Reflection - The Emotional Rollercoaster

EMDR, Menopause and the Messy Middle of Healing

Three sessions into trauma therapy, navigating menopause, and learning that healing doesn't always look the way you imagined.

Imagine you're strapped into a friggin rollercoaster.

One minute you're cruising along, thinking you've got your shit together. The next, you're plummeting down a bloody drop you didn't see coming, your stomach is somewhere near your throat, and you're wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

Now imagine that rollercoaster is your emotions.

Then sprinkle in some menopause, a body that has its own agenda, chronic illness, and all the other life shit you're trying to navigate.

Welcome to where I'm at right now.

Honestly, what a ride.

Three sessions into EMDR and what the fuck?

I've recently started EMDR therapy, and I'm only three sessions in.

I'm still figuring out what this process looks like for me, but one thing I've noticed is how I feel in the days afterwards.

Sometimes I'm flat. Sometimes my emotions are all over the place. Sometimes I just want to retreat into my own little bubble, shut out the noise and process whatever the hell is happening inside me.

And the smallest things can set me off.

I can put a bloody movie on, thinking it'll be a nice way to switch off, and suddenly I'm sitting there crying.

A song comes on. A conversation hits differently. Something on the television catches me off guard.

And there I am, tears rolling down my face, wondering where the hell that came from.

It's not always obvious what I'm feeling or why. Sometimes I can't put it into words. Sometimes I don't even want to talk about it.

I just want to be left alone for a little while.

Not because I don't care about people. Not because I'm giving up.

Sometimes I simply don't have the capacity to explain what's going on inside me when I'm still trying to make sense of it myself.

And that's a strange place to sit when you've spent years learning how to keep going regardless of how you feel.

When your body and emotions have other plans

Here's the thing about healing: you don't get to put the rest of your life on hold while you work through it.

Life keeps happening.

There are responsibilities, relationships, decisions, expectations and all the ordinary things that still need your attention.

Then there's menopause.

Because apparently navigating trauma therapy wasn't enough on its own!

I'm trying to understand my emotions while also navigating the changes that come with menopause. My body feels different. My energy can be unpredictable, and some days I feel like I'm trying to find my footing in a body that doesn't always feel familiar.

And when you've already got a lot going on, trying to work out what's contributing to how you feel can be bloody frustrating.

Is it exhaustion? Is it the emotional weight of therapy? Is it hormonal changes? Is it stress? Is it a combination of everything?

Sometimes I genuinely don't know.

I'm learning that I don't need to have an immediate answer for every feeling. I can acknowledge that I'm having a hard day without needing to investigate, analyse and fix every single part of it.

Sometimes, things are simply hard.

And I can admit that without feeling like I've failed.

The part of healing nobody can do for you

I've spent years working on myself.

I've had to look at the experiences I've lived through, the things I've carried, the ways I've protected myself and the patterns I've developed along the way.

I've spent a lot of time surviving.

And when survival becomes familiar, you can get so used to pushing through that stopping feels uncomfortable.

You learn to carry on when you're exhausted. You learn to put your feelings aside because something else needs doing. You learn to get through the day, even when you're struggling underneath the surface.

But eventually, you have to start asking yourself some difficult questions.

What happens when I stop pushing everything down?

What happens when I give myself permission to feel what I've spent years trying to manage?

And who am I when I'm no longer operating in survival mode all the time?

I don't have all those answers yet.

That's the honest truth.

I'm three sessions into EMDR, not three years down the track with some perfectly packaged story about how everything worked out.

I'm in the middle of it.

I'm learning as I go.

And right now, that means accepting that I might feel different from one day to the next.

It means recognising when I need space, rather than forcing myself to show up as the version of me everyone is used to seeing.

It means being honest about my capacity.

Most importantly, it means learning not to turn against myself when things get difficult.

Sometimes healing looks like pyjamas and a bloody cuppa

We talk a lot about healing as though it's all breakthroughs, realisations and moments when everything suddenly clicks into place.

