Tiny Buddha

Category: change & challenges

  • Why Speaking My Truth Is the Cornerstone of My Recovery

    Why Speaking My Truth Is the Cornerstone of My Recovery

    “When I loved myself enough, I began leaving whatever wasn’t healthy. This meant people, jobs, my own beliefs and habits—anything that kept me small. My judgment called it disloyal. Now I see it as self-loving.” ~Kim McMillen

    I like to think of my inner self as a curly-haired stick figure who lives inside my chest cavity. Like most inner selves, mine has a simple, childlike quality. She smiles when she’s happy and cries when she’s sad. She has an intuitive sense of what is right and wrong. She speaks her needs simply, the way a young girl might.

    My inner self and I are on good terms nowadays, but it hasn’t always been this way. When I was addicted to booze, food, and relationships, I treated my inner self like a prisoner.

    For years, I dazed her with whiskey and wine and snuck away to make rash decisions under the light of the moon. Through a groggy haze she would slur warnings: “Don’t drive! Don’t sleep with him! It’s dangerous!” But I had abandoned her, lost in the sweet abyss of another blackout, and left her alone to handle the consequences that met the body I’d left behind.

    As I got older, I sought love in the way the women of my family had for generations: by getting thin. I fed my inner self rations and scraps, barely enough to get by. Her hungry cries were met with six almonds, a tall glass of water, one slice of bread.

    As my eating disorder progressed, I purged after most meals, eyes watery and kneecaps bruising against the linoleum floor. I monitored my inner self with scornful eyes. She shrunk under my gaze.

    As you might imagine, playing captor to my inner self got very tiring. I felt a wave of relief when I became romantically involved with a partner and could focus my attention on him instead.

    Finally, a respite! I was no longer trapped alone with my inner self and her incessant whining, her needs, her uncontrollable feelings! By contrast, he seemed uncomplicated. Unbroken. Better than I could ever be.

    Over the next two years, my visits to my inner self became more and more infrequent. She gathered dust like a china doll.

    Sometimes—after particularly debilitating hangovers, tortured binges, or grueling arguments with my partner—I would recognize, with a sharp burst of clarity, the unmanageability of my predicament.

    Remorsefully, I would vow to do better. I would rush back to my inner self and pant, out of breath, “This is the last time. I won’t treat you so badly again.” But those promises quickly collapsed under the weight of my shame.

    To alleviate my self-loathing, I cracked the whip above my inner self, desperate to improve. “Work harder!” I shouted. ”Do more!” “Be better!” “Fix yourself!”

    Around the addiction carousel I went, stumbling from drinking to eating disorder to codependency to perfectionism. My inner self bore the brunt of my cruelty. Eventually, she stopped trusting me entirely.

    Years of therapy and self-reflection later, I reached an impasse.

    By most definitions of the word, I was utterly free; I made my own work schedule, enjoyed financial security, and could travel any time, anywhere. In the presence of friends, I radiated enthusiasm and laughed straight from my belly. But in my own company, when the afternoon sunlight cast shadows across my carpet and the muted sounds of the city came through my open window, I felt utterly alone.

    I couldn’t deny the truth: I was trapped in a life dictated by vicious, anxious cycles. The life I wanted—the liberated, peaceful, inspired life—would be unattainable until I confronted my addictions. Not just one of them, but all of them. I had to tug the weed from the soil at the very root.

    And so I took a deep breath and stepped off of the addiction carousel. Squinting and dizzied beneath the carnival lights, I took a hard and honest look at my inner self—the first I’d taken in years.

    She had become unrecognizable. Emaciated, exhausted, fearful. Anxiety ran through her veins, rich and red as blood. She was afraid of me. And her voice—the voice that had called out:

    “I’m overwhelmed. Can we slow down for a second?”
    “I’m tired. Can we go home and sleep?”
    “I’m so fucking sad today.”
    “Don’t sleep with him! You don’t even know him!”
    “I’m doing the best that I can.”
    “Can you hear me?”

    That voice had disappeared entirely. Like newborn babies whose cries go unanswered, my inner self’s voice had died. My heart broke as I reflected on the years of neglect I’d shown her.

    I realized then that my newfound sobriety was much more than a refusal to pick up the bottle. It was an uncompromising commitment to rebuild trust with my inner self. After years of neglect, I had to show her, with my words and actions, that I would care for her

    Since then, I’ve come to learn that each of us enters recovery with a traumatized inner self. Every time we acted addictively by taking that drink, or eating all three pints, or spending our savings, or losing ourselves entirely in our lovers, we neglected that quiet voice that was always there, that knew we were harming ourselves, that begged to be treated with love.

    I have been untangling my myriad addictions for almost three years, and this conception of my inner self has been my greatest tool in my recovery. Every time my inner self speaks up, I am presented with a choice. I can listen and act accordingly. Or I can disregard her wishes and begin another cycle of neglect.

    In recovery, my work is to rebuild trust with my inner self by feeling and speaking her truth by:

    • Naming and feeling my feelings instead of numbing them
    • Prioritizing my reality over others’ perceptions
    • Setting boundaries with others

    Naming and Feeling My Feelings

    During my addictions, I became an expert at self-medicating my anxiety, shame, fear, and sadness. A hearty glass of cabernet, I believed, was the respite I deserved after a long, weary day of trying not to feel my feelings.

    When I woke up the next morning with a headache and drinker’s remorse, anxiety was the only emotion accessible to me. Grief, loss, anger, and sadness were buried under layers of shame that hardened over time. I effectively exiled my full spectrum of human emotion.

    Recovery, especially early recovery, has been a process of reclaiming the sensitivities that make me human. Without the vices that numbed my heart like Novocain, my feelings arise swiftly, uncensored and colorful. Not just the painful ones, but the happy and beautiful ones, too. I cry most days with equal parts sadness and joy.

    At times, I feel like there must be something wrong with me, as if someone cranked the volume dial on my emotions to the max and left it there.

    My work in recovery is learning to sit with, and work with, those feelings. What makes this challenging work possible—enjoyable, even—is the relief my inner self feels when, for the first time in ages, her simple truth travels from her heart to my lips without interruption. With every potent emotion comes an opportunity to make her feel seen and heard.

    Prioritizing My Reality Over Others’ Perceptions

    When I was in the throes of my addictions, I became an expert at keeping up appearances. Nightly, my inner monologue went something like this:

    Can I get away with sneaking another drink? I wonder if Joe saw me pour the last two… Probably better to put this one in my water bottle…

    I wonder if this bathroom has a fan to hide the sounds of my purging… I better turn the water on. And fake a sneeze or two to explain my watery eyes…

    Did they notice that I blacked out at the party last night? God, I hope not… How can I find out what I said without seeming suspicious?

    Managing appearances became my part-time job. I cared more about others’ perceptions of my reality than my own reality. White lies and half-truths flooded my conversations, even when I had nobody to impress and nothing to prove. Every time I distorted my story, I became more distant from my inner self.

    In recovery, I uncompromisingly follow my inner self’s judgment. I am accountable to her first and foremost. My friends’, family, and colleagues’ opinions of me are secondary because, at 1AM when I’m sleeplessly staring at the ceiling, my inner self is the one I’m stuck with.

    In recovery, when I’m swept away by the cacophony of others’ needs and wishes –

    “Will you sign up for this?”
    “Want to go back to my place?”
    “Can you help?”
    “Call me back”
    “I need—”
    “Will you—”
    “I want—”

    I get quiet. I listen. And I whisper, “What do you really need right now?”

    And this time, I really listen.

    Setting Boundaries With Others

    As a recovering people-pleaser, I hate disappointing others. I spent most of my life avoiding it as much as possible. As a result, my calendar was packed with tedious obligations and my relationships were all give and no take. I left social interactions to massage the corners of my mouth, which ached from forcing a smile. I hooked up with people I didn’t even like. Basically, I felt like a shadow of myself.

    In recovery, the reason why I say no to that beer is the same reason I don’t go to the party, or don’t sleep with that stranger, or don’t call during my lunch break. The same reason I say “No thanks, I don’t drink” is the same reason why I say “I felt hurt when you said that” or “No, I won’t.”

    Boundaries are honesty in action. Every time I set one, I teach my inner self that she can trust me.

    When I get nervous to set a particular boundary, I remember that my inner self is gaining strength under my protection and care. In this delicate stage of early recovery, she is fragile, like a seedling. She requires a safe, secure, reliable environment in which to grow. If I’m committed to bringing her to life, it’s my responsibility to shape that environment—even if that means erecting a fence to keep the pests out.

