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Shake It Off

It’s OK not to be OK.

—Unknown

An impala gets chased around the savanna by a hungry lion. It narrowly escapes with its life, and do you know what it does once it’s safe?

It shakes. It shakes out the panic of having to run for its life. Its body physiologically rids itself of all the trauma by shaking. It does this instinctually. And then, once its body has returned to a steady state, once the impala has shaken out all the fight or flight chemicals racing through its body, it goes on. Finds something to eat. Meets up with a friend. What have you. But not until it’s done shaking. Only then can it function as usual.

Well, this really makes some sense when you think about it.

When I get panicked or worried, my hands shake, my voice shakes, my knees shake. My body is responding to the overwhelming experience. My hormones are shifting. The chemical balance of my brain is changing. My body is reacting. Doesn’t it make sense that I may need to spend some time shaking all that off? But do I? Do I really take the time to shake? Do you? Or are we right back to business as usual? Moving on?

Trauma has a way of piling up and burying us alive—one stressful, hypervigilant situation after another can absolutely destroy our aliveness and awakeness. Not that I have any experience with this whatsoever, of course.

The other night I had a dream kangaroos were chasing me through a building like an apartment complex or hotel. I would run to a room and slam the door behind me and they’d pound on the door trying to get at me and punch me. Then I’d narrowly escape and run to another room and as soon as I’d get the door closed they’d be pounding on it again, trying to get in and beat me up. And so on, for like a hundred years.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been chased by a crew of hostile kangaroos in real life or in a dream, but it’s no joke.

The next morning I looked up the significance of kangaroos in dreams. This kind of thing always fascinates me. I read the following online: “To dream of being chased by a kangaroo may represent a wish to avoid having to do something the hard way. Not wanting to take the long route in a situation. Doing everything you can to avoid facing a more difficult method of dealing with something. Avoiding a protracted dilemma, or needless difficulty.”1

Who me?

I counted how many times the word avoid was used in that description and I wanted to crawl under the bed. Sure, OK, you got me. I’d prefer to avoid. Namely, my humanity. My limits. My mental health. My need to stop and shake. Having to “do things the hard way.” It’s all so terribly inconvenient.

If we refuse to shake, though, the kangaroo comes for us. It’s inevitable.

Steve and I had to shake off our time overseas. We did this well some days—intentionally recovering—and we did this poorly some days—intentionally numbing. We brought in the borders of our life so that we could begin to breathe again. It kinda sucked for about a year and a half. And then we had a party on the Fourth of July.

Independence Day.

We had Eric and Kara and two of their girls in town for the weekend and a houseful of adults and kids. Steve grilled carne asada and pollo asado and everyone brought a special something from their own kitchen to share. Audi’s jalapeno cream sauce was the hit. I literally wanted to bathe in it.

At one point in the afternoon, all the dads were in the pool with the kids—raucous and rowdy—while all the moms huddled together to catch up. And then at another point in the afternoon all the dads were circled up under the big market umbrella, some reclining on lounge chairs, one rocking his baby girl in his arms, while the moms were all in the hot tub passing around the toddlers as we talked and laughed. We gave the kids sparklers, and they were all terrified and cried, which is just what a party is like with a lot of littles. We roasted s’mores on the back patio around the fire pit. We covered every inch of our house and our yard. I looked up at some point in the evening, and kids were perched on the boulders outside our kitchen windows, talking and laughing and helping the little ones scramble up. Like kid-reptiles, sunning and scurrying.

I don’t have a single picture of the day to show you, which is evidence that I either had no idea where my phone was for most of the day or that I didn’t care.

Previously, Steve and I had been in a season of recovery. We needed a season of reduction, where we turned inward and we rested and healed and took intentional care of ourselves. A season of slow and simple. A season to shake.

And on the Fourth, I felt this deep satisfaction from opening wide the doors of our house and welcoming in a troupe of friends and their darlings. I actually felt moved and teary as I stood back and surveyed the whole scene.

If you’re in a shaky season, I can relate more than you know. The best thing you can do for yourself is let it out. Take your time and let it all out. Rest, refuel, take in a whole lot of beauty, do whatever it takes to breathe, accept your limits. One day, after six months or a year—or almost eighteen months in our case—your capacity will return incrementally. You’ll be ready to experiment with a bit of expansion. You will open the doors, and it will feel so good.

But first, shake.

Reflection & Expression

What would it look like for you to shake?

For Your Brazen Board

Add an image that represents rest to you.

Add the words “Don’t forget to shake.”