Sturmfrei:
free of storms
Sturmfrei is a German word that means “the freedom of being alone, the ability to do what you want.”
The literal translation from German is storm free.
I spent a lot of years running from the life that I have now, the one that I currently embrace. I went chasing storms. Because of the excitement, the stimulation to my nervous system, I chose tumultuous familiarity. I chose the familiar of dysfunction, of chaos, of roller-coaster rides of relationship, because that is what I knew.
And because the loudness—the thunder and the lightning of the storm, created the illusion that I was not alone. It calmed my disquieted heart, my uneasy soul. More honestly, my dysregulated nervous system found it to be home.
It makes me smile, as I write this. I’m reminded of a memory:
My mother moving her body and jamming it out to “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls.”
My mother loved this song and she would sing along with TLC to the lines, “…please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to.”
That was me. I did. I needed to heed this advice: What amazing foreshadowing.
Through therapy, I understand the reasons why. When you’re raising in toxic environments, dysfunctional family environments, you learn that chaos is normal. And as it is often said, your nervous system will always choose the familiar hell compared to the unfamiliar peace.
Learning to embrace my storm free life, is perhaps the biggest lesson that I am learning right now.
My storms—through my family and relationships—have faded.
But then, I tended to the storm within myself. This was harder, but necessary for a sturmfrei life. I needed to learn to calm the waters within.
In wistfulness, I sometimes often look at the serenity of other people’s lives, I marvel at how calm and un-traumatic their lives have been. Sometimes I deeply envy them. (I know this misleading, a slippery slope, grass is always greener, all the things unseen, etc, etc. I know that…)
And yet, also. I dial it back, and as I do so, I reflect on the affordance, the benefit of my life, after living through those experiences of the storm, because of the contrast. The juxtaposition:
We often times talk about the calm before the storm, but there is also that amazing calm after the storm. There is a peace, a quiet, that om, soothing sound, the hum of the earth, in inner solitude and mindfulness that comes after the intensity of the weather as dissipated.
And the real brutal beauty of it: I do not think, or I am not sure, that I would have appreciated this tranquility had I not had the storm—outwardly or inwardly. And I have had both.
Now, I embrace my autonomy and my ‘foot-loose and fancy-free’ lifestyle, as my mother would have said.
I embrace that I have the freedom to do with my life as I want. Because now, I enjoy my solitude. I enjoy alone time.
It’s a bit strange: Since I have always identified as a rather extreme extrovert, and I am. I get energy re-charge from being around people. They do not drain my batteries. So, I do tip the scales of intro/ambi/extro-version heavily in that direction.
However, also, I realize that now, post-therapy (and while in therapy), that I am calming my body through somatic healing and developing a stronger attachment to myself. And so, I also enjoy alone time a lot more than I ever realized was possible. Sometimes I actually want to end a conversation, on the phone or through texting, to go back to my reading or writing or just being. Usually, before, I did not. So, this is revolutionary for me.
So, I am not sure if I am the extreme extrovert that I always thought myself as. Perhaps, I am simply a healthier one, since as human beings, we all have need for both alone and together time.
But, the point is—I don’t look to conversations to fulfill me or stimulate me anymore. I look inward. I look to books. I write. I look to things that help me think, stimulate my mind, and to get lost in stories.
But even the escapism of books, a common past time of mine, and albeit a healthier form of escapism than others, say a bottle of wine, still even, with this—
I am healthier. Books as escapism is a great tactic, but it still can mask the problem of a dysregulated nervous system and inability to just sit and be, mindful and present in the moment. Now, I don’t feel the frantic need to escape the present reality any longer—even through a story. I can be mindful, present.
I realized this last night as I enjoyed my shavasana—corpse pose—at the end of my hot yoga practice. Before, my mind would have raced and I would have found it difficult to calm it, to silence it. But this time, I relished the relaxation, after my strenuous stretching and breathing in this heated room. I took my well deserved rest.
The biggest lesson of this all—the relationship to and with myself, and my life now, with this beautiful and fitting metaphor of sturmfrei is this—
I not only have a storm free and calmed existence, but I have lived through it. And I can calmly assure myself that if and when other storms, or even tsnumais and earthquakes, rattle my existence, and shake me to my very core, I know that I will survive.
I have my lived embodied experience, the proof, that I have done it before. And I’ve come out a even healthier me.
And this affords me the confidence that if/when I have to do it again, I am capable.
I’ve got this, because, now, I’ve finally got me.