    —

    My addiction was characterized by living out of alignment with my inner self. My recovery, by extension, must be characterized by the opposite. For me, recovery and speaking my truth are inseparable.

    I’ve heard folks describe addiction as one’s isolation from others. I think that first and foremost, addiction is one’s isolation from one’s self.

    The more we treat our inner selves with compassion, the less important it becomes to please others and manage appearances. Our emotions thicken, arise, and depart. When we break the cycle of abusing our inner selves, our own company becomes bearable. And when our own company becomes bearable, sobriety becomes possible.

  • 5 Things to Remember When You Feel Ashamed of Your Flaws

    5 Things to Remember When You Feel Ashamed of Your Flaws

    If you asked me when I was younger what I wanted to be when I grew up, I may have answered perfect, or famous, which is incredibly ironic. I simultaneously craved a spotlight while fearing what it might reveal—my inadequacies, my weaknesses, my flaws.

    I thought being perfect meant being beyond reproach—undeniably lovable and worthy of respect, something I didn’t always receive growing up.

    And I assumed that if I were perfect in all ways, I could finally relax and enjoy my life because I could trust that no one would judge or hurt me. I could navigate the world secure in the knowledge I was good enough, and everyone knew it, so I had nothing to prove.

    Though I spent years trying to overcome all my weaknesses—my anxiety, my insecurity, my controlling nature, my need to be liked—I’ve never arrived at a place of complete freedom from these struggles. I’ve made progress, sure, but I’m still flawed. I’m still craggy and cracked, like a mirror that’s been shattered and glued together many times over.

    I started thinking about this recently when listening to the sixth episode of Next Creator Up, the podcast I’ve been producing with Ehren Prudhel, the show’s host and my partner in many things.

    In this interview, Hollywood screenwriter and author Noah Knox Marshall talked a little about his non-dystopian sci-fi book series for kids and how strong characters have flaws. That’s what makes them real—their quirks, their struggles, their insecurities, and rough edges—because this is what it means to be human.

    When we see a flawed character in a movie or a book, we instinctively empathize with them and root for their happiness and success. We know they’re neurotic or needy or scornful or scared, but we care about them anyway and sit at the edge of our seats hoping they get the job, get the girl, or at least get the message they need to grow and thrive.

    We see ourselves in these characters, and we want for them the peace and happiness we may deny ourselves.

    The irony is we deny ourselves peace and happiness for the very same reason we want it for them—because we’re undeniably and permanently imperfect, and always have something new to work on, no matter how much we learn and grow.

    There was a time when I resisted this reality. I truly believed I could eventually reach a point when I did everything “right.” When I always said the right thing, did the right thing, and responded in the right way when other people triggered or challenged me.

    When I struggled to do these things, my shame was palpable, and I wanted to hide.

    But I’m done hiding now, because I realize flaws don’t just make strong characters—they also make strong people.

    We’re not weak for having challenges and shortcomings; we’re strong for facing them, owning them, working on them, and doing our best every day in spite of them.

    So if you’re feeling ashamed of your flaws, stop and remind yourself…

    1. Everyone has flaws.

    You could meet every human being who has ever lived and ever will and would still not encounter a perfect person. To have a pulse means to have imperfections, some developed over time, some we’re born with.

    We’re all “wired for struggle,” as Brené Brown wrote, and most, a lot like Augusten Burroughs, “entirely made of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.”

    Your specific combination of flaws may seem unique to you, but they’re not. The world is full of people who hurt like you, think like you, fear like you, fall like you, and are just as worthy and lovable, with all their shortcomings and struggles.

    2. If someone had been through what you’ve been through they’d likely have the same flaws.

    I find this incredibly comforting to consider—that a lot of my personality “flaws” make perfect sense in the context of my history. I may struggle with anxiety and insecurity, but so do most people who’ve been bullied and abused. I may be a control freak, but that’s common among people who’ve felt controlled.

    My flaws aren’t statements about who I am as a person; they’re reflections of my path. And many who’d taken that same path would have developed the exact same set of weaknesses and challenges. Which means people without my issues aren’t “better” than me; they just struggle differently because they haven’t been where I’ve been.

    3. Flaws connect us.

    We often think we need to hide our rough edges, as if they guarantee rejection, but the opposite is usually true: Our flaws connect us. They make us relatable and approachable. They give us common ground.

    Think about the people who you most enjoy being around. Odds are, you’re at ease around them because they’re at ease with themselves, in all their imperfect glory. They own their battles and their baggage, they flaunt their quirks like badges of honor, and they know that they have nothing to hide or prove—or at least they act that way.

    For years I was uncomfortable and repressed around other people because I was always trying to be who I thought they wanted me to be, because I wanted to be liked. It was as if I’d shoved all my quirks and flaws in a box that I then tried to balance on my head as I walked, stiff and awkward, through the world around me.

    Unsurprisingly, this backfired because no one could love me when they didn’t really know me. And no one could relate to me when I hid all my depth under the shallow veil of perfection.

    We connect with the truth of being human, not the lie of being perfect.

    4. Flaws make us interesting.

    A while back Ehren and I took a short drawing class at Disneyland’s animation academy. With a teacher’s instruction, we each drew Jack Skellington, from the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas.

    My Jack had a perfectly round head, perfectly round eyes, and a perfectly symmetrical bow tie, which I appreciated at first. Until I saw Ehren’s. His head was ill shaped, his eyes were a little large, and his bow tie was wider than I would have drawn it—and yet it looked so much cooler. It had personality, and it was uniquely Ehren’s. It wasn’t perfect, but it was more interesting.

    I think we’re all like that drawing—all the more appealing because of our imperfect parts.

    “Perfection,” or the illusion of it, is incredibly boring. It’s predictable, one-dimensional, devoid of heart, uniqueness, and charm. It’s our idiosyncrasies that draw people to us and make them curious about us—where we’ve been, what’s shaped us, what drives us.

    5. Flaws can make us better people.

    When we own our flaws—when we accept ourselves in all our imperfection instead of judging ourselves for our weaknesses and struggles—we then develop the capacity to offer this same grace to other people.

    Conversely, when we judge ourselves harshly, we’re likely to judge other people who reflect back to us the things we don’t like about ourselves. I know I’ve been there before. For example, I’ve seen someone who appeared needy at a time when I felt insecure—and insecure about being insecure—and then looked down on them because I’d yet to develop compassion for this part of myself.

    But that’s not the kind of person I want to be.

    I want to own every part of my darkness and my damage so I can walk through this world with an open heart that understands, accepts, and loves.

    I want to see myself and everyone I encounter as worn dolls, with unraveled stitches and eyes coming loose, that I want to hold close nonetheless.

    Because I believe we’re all doing our best and worthy of love even at our worst—largely because I’ve hurt, healed, and finally accepted those things are true of myself.

    And if this cracked little heart of mine can hold all that love because it’s been broken and mended, then maybe the fractures aren’t flaws after all. And maybe yours aren’t either. Maybe our brokenness is our beauty, our weaknesses are our strengths, and our struggles are our gifts.

    If you’re interested in listening to the interview I mentioned, with Noah Knox Marshall, Hollywood screenwriter and author of Dax Zander, Sea Patrol, you can find it here. Noah’s an incredibly interesting, inspiring guy, with some powerful insights to share about writing and life. I hope you enjoy his interview as much as I did!

  • How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    “Bless the daughters who sat carrying the trauma of mothers. Who sat asking for more love and not getting any, carried themselves to light. Bless the daughters who raised themselves.” ~Questions for Ada by Ijeoma Umebinyuo

    “I failed you…”

    My mother said this to me after I confronted her about my childhood.

    That day, I had a clear image of the young girl I was, the girl I had tried to ignore in the hopes of moving forward. But pain shouts when it demands attention, and the suffering was palpable.

    A memory flashed within my mind. I had tried telling my mother I was hurting somehow. All children have hurt they can’t quite explain, even if it turns out that it’s just an itch or a bruised feeling, but the need to have the boo-boo kissed means everything to the child.

    That day I had found my mother occupied with something more pressing. And I, being the sensitive girl I was, figured that she hadn’t heard me or that I had disturbed her.

    It seemed that I only existed to be cautious of the adults in my life who, at best, were preoccupied with a mysterious something and, at worst, cruel without reason. I existed in a world where children were things you spoke to. Tell them what to do, and they’ll simply do it, because what else are they there for?

