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Grounding for PTSD

Updated: Aug 24, 2020

Yesterday I went for a barefoot beach run in an attempt to do some grounding.

What I hadn’t realised is that the two beaches I planned on running between are connected only by a rock ledge, so my ‘run’ quickly turned into bouldering.

On my way back, I opted to ascend the cliff to the street in the hope that I could continue my run at that level. What I instead found was another little goat track that took me around backyards and across creaky clifftops and finally back down to the beach.

As I came down the rocky track, I saw clumps of sodden dirt pulling away from their foundation. I saw where rock met rock, where dirt matter plants struggling to retain the nourishing soil need to survive. I felt the rocks, uneven beneath my feet, not quite holding the weight of me as I went. I saw fresh clumps of dirt with roots still attached swept far away from their original resting place.




Suddenly the metaphorical suffocation I have spoken about these last few days seemed so petty. What was a bell jar in the face of what could be actual suffocation under tons of dirt? Today was grounding in every sense of the word. I walked back to the car dirty, wind-swept, and wet.

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