But what about the days when you don't have a breakthrough?

What about the days when you're emotionally drained, your body is tired, and the thought of doing anything beyond the bare minimum feels overwhelming?

What about the days when you cry over a movie, cancel your plans or need a little distance from the world?

Those days are part of my reality too.

Sometimes taking care of myself looks incredibly ordinary.

It's putting my pyjamas on early.

Making a cuppa.

Eating something simple.

Turning down the noise.

Letting myself have a cry without demanding an explanation for every tear.

Giving myself permission to have a quiet day without feeling guilty about what I haven't achieved.

I'm learning that rest doesn't need to be earned through exhaustion.

I don't have to push myself to breaking point before I'm allowed to slow down.

And I don't need to make every difficult experience meaningful before I can give myself some compassion.

Sometimes I just need to get through the day gently.

That's enough.

A gentle but important note about EMDR

I want to be honest about my experience, while remembering that everyone's journey is different.

EMDR can bring up strong emotions, and some people notice distress or fatigue between sessions. Others experience it differently. There is no single, universal response.

I'm sharing what I've noticed in myself, not suggesting that everyone will feel the same way or that feeling worse is a necessary part of healing.

You do not have to push through overwhelming distress to prove you're committed to healing.

If you're undertaking EMDR and the days afterwards feel particularly difficult, tell your therapist what you're experiencing. You can ask for more support, discuss ways to manage the time between sessions and work together on a pace that feels manageable.

If you're feeling increasingly overwhelmed, disconnected or unable to manage everyday life, please don't simply assume you have to endure it. Reach out to your therapist or another appropriate health professional.

Healing should not be a competition in how much discomfort you can tolerate.

Your wellbeing matters throughout the process, not just at the finish line.

I'm learning to meet myself where I am

Perhaps one of the hardest parts of this journey is accepting that I can't always predict how I'll feel.

I can make plans and intentions, but I also have to leave room for the reality of being human.

Some days I'll have more energy. Some days I'll need to slow down. Some days I'll feel emotional without knowing exactly why.

I'm trying to stop treating those differences as something I need to apologise for.

• I'm allowed to have boundaries.

• I'm allowed to need space.

• I'm allowed to tell the people around me that I'm having a difficult day without feeling like I need to provide a detailed explanation.

• And I'm allowed to be a work in progress.

I can be committed to my healing and still find the process bloody hard.

I can be grateful for how far I've come and still struggle with where I am today.

I can be proud of myself and still have moments when I feel completely overwhelmed.

Those things can exist together.

Healing doesn't require me to pretend the hard parts aren't happening.

It asks me to be honest about them, seek support when I need it, and keep learning how to care for myself through them.

Where I am right now

Three sessions into EMDR.

Navigating menopause.

Trying to understand my emotions while still managing the everyday realities of life.

Some days I feel like I'm making progress. Other days, I feel like I'm simply trying to find the damn instruction manual for my own body and emotions.

I'm learning that I don't need to have everything figured out today.

I don't need to rush this process.

And I don't need to compare my experience with anyone else's.

This is my journey, and I'm allowed to move through it one step at a time.

If today is a good day, I'll appreciate it.

If today is a hard day, I'll try to meet myself with compassion instead of criticism.

And if today involves pyjamas, a cuppa and crying over a movie that probably wasn't even that sad?

Well, apparently that's where we're at!

I'm still learning. Still showing up. Still figuring out what support, rest and healing look like for me.

Not perfectly.

Not without frustration.

But honestly.

And perhaps that's what this chapter is asking of me: not to have all the answers, but to stop abandoning myself while I'm searching for them.

I'm not failing because this is hard. I'm navigating something difficult, and I deserve patience while I do.

That's where I am today.

And today, that's enough.

If you're walking through your own messy middle, whether it's trauma recovery, menopause, chronic illness or simply a season of life that feels heavier than usual, I hope you remember this: you don't have to have everything sorted to deserve kindness, support and rest.

One day at a time. One breath at a time. One small step back towards yourself.