    The idea that children had inner lives, breakable hearts, and ideas of their own making was quite dangerous in my childhood. I’d soon learn that it was better to take a vow of silence and say very little. I was starved for the hunger all children have—the hunger to be seen.

    Love requires attention.

    It seems like the older we get, the more we have to reflect on those days when we were at our most vulnerable. We have to look back at the beliefs, habits, and people that shape us if we want to grow.

    When I finally talked to my mother, I was attempting to grow out of a destructive habit I had learned in childhood: denial. If you don’t talk about a thing, or name a thing, then maybe the thing never happened. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad, or maybe it was just a dream.

    I was no longer talking as a child in need of her mother’s attention; I was talking as a woman in need of the truth. I was now an adult who hoped to be a mother someday, and a healer committed to breaking the generational curse of mothers failing daughters, women failing women, and humans failing themselves.

    I poured out the heart of that little girl over the phone. She had needed protection when she was called names, or when someone hit her, or when she was touched inappropriately. She needed to know that whether she was a child or a girl becoming a young woman, she had a right to her body, mind, and spirit.

    My voice cracked through the phone, but I told her anyway. To me, you have never been trustworthy.

    She took a long breath and then spoke almost rapidly, like her life and our fragile bond depended on it. “I’m human; I falter. I never said I was a great mother. I know I failed. It looks like I’ve failed you many times. Forgive me.”

    The pus ball that had always festered in my soul—that sore that kept reddening with anguish—burst.

    My mother revealed something that I think all parents fear showing their children: humanity. At least I know for her generation, showing children a semblance of an emotional life was secondary to putting food on the table, and when you’re not raised on showing your feelings, you forget you have them.

    It’s scary to admit you’re full of contradictions, possibly wounded, and that raising a child, no matter what the circumstance, is difficult.

    In that moment, I understood what the word “grace” meant. It’s such an elusive word, and much better to experience than explain, but I know that my heart broke, love flooded in, and a burden was lifted.

    Her honesty freed me from having to second guess my existence, and it helped me understand the hardship of hers. The mirror I was looking through was no longer foggy. I could see my life clearly; it had texture, color, clearly defined lines, and a burst pus ball that needed cleaning.

    I saw a clear picture of the precariousness in my childhood. It was like my spirit whispered in my ear and confirmed, Yes. It was terrifying.

    So what do we do in the wake of failure?

    My mother’s admission gave me a little taste of what it means to become a mother. You can love a thing and hurt a thing at the same time. I deeply love and adore my mother. I can only imagine the people and circumstances that failed her. I have a softness toward her and a softness for myself that has made my heart grow more space to hold the things I’ll never fully understand. Sometimes, it is what it is.

    After ten years of doing what survivors of any trauma must do to clean their wounds—meditating, numbing, praying, therapy, journaling, blaming, finding community, practicing yoga, raging, and crying—I have come to accept the unacceptable.

    We don’t tell our parents the truth about our experiences to condemn them; we tell them our experiences because we must contend with it. No matter how painful the purge, this raw material from living is the grist that reminds us to do better the next time around. And there’s always a next time around.

    “I am a reflection of my mother’s secret poetry as well as of her hidden angers.” ~Audre Lorde

    This is what I’ve learned.

    Sometimes you must mother yourself. In the wreckage, you learn how to give yourself the love and affection you hungered for in your most powerless moments.

    I adore the little girl I once was. She found worthwhile things to enjoy about life as the ground beneath her eroded. She sang, had her own dance parties, liked to play with balloons, and loved listening to Motown music.

    She saved me, and now I get to take care of her.

    This is my greatest lesson: I can accept complexity as a requisite for living. I can love the mother that gave me birth, be my own mother, and also know that there’s a higher power that loves and watches over both of us.

    I can forgive while remaining protective of the little girl who was hurt too often, and too often ignored.

    Redemption in the wake of failure is possible, though difficult, and yet, it beats continuing a wretched cycle of negation.

    The more I reflect, the more I see that my mother and I, in many ways, are quite alike. It’s now my duty to be fiercely aware of my own demons and angels. If I am a reflection of my mother, what questions do I have to ask myself about who I have become? And what do I hope to pass on, to myself and others?

    I believe my story speaks to generations of children, particularly women, who grew into adult bodies and are still searching for their mothers. The reality is that we are the caretakers and mothers we’ve been searching for.

    The yearning I had as an adult for nurturing and recognition was my soul nudging me to show up for myself. Now you get to take care of you, and you must.

    Mothering yourself is the sacred call to practice love. Here are a few things I did in my own self-mothering journey. I hope you find them useful for your own toolkit.

    Get to know your inner child.

    I started doing inner child work in therapy. My therapist gave me some great activities to get to know what that part of myself was thinking, and I still do the exercises to this day. My tried and true activity is writing in the voice of my inner child with my left hand and responding as an adult with my right. I’ve found this exercise revelatory and recommend it for anyone attempting to rekindle a relationship with their younger self.

    Your inner child never leaves you, and I learned that mine had a lot to say. This helped me learn how to show up for myself emotionally and mother that part of myself that needed validation.

    Meditate.

    Meditation has helped me sharpen my awareness, and it keeps me present to what I’m feeling in my body. The health benefits are great too. Do whatever activity brings you a sense of stillness and focus (walking in nature, cooking, mindful exercise).

    Practice unconditional love, starting with yourself.

    Love is a practice, and in this world we’re taught to see love as transactional. You get love if you can prove that you’re lovable. Choose a different kind of love for yourself.

    Start simply, perhaps by listing what you’ve come to appreciate about yourself and treating yourself with grace when you make mistakes. Find alignment with your values and get to know yourself. Become your own best friend.   

    Distance yourself if you need to save yourself.

    Sometimes distance and time help heal and give perspective.

    I’ve had to take myself out of situations where I knew I had to protect myself. At times this meant limited communication, geographic distance, or emotional distance. This can be tough, but trust that when it’s time to save yourself, you’ll know what to do for your highest good.

    Reflect.

    No one is a saint, and the truth is that we’ve all hurt people and will hurt people. And it’s true that if we do a personal inventory, we’ll see that we have unsavory habits and patterns that need to go. Reflecting helped me see where I would like to grow. I’m acknowledging my own tendencies to shut down, ice people out, and feed into negative stories when I’m feeling defensive or frightened. I see that these habits stem from fear. Reflection provides information. Now, I am choosing to practice more loving habits towards myself and others while honoring my need for comfort.

    Finding a way to reflect is critical. I journal and make music to do this. It’s really helped me see how far I’ve come and where I still have gaps.

    Create rituals.

    Condition your hair on Sundays, or soak your feet in Epsom salts when you get back from work, or go for a swim, or draw before you go to bed, or cook yourself your favorite dinner on Saturdays. Go dance at Ecstatic Dance with your girls on a Saturday.

    Finding rituals for yourself helps reestablish intimacy that you might not have had growing up. It also helps you get to know what you like and brings you peace. Find that for yourself.

    Take care of yourself.

    Did you eat? Shower? Brush your teeth? Did you take a jacket with you because it’s cold outside? Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried? Are eggs even good for your unique body type? Become your parent and look after yourself.

    Don’t force forgiveness.

    Forgiveness will come when it needs to, if it even needs to, and if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t make you any more or less enlightened than the rest of us. It just means this is your path and that you’re working on some intense stuff. Be easy.

    I’ve found forgiveness to be a complicated process that takes time and a lot of honesty. Try to let yourself be where you are, and trust that it’s okay. Bypassing your emotions can feed into denial and numbing to your lived experience.

    The point is not to rush to enlightenment; the hope is that feeling your emotions can help you become whole. Working with a professional and/or support group can help you in your process.

    —

    Learning how to become the caregiver you’ve always needed is not only a gift to yourself; it’s a gift to everyone you meet. I vowed to nurture myself because I wanted to send a message that redemption of the human spirit is always possible, no matter the trauma. My life is a testament to that.

    Take what I say as an offering because you know yourself best, and the medicine that restores me might not be the ideal prescription for you. Feel free to add your own ideas of what makes you come alive to this list. At the end of the day, your experience is your teacher.

  • How to Recognize Painful Emotional Triggers and Stop Reacting in Anger

    How to Recognize Painful Emotional Triggers and Stop Reacting in Anger

    “Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath.” ~ Eckhart Tolle

    There I was again, regretting the spiteful words that had cascaded out of my mouth during a heated argument with my partner.

