Chicken & Wild Rice Soup
the importance of consistency and stability
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At the beginning of the pandemic, my tastes and digestion began to change to meet the moment. I only ate Progresso’s Chicken & Wild Rice soup and oatmeal. These were my safe meals. They were all I could stomach.
This week, I found myself craving the soup again—the first time in four years. Is it an omen? Is it my body again trying to meet the present moment with some semblance of control? Change is certainly afoot, on a global and personal scale. Here in the midwest, we are also moving into spring. I am coveting stability and routine—something I’m always doing. I find it where I can—including in cans of soup.
With changing temps (warmer weather, more daylight, more noise), I’m reminded just how brutal the jump from winter to spring is for me. The fact that most everyone is excited by this change makes me feel isolated in my grief and nervousness.
We barely had a winter here in the midwest. It felt more like a colder version of spring. We had three snow storms and some below freezing temps, but none of it lasted long enough to my liking. This winter has been a heartbreaking reminder that climate change and global warming are real and progressing quickly.
People think I’m weird for a lot of reasons, but one of which is my love for snow and cold. I still feel bad that I can’t get excited by the change from winter to spring. But for me and my SPD and C-PTSD1, it makes a lot of sense.
I forced myself to go for a walk the other day and I started crying halfway in. The snow was melting and there was water everywhere. There were loud tree removal services being done. The sun was shining and I forgot my sunglasses so I squinted most of the way. All of this felt bad in my body. Everything felt too loud, too bright, too fast—a lot like how trauma feels.
I often struggle with not knowing which symptoms/feelings/emotions are related to the SPD and which are related to the C-PTSD. In the end, it doesn’t really matter, nor does it help to try to separate the two. I feel what I feel, probably due to a combination of both. I attempt to treat the symptoms. I attempt to control the spaces I’m in and the body I’m in. This is also futile, since, realistically, I can’t control much.
I continue to go on my little mental health walks, even though they feel awful right now. I’m trying to get my body to adjust—slowly. I cry wishing I was “normal.” Most people don’t seem to struggle with being outdoors for a leisurely walk. Most people seem to enjoy it. I love being outside, but it doesn’t always seem to love me back. I often feel afraid to be in my body and this is sometimes exacerbated by exercise or being outside near people.
There is too much change happening inside and around me.
So, I reach for things that provide comfort and consistency. I cover my body with my knotted weighted blanket. I rest my bright blue heating pad on my belly while my standing fan oscillates, because I like feeling the both/and of cold/heat. I eat the can of Chicken & Wild Rice soup. I savor the processed meal, because it’s all my body wants. The taste and warmth is exactly what my body expects. It doesn’t help for a lengthy amount of time, but it assists me in getting through the present moment. Sometimes this is all I can hope for.
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