pattern of geometric
shapes, and also shapes that come from the culture,” like birds,
Jacobsen said. “And then it’s just perfectly made — you can see no seams
in it at all.”
Jacobsen hung the robe on his dining room wall.
After
more needling from Sara, Jacobsen decided to investigate her claims. He
emailed experts at the Burke Museum, which has a huge collection of
Native American art and artifacts.
“I got this eloquent email
back that said, ‘We’re not gonna tell you what to go do,’ but then they
confirmed what Sara said: It was an important ceremonial piece, that it
was usually owned by an entire clan, that it would be passed down
generation to generation, and that it had a ton of cultural significance
to them.“
Jacobsen
says he was a bit disappointed to learn that his daughter was right
about his beloved Chilkat robe. But he and his wife Gretchen now no
longer thought of the robe as theirs. Bruce Jacobsen asked the curators
at the Burke Museum for suggestions of institutions that would do the
Chilkat robe justice. They told him about the Sealaska Heritage
Institute in Juneau.
When Jacobsen emailed, SHI Executive
Director Rosita Worl couldn’t believe the offer. “I was stunned. I was
shocked. I was in awe. And I was so grateful to the Jacobsen family.”
Worl said the robe has a huge monetary value. But that’s not why it’s precious to local tribes.
“It’s
what we call ‘atoow’: a sacred clan object,” she said. “Our beliefs are
that it is imbued with the spirit of not only the craft itself, but
also of our ancestors. We use [Chilkat robes] in our ceremonies when we
are paying respect to our elders. And also it unites us as a people.”
Since
the Jacobsens returned the robe to the institute, Worl said, master
weavers have been examining it and marveling at the handiwork. Chilkat
robes can take a year to make – and hardly anyone still weaves them.
“Our
master artist, Delores Churchill, said it was absolutely a spectacular
robe. The circles were absolutely perfect. So it does have that
importance to us that it could also be used by our younger weavers to
study the art form itself.”
Worl said private collectors hardly ever return anything to her organization. The federal Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act requires
museums and other institutions that receive federal funding to
repatriate significant cultural relics to Native tribes. But no such law
exists for private collectors.
Bruce
and Gretchen Jacobsen hold the Chilkat robe they donated to the
Sealaska Heritage Institute as Joe Zuboff, Deisheetaan, sings and drums
and Brian Katzeek (behind robe) dances during the robe’s homecoming
ceremony Saturday, August 26, 2017. Credit NOBU KOCH / SEALASKA HERITAGE INSTITUTE
Worl
says the institute is lobbying Congress to improve the chances of
getting more artifacts repatriated. “We are working on a better tax
credit system that would benefit collectors so that they could be
compensated,” she said.
Worl hopes stories like this will encourage people to look differently at the Native art and artifacts they possess.
The Sealaska Heritage Institute welcomed home the Chilkat robe in a two-hour ceremony over the weekend. Bruce and Gretchen Jacobsen traveled to Juneau to celebrate the robe’s homecoming.
Really glad that this is treated as hard hitting news, no really, I am
don’t forget that february 15th is reduced valentine’s candy day. this holiday only happens once a year and if you miss it you have to wait until november 1st (reduced halloween candy day) to wrack down on cheap, noisily decorated candy. get ur chocolate. get ur sweethearts. get u some teddy bears and heart-shaped decorations while ur at it. treat yourself!! 😍🍫
I got my period completely unexpectedly. I hadn’t even been told a thing about it and was absolutely convinced something was wrong with me when I saw blood in my panties. I had to go, crying and scared, to my teacher. I had to sit, embarrassed and bloody, in the office and wait for my stepmom.
I was 9
The blood was thick, heavy, and I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach rejected food, the part of my body I wasn’t even fully aware of yet was now always sticky and wet and gross and I was told it was completely and totally natural. No one told me it was okay to be afraid. No one prepared me.
“It’ll be over in a few days,” they said.
“It won’t come back until next month,” they said.
I was 10
Sleep started to elude me almost completely, and then I’d get so tired that my father had to literally drag me into a standing position so I’d start to become conscious. My stepmom didn’t explain that if my pad got full I could change it. She yelled at me because pads are expensive. I ruined almost all of my underwear because I didn’t want her to yell at me again. My dad refused to acknowledge it had happened at all. He has four daughters.
I was 11
A sharp pain gripped my side and I could barely breathe. I didn’t feel good. I begged to stay home from school. I was crying and clutching my side. Something wasn’t right.
“It’s normal,” they said.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” they said.
I passed out in science class. Woke up in the doctor’s office because my small town didn’t have a hospital and was told I’d had a ruptured ovarian cyst. I had four more cysts on my left one and at least three on my right. I needed to be on birth control and tested for PCOS.
I didn’t even know what an ovary was.
I was 12
My dad flat out refused to get me birth control. Said I didn’t need it. That there was no reason for a twelve year old to get on the pill. I’d just start having sex and who knows what else and that was that.
He’s a nurse.
I was 13
“What do you mean you’ve gone through the entire box of pads already?” my stepmother demanded, loud, shrieking. “There were 20 pads in there! How many days do you bleed?”
I didn’t know I was supposed to count.
“When does your period start? How many days between stop and start?”
I didn’t know I could count.
I started marking it all on my calendar. Some months there was nothing. Some months over half the days were filled in. I stole an entire box of pads from under the sink to hide in my room for my very own.
I was 14
New year, new calendar. I give my period tracking one to my stepmom and take her through it page by page. My periods last 10 days at the least. There is no consistent day my period begins and I show her.
“You just counted wrong,” she says.
I was 15
My legs swell. My back aches. I’ve got a headache. I puke up my dinner and shit out my breakfast five minutes after I ate it. I’ve bled all over my bed.
“You’re overreacting,” they said
“Don’t be such a baby,” they said
I was 16
I can’t eat for two straight days because if I do I will throw up. I’m not sick. I’m on my period.
It’s normal, I think.
I’m 17
I go through 40 pads this time.
It’s normal, I think.
I’m 18
I gained three pant sizes right before the blood shows up. I lay in bed all day with a heating pad across my shoulder blades, on my lower back, and one across my stomach. It doesn’t really help.
It’s normal, I think.
I’m 19
My own money. No health insurance. I moved away. Saw a doctor. I’m on birth control pills.
I’m 20
The pills have stopped working at easing my blood flow. The doctor tries a new pill. It does nothing. The doctor tries another pill. I can’t afford it. I don’t go to the doctor for four more years.
I’m 24
My girlfriend drags me to the doctor with my state health insurance. She tells the doctor about my symptoms. The doctor’s mouth opens slightly.
“That’s not normal,” she says.
I bleed for 28 days straight.
I’m diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. The doctor asks if I want an IUD. I’ve never even heard of that.
My insurance pays for it. It’s free.
“Okay,” I say.
“It’s worth a try,” I say.
I haven’t had a period in months.
I am 25
My oncologist examines my medication list. “IUD? Birth control?” he asks. “You’re married. Don’t you want kids?” No. “What about your husband.” Wife. “Oh.”
My GP is out of town. I see a new doctor. We’re discussing surgeries. Is a hysterectomy an option?
“No,” he says. “You might marry a man who wants kids.” I’m married to a woman and I don’t want kids.
My dad is a nurse. He has four daughters.
“You’re married to a woman. Why are you on birth control?”
“Because I need to be,” I say. Finally. I say. “Because I want to be.”
Because it’s my body. Period.
My heart aches for people like this who don’t get the help they need and whose pain gets dismissed.
Tumblr backup 