    I felt that old familiar feeling, the burning in my solar plexus that bubbled up and erupted like a volcano, spilling out expressions of anger, blame, and criticism.

    It had been a rocky few months; my partner was struggling to find consistent work, and our credit card debt was on the rise. Suddenly anger kicked in and I lashed out, accusing him of slacking off and guilting him about me being the only one working.

    As the words spilled from my mouth, I knew deep down that what I was saying was hurtful and untrue. I could see that my partner was trying his best, but my anger had taken over, causing suffering that I would later regret.

    This was a familiar pattern for me. I’ve frequently reacted emotionally, without understanding why, and caused suffering to myself and my partner and chaos in our relationship. I spent the next few days beating myself up about my reaction and wondering, why do I never seem to learn?

    Though I wasn’t self-aware in that particular moment, I know that anger is our body’s response to a perceived threat. It triggers the body’s fight-or-flight response. Our heart rate increases, we become tense, and adrenaline, our stress hormone, releases, so we often spiral into reaction mode in order to protect ourselves.

    Although we tend to view anger in a negative light, I have come to learn that anger itself is a valid emotion, just like happiness or sadness. And it does, in fact, serve a valid purpose. Anger sends a message to our body and brain that something painful within us has been triggered and is asking to be acknowledged. In many cases, it signals that there is something much deeper, a wound that brings up vulnerability and pain.

    We need to take a step back, go inward, and begin to explore where the triggers for these behaviors and reactions stem from.

    Growing up, we are conditioned to behave in certain ways based on our environment and circumstances.

    As children, certain behaviors are ingrained in us from our family and peers. We learn to mimic those around us—for example, how they communicate and respond to one another—and over time we implement those behaviors as our own. Not only do we mimic their behaviors, we also take on their fears and beliefs. Then, when something triggers these fears and beliefs, we react in order to protect ourselves.

    When I began delving into the root cause of my reactions around finances, it surprised me to learn of the deep conditioning I had been living through my parents’ stories about money.

    When I was growing up, my parents often struggled to make ends meet and were under a lot of financial pressure.

    They did their best to protect my brother and me, attempting to not let their financial stress impact our lives. But the truth is, we cannot help but be conditioned by our environment. Unconsciously, we pick up on our parents’ energy and develop certain coping mechanisms and patterns that become deeply ingrained as we continue to carry them through life.

    When I was able to look past the anger around my own financial insecurities, I discovered deep fears and vulnerability.

    I was living with the painful belief that my partner and I would always struggle financially, that we would not be able to get by, and that we would experience the same hardships that my parents did. This story was interwoven through my family, going back even further to when my grandparents and great-grandparents lived through extreme poverty in Eastern Europe. This conditioning was so much deeper than I could ever imagine.

    Identifying where these beliefs stemmed from gave me the insight to take a look at the bigger picture and understand the painful stories I had taken on as my own. It allowed me to take responsibility for my own destructive patterns. I was beginning to see how my reactions were triggered by an unconscious fear out of a need for survival.

    Your triggers might be completely different, and they may pertain more to pain from your childhood than inherited beliefs and fears. For example, if your parents regularly shamed you for mistakes when you were a kid, you might react defensively whenever someone points out an area where you have room for improvement. Or, if you felt ignored growing up, you may have a knee-jerk reaction whenever someone can’t spend time with you.

    The problem is, our conditioning is so deeply ingrained within us that we are not even aware of our reactions most of the time. They just become an automatic response. We cannot always recognize that we are simply replaying old patterns over and over again. We tend to blame external circumstances or others for causing our suffering.

    We play the victim without realizing that we ourselves are the ones causing the drama and the pain around us.

    I was at a point in my life where I needed to make a choice: continue living my old patterns, which were causing negative reactions and suffering, or take responsibility and ask myself, “What is underneath my anger? What is the root cause of my suffering?”

    When you look back to your past to understand your triggers, it will feel uncomfortable and challenging at times. But when you are able to sit with your emotions and delve a little deeper, you start breaking through your conditioned patterns and behaviors and set yourself free.

    The only way forward is by choosing to do the work to get there.

    It’s important to understand that our conditioning came from many years of reinforcing these old beliefs, so it is no surprise that change won’t happen overnight. We need be kind to ourselves through this process instead of judging ourselves and our mistakes, or beating ourselves up if we fall along the way. Each step we take brings us closer to breaking old patterns and forming new, positive ones.

    So where to begin?

    These are some techniques that have helped me on my journey toward breaking old patterns.

    1. Don’t react; pause.

    When you experience that old familiar feeling of anger or frustration bubbling up inside you, don’t react. Instead of erupting like a volcano pouring out hurtful words and reactions, try pausing for a moment.

    Take some space to reflect and name the emotions that surface—maybe fear, resentment, shame, or desperation—and explore underneath the anger. Ask yourself, “What was triggered for me at this time?”

    Don’t try to overanalyze the situation; just sit with the emotions and see what arises. Do you feel vulnerable or powerless, or a sense of sadness, betrayal, or fear?

    2. How does it feel in your body?

    Ask yourself, “Where do these emotions sit in my body? What are the sensations they present?”

    Once again, don’t overanalyze; just sit with the bodily sensations. Maybe you feel heat in your solar plexus or an aching in your heart. These sensations are asking for your acknowledgment; send them love.

    3. Identify your go-to response.

    Ask yourself, “How would I usually respond in this situation?” Maybe you would react by shouting, trying to push someone’s buttons, or becoming defensive.

    Take the time to recognize your usual response and sit with it for a moment. Identify how this response may cause pain and suffering to yourself and others.

    4. Reflect.

    Ask yourself, “Am I acting from a place of love and kindness?”

    By asking yourself this, you take the focus off blaming others or the situation, take responsibility for your own actions, and reclaim your personal power.

    By taking responsibility, you are then able to consciously choose how you respond to any given situation. Remember, you don’t have control over how other people respond, but you do have 100% control over your response and if it causes joy or suffering.

    5. Practice awareness.

    Remember you are acting out a conditioned behavior; it is your automatic response. When you practice awareness by identifying conditioned behaviors, you begin to take the power away from the old patterns and create space to form new positive ones.

    It’s like rewriting your story. You have the power to recreate your story and transform old patterns into ones that serve you and align with your true essence and purpose in life.

    6. Be kind to yourself.

    Your conditioned responses and behaviors are your defense mechanisms, the coping strategies you learned to protect yourself in the world.

    Acknowledge that you’ve always done your best based on what you learned growing up, and you’re now doing your best to change. If you struggle, treat yourself with kindness and compassion. It’s okay to make mistakes; don’t beat yourself up. Remember, every step you take brings you closer to personal freedom.

    —

    You may find it helpful to keep a journal to reflect on the above points when your old destructive patterns emerge. Journaling has been my savior during this process.

    These techniques empowered me to recognize conditioned patterns and behaviors that were holding me back. They’ve also enabled me to communicate and connect with others positively and effectively. It’s not always easy to identify when you are acting out an old behavior, but the more you practice awareness when situations trigger you, the easier it will become to break these old patterns.

  • How to Replace Body-Hate with Self-Compassion

    How to Replace Body-Hate with Self-Compassion

    “Loving yourself is the greatest revolution.” ~Unknown

    I’ve spent most of my life struggling with my weight and trying desperately to fit the idealistic image of beauty that our culture celebrates.

    As a young teen, I was obsessed with magazines and all their secrets to be prettier and have a better butt and get your crush to notice you. I see now how desperate I was at such a young age to feel beautiful. Nothing seemed to work, though, as years passed and my need to fit the ideal beauty image only increased.

    In high school I learned to skip meals, and in college I learned to combine food restriction with exercise. Even then, I don’t remember being happy with my body.

    Over many years my body and my weight have changed drastically. Also, struggling with depression and anxiety has meant trying different prescriptions, all with weight gain as a side effect. It’s contributed to more body changes, especially in recent years.

    The more my weight changed, the harder it became to reside in my own body. I didn’t feel like myself anymore, and I didn’t look or move like I once did.

    I looked back on when I was thinner and remembered that I was unhappy at that size, but now I’d kill to have that old body back.

    It was painful to look at myself in photos. I started avoiding old friends and acquaintances because I didn’t want anyone to see my new body. Every pound I weighed carried shame and self-blame. My body was the enemy and I was at war.

    In the midst of trying new ways to manage my anxiety and depression, I came across yoga therapy. It was life changing for me. I found that I felt better after every session, even amid a severe depressive episode. To feel a mood shift in the slightest degree was miraculous, and I was hooked.

    I needed more yoga in my life and, being the academic that I am, I decided to study it. I found a local program that specialized in training yoga teachers and yoga therapists, and a new journey began.

    The first thing I learned was that yoga means union. It aims to unify the mind, the spirit, and (lucky me) the body. As a woman currently waging war on her body and studying yoga at the
    same time, things were about to hit the metaphorical fan.

    Not too many months into my yoga studies, I found myself in treatment for an eating disorder. I had to learn, or in some ways, re-learn, how to connect with my body. Turns out there are a variety of sensations and sensitivities in the body that we can (and should) tune into.

    Our bodies give us subtle cues all the time, and when I started approaching my body mindfully, I became more aware of them. For example, as I was more mindful of my breath, I noticed that I’d stop breathing when I had a difficult thought or when I challenged my body to do something it wasn’t ready to do.

    My body responded to every negative thing I did to it. When I starved myself or pushed my body past its limits, it responded with headaches and overuse injuries.

    Once I realized these things were all related, I began to ask questions: Why am I so tired? Why do I feel so overwhelmed? Why am I pushing myself so hard? How do I begin to recharge? How do I honor my own needs?

    This body I’d been at war with for so long turned out to hold the key to healing many wounds.

    When I began listening to my body’s limitations and needs, I began to change. Learning to honor my body gave me the confidence to ask for what I needed. I tuned into when I was tired or hurting, and I set up new boundaries. Taking breaks when I needed them and stepping back from certain relationships actually left me feeling more connected and capable.

    I realized it was time to end the war. My body deserved peace. It deserved compassion.

    All those years of struggle have left a mark on me. I still tend toward eating disordered behavior from time to time, and still find myself comparing my body to those around me. Sometimes the body-hate speech in my head can still get so loud that I can’t hear myself think.

    In my recovery, I’ve realized that countering negative self-talk is key. I’ve found a few things that help, and I’d like to share them in hopes of helping someone else who needs it.

    1. Every time you notice body envy, thank your body for something it does well.

    This will require you to be mindful about when you are comparing yourself to others or checking yourself in a mirror. Take a moment to purposely think about something your body does that is good for you. Doing this may not create an instant change in mindset, but it will, over time, help to re-wire some old thought patterns.

    Some things you could thank yourself for are breathing, talking, hearing, and thinking. Maybe thank your body for transporting you from place to place, walking, frolicking, twirling. Feel free to be creative!

    2. Find body movements that suit you.

    Bodies are magnificent! They are capable of doing so many things. When we tune into our body’s capacity for movement and we’re active, we feel more connected to our bodies. In those moments of connection, we are more likely to be proud of what our bodies can do instead of ashamed of how they look.

    Not every person is a natural athlete, so I’m not going to insist everyone start running marathons. You know your body and you know what you’re capable of doing.

    Personally, I love yoga, as all good yoga teachers do. I also love the camaraderie of running activities, but I’m a walker. I walk 5ks and am planning to participate in a walker-friendly half marathon within the next year. It’s accessible to me and I feel good doing it.

    Maybe for you it’s swimming or dancing or hiking. You don’t have to be the best at it, just enjoy it.

    3. Scrub your social media feed.

    Nourishing ourselves goes way beyond just what we put in our mouth; it includes what enters our minds.

    Nearly everyone has some contact with social media these days whether it’s Twitter or Facebook or Instagram. These places are ripe for talk of new diets and weight loss before and after photos. Of course, it’s mostly full of weight loss stories because no one seems to post their weight gain to social media.

    Anyway, I find it important to unfollow anything that’s unhelpful to you. If it elicits negative feelings about yourself, I beg you to consider deleting or unfollowing. Replace these feeds with more body neutral or body positive or health-at-every-size feeds. Add stories and images of successful people who look like you and who behave in ways that make you feel good.

    4. Buy clothes you feel comfortable in.

    I am so uncomfortable in tight fitting clothes, and I’m not present when I wear them. My mind is constantly focused on how others may be seeing me or interpreting my outfit when I’m uncomfortable in the clothes I wear.

    So, I recommend going out and going shopping for a few new pieces that make you feel good. Ignore the numbers and go by how it makes you feel. Take a friend with you for support if you need it. It does improve your confidence when you wear clothes that really fit you.

    5. Have honest conversations with your loved ones.

    Set boundaries around diet talk. If certain topics and conversations trigger you to feel poorly about yourself, it’s important to talk to people you trust about your sensitivities. Loving friends will want to support you in this and are often really receptive.

    I’m lucky to have lovely friends who are respectful of my boundaries and who are honest with me when I ask them questions about my insecurities.

    I’ve asked my friends not to discuss diets around me and to avoid calling themselves “bad” for having seconds or eating dessert. Also, we agreed not don’t put our bodies down. Those things really affect me, so I’m grateful to have friends that understand that. I encourage you to find people you can trust and let them support you.

    —

    Finding ways to stand up to your own body-hate speech is so important. These little exercises may seem small, but over time can help make a difference. When we habituate self-compassion, our lives will change. Sometimes the smallest things can make the biggest impact.

  • A Surprising but Effective Way to Get Out Of A Shame Spiral

    A Surprising but Effective Way to Get Out Of A Shame Spiral

    “I have found that, among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver.” ~Maya Angelou

    As an aspiring daily meditator, I’ve been instructed by many a spiritual sage to think of my emotions as clouds drifting across my internal landscape. The idea here is that clouds come and go, so clinging to any one cloud is an exercise in futility.

    I like this metaphor. It overlaps quite nicely with the cloud-classification skills I learned in third grade and haven’t since put to use.

    The more time I spend on the cushion, the more I realize that some of my emotions are cirrus clouds: feathery wisps of humor, annoyance, or connection that drift away as quickly as they came.

    Others are cumulus clouds: hearty puffs of joy, nostalgia, or anger that make themselves known by casting shadows on the ground.

    In my experience, only one emotion is a cumulonimbus cloud: an angry, heaping, blackened pile that trudges sluggishly across the sky. That emotion is shame.

    Shame plants himself down in front of the sun with no intentions of leaving. He makes a god-awful racket with ceaseless thunderstorms and doesn’t move until he’s good and ready.

    Recently, I found myself in the thick of a shame spiral. I had made a series of oversights that were impacting my very new and, as such, very delicate, romantic relationship.

    The mistakes I’d made were honest, but I should have known better, and this became the mantra that fueled hours of self-blame and judgment. My mental movie was like a 1500s tragicomedy, and I was the snarling, callous villain.

    I was feeling like sh*t, and I certainly wasn’t making it any better for myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I couldn’t focus on my work, my social life, or even the simple task of taking out my recycling.

    As a person in recovery, I knew that a shame spiral was my one-way ticket to a first drink. So I rang up a trusted mentor for guidance. Over steaming coffee in the hidden back booth of a nondescript coffeehouse, I bemoaned my vivid ruminations.

    What’s Shame?

    Research professor and best-selling author Brené Brown is all over the shame game. She makes clear that guilt is the feeling that you’ve done something bad, while shame is the feeling that you are bad, and as such, “unworthy of love and belonging.”

    As a recovering perfectionist, I get hit with red-hot shame when I do something “wrong.” (As my mom loves to remind me, I sobbed inconsolably when I got an A- instead of an A on my fifth-grade report card.)

    As a recovering codependent person, I get hit with extra shame when I do something “wrong” in the context of relationships. Here cometh the fear of abandonment and the cold sweat of unworthiness!

    Because shame is the feeling that we are intrinsically bad, it’s particularly conducive to spirals—cycles of self-fueling negative energy that perpetuate ad infinitum.

    I know I’m in a shame spiral when I seek reassurance from my friends compulsively; don’t want to leave the house or interact with anyone; don’t feel the need to wear decent clothes, do my dishes, or other acts of self-care; and feel totally uninspired to do the things that generally give me joy.

    In reality, these actions are ways of subconsciously punishing myself. We accept the behavior we think we deserve, and when I’m in a shame spiral, I don’t feel like I deserve much of anything.

    The Solution

    So anyway, back to my conversation with my mentor. I was talking a mile a minute, running my hands through my frizzy (unwashed) hair, and articulating, in great detail, all the ways I’d done my partner wrong.

    It was not a pretty scene. But, as mentors are wont to do, she listened without judgment. When I’d conveyed the whole story, visibly deflated like a sad balloon, I turned to my mentor with wide eyes.

    “How can I fix this?” I asked her.

    She paused, digesting, and replied firmly, “Call someone and ask how they’re doing. Go to the food bank. Volunteer. Be of service somehow.”

    Her suggestion seemed so out-of-left-field that it stopped me in my tracks.

    Call someone and ask how they’re doing? I thought. But that has absolutely nothing to do with my problem or me! (Shame is a very self-referential emotion.)

    I wanted to ruminate, stew, fix! I wanted to call my best friends just one more time and unpack this whole thing, top to bottom. Also, if my intentions for service were self-serving, was it even service anymore? Shouldn’t I only “serve” if I’m really jonesing for some Good Samaritanism?

    I relayed all of this to her. She listened patiently; she’d heard it all before.

    “Hailey, you need to get out of yourself,” she said. “You are driving yourself crazy, cooped up in your mind this way. Give yourself a break.”

    So I did. And it worked. Here’s why:

    1. Shame traps us in our thoughts; service puts us into action.

    In an appearance on Oprah, Brené Brown offers three ways to stop a shame spiral:

    1. Talk to yourself the way you’d talk to someone you love when they feel unworthy.

    2. Reach out to someone you trust.

    3. Tell your story.

    Brené Brown is an absolute sage, and her research on shame and vulnerability has profoundly changed my life. But when I’m in my darkest shame spirals, these three tactics aren’t quite enough for me.

    Because my shame is so self-referential and all-consuming, I cannot think or talk myself out of a shame spiral.

    Every thought—no matter how brilliantly it rationalizes my actions or how warmly it reassures me of my own goodness—is coated with the persistent, underlying certitude that I am bad.

    My shame is like an advanced-stage, resilient bacteria; the first course of antibiotics doesn’t make a dent. I need to prove to myself, with not only my words but my actions, that there is more to me than what I’m so ashamed of. Service is an easy road out of my frazzled mind and into the world around me.

    2. Shame isolates; service connects.

    When I’m ashamed, the idea of being social sounds like torture. I’m normally quite extroverted, but when I’m spiraling, I don’t want to hang out with my closest friends, let alone strangers. In the thick of a spiral, it’s not unusual for me for cancel plans, be unresponsive to friends’ messages, and go dark on social media.

    Isolation enables my shame to fester. It keeps the scope of my world small. Service, on the other hand, does the opposite.

    Service is intrinsically connective. First, I’m connected in real time with the person I’m serving. The newcomer to the twelve-step program I call to check in on, the man whose bowl I fill with soup, the kid I read aloud to.

    Second, I’m connected to my community. Few acts of service exist in a vacuum; typically, I’m at least peripherally involved with a community organization, a church, or a grassroots group of do-gooders determined to make the world a better place. And though the unbridled optimism and rah-rah mentality of service groups can get on my nerves, there’s something heartwarming about being part of something bigger than myself.

    Finally, there’s that universal connectedness; the sensation of being human, of being one of seven billion people dancing their way through this complicated and confusing thing called life. When I’m in service, I’m helping other people with other problems who have baggage of their own. With this perspective in hand, ruminating about my shame suddenly feels far less important.

    3. Shame exhausts; service awakens.

    Self-flagellation takes a lot of emotional energy. It’s exhausting to rewind, fast-forward, and rewind the movie reel of your mistakes. Because it’s our human tendency to defend against threat, a part of us—no matter how small—will fight against the shame. This is the part that will rationalize our behavior, craft a narrative for our actions, and pepper us with positive self-talk.

    These two forces—“I am good!” vs. “I am bad!”—are at odds with each other. The result is an internal Civil War, one that rages as we try to fall asleep, as we stare at the tile wall in the shower, as we drink our coffee on the patio. It can become the soundtrack to our days.

    Service provides a respite from this turmoil. By getting us out of our own minds and into the world around us, it gives the shame soundtrack a much-needed pause. In that silence, we can gain new perspective and peace.

    4. Shame breeds shame; service breeds hope.

    Shame is self-perpetuating; it cycles ‘round and ‘round the same tired litany of self-criticisms and judgments. In such a state, there is little room for anything novel to enter our consciousness. If we respond to our shame by self-isolating and hibernating, we just make the echo chamber smaller. Shame breeds shame.

    Service, on the other hand, connects us with the newness of other people’s stories and challenges.

    Studies have shown that novelty makes us happier whether we’re shame-spiraling or not. Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project, writes, “Often we’re happier, we feel more energetic, more productive, more creative when we try something new, when we challenge ourselves a little bit, when we kind of go out of that comfort zone. That atmosphere of growth can really boost our happiness.”

    Service gets us out of our own way and offers a new palette of emotions and values to choose from: togetherness, community, connection, service, altruism, and more. It puts our personal challenges into perspective and simultaneously offers us tangible, actionable proof of our own goodness that stands in contrast to our negative self-judgments.

    It was hard for me to realize that my darkest shame spirals were also my most intensely self-indulgent moments. Even though I may have felt totally miserable, at the end of the day, it was still all about me: my wrongness, my badness, my words, my actions, my self-perceptions.

    When I mustered up the will to be of service, I was astounded by the serenity that came from relenquishing my role as the star of the show.

    Becoming a vessel for acts of goodwill opened my eyes to a greater, simpler reality, one I didn’t need to control or micromanage. From that vantage point, I was able to look back on my actions from a distance, and with that distance came the self-compassion, acceptance, and self-forgiveness I’d been hoping for all along.

  • How to Find Peace in the Dark Corners of Your Life

    How to Find Peace in the Dark Corners of Your Life

    “The mind can go in a thousand directions, but on this beautiful path, I walk in peace. With each step, the wind blows. With each step, a flower blooms.” ~Thich Nhat Nanh

    It’s easy to feel peaceful and positive when the sun is shining and life is going your way. It’s a different matter when you’re alone, afraid, sick, or so tired you have trouble getting out of bed in the morning.

    As a three-time cancer survivor, I know something about getting through difficult times. I know what it’s like to feel exhausted and hopeless, but I’ve also learned it’s possible to find moments of peace and light under the most difficult of circumstances. You can too.

    Here are six techniques that help me find the light when things are tough. I hope they bring you the same sense of peace and ease they bring me.

    1. Stop pretending everything’s okay.

    If things aren’t going well, acknowledge it.

    Stop judging yourself for feeling tired, anxious, or miserable. Instead of yelling at yourself for not being upbeat in the face of trauma or trouble, speak to yourself with the same understanding and respect you’d use to support your friends and family.

    Tell yourself you have every right to feel the way you do right now, but that feelings are like the tide. They come and go. And while things are tough today, you’re tough, too. You’ve been through hard times before. You’ll get through this, and tomorrow will be a better day.

    2. Give yourself the gift of living one hour at a time.

    When I was going through chemo for breast cancer, I was afraid I wouldn’t have the strength to make it through the six long months of treatment. And then I came across the idea of living my life hour by hour, and that changed everything.

    Here’s how it works:

    Let’s say it’s 1:15 p.m. where you are. All you have to do is focus on doing the best you can until 2:00 p.m. That’s it. You don’t have to worry about what’s for dinner tomorrow night. You certainly aren’t going to worry about that appointment you have next Tuesday, or how you’re going to replace your old car.

    You just have to make it through this one hour, secure in the knowledge that the next hour, and all the hours after that, will take care of themselves.

    It sounds simple, but living this way has seen me through some really tough days. Go ahead, give it a try, and see how this one change can make this tough time easier.

    3. Focus on loving yourself.

    This is a time to treat your body and spirit with fierce, loving self-care.

    • Listen to your body and give it what it needs to stay healthy.
    • Make sure you get enough rest. Go to bed early. Take a nap.
    • Take an afternoon off and do something that soothes your heart. Go for a walk in the woods, head to the beach, or read a good book.
    • Eat as well as you can, but don’t beat yourself up if you don’t get all your vegetables or eat an extra piece of fudge.
    • Move in ways that feel good to your body. And move as often as possible. Even a ten-minute walk or some gentle stretching can improve your mood.
    • Support your health and your spirit with loving words and actions throughout your day.
    • Remind yourself all day long of how many reasons and ways you have to love yourself.

    My favorite way to care for myself when things are tough is to take a warm bath or shower. I love taking time alone to nurture my body and spirit. I love to relax and let the water wash away my cares and worries. For me, bathing is the perfect way to end a tough day.

    4. Get busy.

    Don’t just sit around worrying; do something. Even if you don’t have a lot of energy, you can still find something small to do to make your life better.

    Clean out a drawer or a closet. Read something. Learn something. Start a project, finish a project. Knit, tinker, build, garden, write, explore, give, share.

    I like to go for a walk or head to the kitchen to cook something, but it doesn’t matter what you do. What matters is that you take one small action to get you back on the road to feeling better.

    5. Be grateful.

    Take some time every day to focus on all the wonderful things you already have in your life.

    Even though you may feel you have nothing to be grateful for, I promise you, you are surrounded by an abundance of miracles. The trick is to seek out the little luxuries in your day, the moments of unexpected joy, the color, sound, and beauty of the world around you. Find them and then celebrate them all with a full heart.

    As you go through your day, look for things that feel good. Revel in things like the warmth and comfort of a quilt around your shoulders, the beat of your favorite music, the splendor of the morning sky, the juicy sweetness of a crisp apple.

    See how many of these incredible things you can find. Make it a game to find more of those things today than you did yesterday. Play the game with people around you and see how this one simple activity changes your life.

    If you’re still having trouble coming up with the good things in your life, complete these phrases:

    I enjoy seeing…

    I enjoy hearing….

    I enjoy doing….

    I enjoy knowing….

    I enjoy being with….

    I’m so glad about….

    I love….

    I’m so glad I can….

    I’m grateful for…

    I’m looking forward to…

    When you start looking for, and talking about, things you’re grateful for, you’ll begin to welcome more of those wonderful things into your life.

    6. Look up and breathe.

    Finally, when you’re anxious, depressed, or at your wit’s end, all you have to do to instantly feel better is look up. Simply raise your gaze to the sky or ceiling or whatever is over your head. Take a moment to feel a connection to the universe.

    Then draw a breath deep into your belly. As you continue to breathe deeply, feel a sense of relaxation begin in your shoulders and work its way down your spine. Feel your muscles soften as a sense of ease fills your body.

    With your next inhale, repeat the phrase, “I now fill my body with peace and light.” As you exhale, feel your body soften and relax as you repeat to yourself, “I let go of the weight of fear and worry.”

    Repeat until you are completely relaxed. Then take that sense of peace into your day, knowing you can repeat this technique as many times as you wish to bring this sense of peace into your heart, no matter what is going on around you.

    —

    It may not be possible to avoid the dark days in life, but it’s always possible to bring some light into that darkness and peace into your soul, by choosing acceptance, gratitude, focus, and love.

  • An Exercise That May Help You Make a Big, Scary Life Change

    An Exercise That May Help You Make a Big, Scary Life Change

    “Change your thoughts and you can change your world.” ~Norman Vincent Peale

    Making a major life change, such as changing careers or moving to a new state, can be really scary.

    Even if our hearts are pulling us in one direction, we may still be plagued with doubt, fear, and anxious thoughts, such as: How do I know if I’m making the right decision? What will my family think if I do this? Will I regret this?

    Even after we make the change, doubts and worries can still linger.

    In 2016, I was on the brink of a major life change. At the time, I was enrolled in a doctorate program in psychology. I had always dreamed of getting my doctorate. But after two semesters in the program, I realized the path I was on was making me miserable. While my advisor was passionate about his research, I didn’t feel anything close to passion.

    I came to realize I wasn’t in graduate school for the right reasons. I wasn’t there because I wanted to contribute to the field. What I wanted was to win the support and approval of my family.

    Once I realized that, I knew pursuing a doctorate wasn’t the right path for me. However, even though my intuition was screaming at me to leave, I didn’t trust those feelings. I fought with myself. I kept coming up with rational reasons for staying: I worked so hard to get here. I should be here. I’m smart enough to be here—I even passed the comprehensive exams in only my third semester!

    But no matter how hard my rational self struggled to sway me, my inner voice kept reminding me how unhappy and unfulfilled I was.

    I vacillated between leaving and staying. Deep down, I knew what I wanted to do. But I was terrified. My self-worth had always been linked to academic achievements. Without my status as a graduate student, I worried I’d feel worthless. Plus, what would my family and professors think if I left?

    Soon the pull of my intuition became too strong to ignore. I decided to leave my program. While my husband was very supportive of my decision, my family was not supportive—just as I feared. I tried to reassure myself. I continually reminded myself that I had left for the right reasons: to prioritize my happiness and pursue a more fulfilling life path.

    But the doubts and negative self-talk lingered. I started to believe that I was a failure, a loser. My family even said as much. A former professor was also disappointed with me.

    I became so wrapped up in my doubts and negative self-talk that I lost sight of the reasons why I left in the first place.

    Then serendipity hit.

    For some time, I had a side project in writing uplifting letters to strangers. I would write positive messages and leave them in places I thought would be helpful, such as inside self-help books at used bookstores.

    One day, while writing a letter, I suddenly got the idea to write a letter to myself, a letter reminding myself that in leaving graduate school, I was doing what was right for me—being true to myself and prioritizing my happiness.

    “Dear You,” I began. I spent the next hour crafting a letter to myself. I wrote as if I were a compassionate friend writing to myself.

    In the first paragraph, I briefly acknowledged my doubts and feelings.

    Next, I told myself to stop being so hard on myself—I had left graduate school to do what was right for me and my happiness.

    Then I wrote about why I knew graduate school was the wrong path for me. I recalled how happy I was before starting graduate school, and that my happiness rapidly declined since pursuing this path. I reminded myself that I was now free to let happiness back into my life. In the end, the letter ran to just under one thousand words.

    After particularly hard days, I would read the letter. What I found was remarkable: the letter instantaneously swept away all of the self-critical thoughts I had about leaving graduate school. It broke the pattern of my thinking negatively about myself and made me see, in my own words, why what I had done was right.

    Each time I finished the letter, I would be confident about my decision again and proud of my choice.

    But then, a day or two later, something would trigger me to feel badly again. The negative thoughts and fears and doubts would return. In the evening, I’d read the letter again and feel confident once more.

    Clearly, reading the letter was helpful in boosting my mood and confidence in the moment. So I thought: What if I started reading the letter every day? Would it help me feel better about my decision in the long-term? And so I started reading the letter every morning. It was often one of the first things I did after I woke up. In the beginning, I read it several times a day.

    Reading the letter every day proved to be powerful. Within a couple of weeks, I noticed that the things that had triggered me to feel badly, no longer had that effect. Instead, when confronted with these triggers, I found myself automatically thinking about the sentiments I had expressed in my letter.

    After a month of reading the letter every single day, my thought patterns had completely changed. No longer did I think less of myself for leaving my graduate program. Instead, I felt proud.

    In leaving my doctorate program, I had done what was right for me. I had listened to my intuition and bravely made a move toward pursuing a more fulfilling path. Sure, I was more than capable of being in graduate school and finishing the program, but it wasn’t the right path for me, and that was okay.

    And my letter had helped me stay on the path that was right for me.

    Are you facing a major life change and struggling with doubt, fear, or negative self-talk? If so, writing a letter to yourself and reading it consistently may be helpful in transforming your thoughts.

    Tips on Writing a Letter to Yourself

    1. Acknowledge your current thoughts and feelings.

    In the first paragraph, you might start off by acknowledging your current feelings or thoughts. For example, I started off my letter by writing, “I know you may be doubting yourself right now…” Reading this made me feel comforted and soothed, as if I were reading a letter from a friend who completely understood where I was coming from.

    2. If you’re having trouble coming up with reassuring thoughts to include in your letter, talk over your situation with a supportive friend.

    I talked over my situation constantly with my husband. I thought that my being sad to let go of my program was evidence that I was about to make the wrong decision. But he reminded me that it was normal to feel that way; after all it was a dream I had held for so long. It made sense that it would be a little sad to let that go, even if I knew it wasn’t right for me. This sentiment made its way into my letter.

    3. Make it conversational.

    I found my letter more impactful when it was written in a conversational way. Don’t worry so much about spelling or grammar. It doesn’t need to read like an essay.

    4. Use positive words.

    In her studies of the subconscious mind, Dr. Sherry Buffington found that the subconscious can only understand words that produce a mental image or picture. Words such as don’t, not, and no do not form an image or picture. Therefore, the subconscious doesn’t recognize them.

    For example, when you write, “You are not weak,” your subconscious only recognizes you and weak, and interprets this statement as, “You are weak.” Yikes! That’s not at all what you meant! If you use positive words, your subconscious will recognize the words and interpret the statement correctly. In this example, if you write, “You are strong,” your subconscious sees exactly as you intend: “You are strong.”

    5. Make it accessible.

    I wrote the letter in a Google Doc, which is stored within my Google Drive. That way I could access it easily on my phone. This might be helpful for you, or you may prefer a handwritten letter instead. Ultimately, you want to choose a method that will allow you easy access every day.

    6. Be open to revision.

    I know that my letter is just right when I feel comforted and soothed when reading it. If a sentence or paragraph doesn’t have the right effect, you may need to revise it a little.

    7. Read it every single day!

    For the letter to help you stay the course, it’s important to read it every day—for as long as you need to.

    —

    Making a big life change can trigger a lot of fear, doubt, and negative self-talk. These overwhelming feelings and thoughts can become so habitual that you can feel stuck and unable to break free from them.

    Writing an empathetic, empowering letter to yourself can remind you why making a life change is so important to your happiness and well-being. And reading it regularly can help reprogram your thought patterns and keep you on the right track.

  • What to Do When You Feel Stuck, Stagnant, and Bored with Your Life

    What to Do When You Feel Stuck, Stagnant, and Bored with Your Life

    “Sometimes when things are falling apart they may actually be falling into place.” ~L.J. Vanier

    Earlier last year, I felt like I finally had it all. Good education? Check. Respectable corporate job? Check. Decent salary? Check. Fancy car? Check. Charming, funny, and handsome boyfriend? Check. Stylish apartment? Check.

    I should’ve been happy. So why didn’t I feel like I was? My life looked perfect on paper. So why did it still feel so empty? I’d done everything I thought I was supposed to. So why did I feel like a fraud? I had everything I’d ever wanted. So why didn’t it feel like enough?

    The answer is simple: I’d been too busy trying to curate a life that looked good on the outside to recognize how I felt on the inside. I’d been too busy trying to be who other people wanted me to be to realize who I actually was. I’d been too busy trying to seem important to identify what was actually important to me.

    I’d been too busy blindly going through the motions to realize that I was settling for jobs that didn’t align with my dreams, relationships that didn’t align with my needs, and a lifestyle that didn’t align with my values.

    For years, I’d been running on autopilot, my perpetual action serving as a convenient distraction. And it worked. Right up until the moment that I unpacked the last box on the day that my boyfriend and I moved in together.

    Because, as I sat there in our big, beautiful apartment, looking around at the designer furniture that I’d so carefully picked out and the face of the man that I’d not-so-carefully chosen to spend my life with, it hit me: Everything that I’d spent so long dreaming about was here, firmly within my grasp. It was a moment that had I had always fantasized about. But this was not how I imagined I would feel.

    At first, I put it down to situational jitters. Sure, I was crippled with anxiety, paralyzed by fear, and plagued with self-doubt most of the time, but that’s normal, right? It was a big transition, after all.

    And admitting to myself that something wasn’t working would mean making changes. Admitting to myself that I’d chosen the wrong path would mean stepping into the unknown. Admitting to myself that I wasn’t happy would mean taking responsibility. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to do that.

    But with each hollow day and each sleepless night that passed, the feelings of dread, dissatisfaction, and emptiness only grew more and more unshakable.

    It wasn’t until the facade inevitably collapsed and I found myself single, unemployed, and moving back in with my parents that I realized: Those feelings weren’t a coincidence. They were a warning. A flashing, neon-lit sign that something was very, very wrong.

    The truth is, no amount of external approval can truly satisfy us. No amount of material excess can rescue us from our feelings. No amount of romantic attention can make our problems go away. And no amount of hedonistic thrills can fill the void of a soul that’s been neglected.

    For my entire adult life, I’d consistently and consciously chosen money over meaning, chemistry over connection, and validation over truth—and now I was paying the price.

    When the objects and attachments that had long awarded me the illusion of safety, purpose, and identity were gone, suddenly, I was unanchored, drifting and directionless, grasping for anything to save me from drowning in the sea of emptiness that stretched before me.

    I knew that I should be doing something with my life. But what? I had no hobbies, no interests, and no passions. I didn’t know what I enjoyed doing, let alone what I wanted to do.

    Besides, I was too shy, too cautious, too boring. People like me don’t do brave and adventurous things like starting a blog or becoming a yoga teacher or traveling the world. People like me conform and comply and consent to the life that has been prescribed to them.

    But rock bottom is a bittersweet place. Because when you find yourself face-to-face with your fears, you have no choice but to overcome them. When you no longer know who you are, you have no choice but to rediscover yourself. And when your entire life has fallen apart, you have no choice but to rebuild it.

    A spiritual awakening, an early-life crisis, a dark night of the soul—call it what you want. All I know is that, up until that point, it felt like I had been asleep, and I was finally starting to wake up. And the world didn’t seem so scary anymore. In fact, it seemed full of exciting possibilities.

    For the first time in my life, I felt alive and ready to follow my heart.

    So began a magical journey of self-discovery. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, like a seed sprouting into a plant, like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly, I was reborn. And this new life that I’ve created is far better than the one that I left behind.

    The thing is, the minute I loosened my grip on the plans I had for the future, the minute I released the self-limiting beliefs that had dictated the way that I lived, the minute I shed the fictional expectations I’d placed on myself, I was liberated. Liberated from the life that had been crushing my hopes, repressing my dreams, sapping my spirit, and bankrupting my soul.

    The minute I gave myself permission to be me is the minute that I learned the true meaning of freedom.

    This last year, I’ve seen places that I never thought I would, done things that I never thought I could, and changed in ways that I didn’t think possible.

    I’ve launched a blog, joined a yoga course, taken a solo backpacking trip, taught myself new skills, made new friends and connections, started new hobbies, and set myself goals. I’ve said goodbye to the corporate world that was corrupting my values, the unhealthy relationships that were dragging me down, and the destructive habits that were holding me back.

    And I haven’t looked back since.

    So what can you do if you find yourself sleepwalking through life, feeling stuck, stagnant, dazed, and disconnected?

    Slow down.

    You don’t have to make any decisions right away. In fact, the more time you take, the better.

    You can’t make effective choices if you’re afraid. You can’t make accurate assessments if you’re checked out. And you can’t discover what’s really meaningful to you if you’ve lost touch with your emotions.

    So give yourself space. Make self-care a priority. Tune in to yourself.

    And the answers that you’ve been looking for? You’ll probably find that they’ve been right there inside of you all along. Chances are, you just haven’t been paying attention.

    Stop comparing.  

    Too often, we allow ourselves to fall into the trap of measuring ourselves against others. And with Instagram feeds inundated with skinny waistlines, flashy cocktail bars, exotic adventures, and picture-perfect families, who can really blame us?

    But just because something is right for someone else doesn’t mean that it’s right for you. Just because someone else seems like they’ve got it together doesn’t mean that they do. And just because the grass looks greener on the other side doesn’t mean that it is.

    So stop comparing your chapter one to someone else’s chapter twenty. Own your mess. Know that you are enough, imperfections and all.

    Get to know yourself.

    In the midst of my personal crisis, I would spend hours trawling the Internet, frantically Googling things like “how do I find my passion?” But I learned that your passion isn’t something you find. It isn’t something you discover overnight. And it isn’t something that has the power to change your life. Only you can do that.

    Life isn’t about finding your passion. It’s about being curious. Curious about who you are, about what you have to offer the world, and about what’s deeply and authentically important to you.

    So get introspective. Explore new things. Learn what lights you up.

    Ask yourself: What are your hobbies? What topics are you interested in? What are you good at? What are your values? Who do you admire and why? What have you always wanted to try but never had the money/time/courage to do? What activities did you enjoy as a child?

    And if you find something that scares you and excites you at the same time, do that.

    Let go.

    Nothing in life is permanent. Everything is changing all of the time. And the more you resist, the more you cling, the more you struggle against reality, the more you’re going to suffer.

    The reality is, most of what happens in life is out of your control. And in attempting to change, force, or manipulate your circumstances to meet your ideals, you’re setting yourself up for a lifetime of disappointment.

    But if you learn how to relax with the uncertainty, how to surrender to the natural flow of life, and how to release what no longer serves you, you’re going to make way for what will serve you. So let go of the old blueprint you had for your life, the expectations that you set for yourself, and the idea that the past could or should have been different.

    Be open to change. Allow things to fall away. Trust that things will unfold as they are supposed to.

    Be true to yourself.

    This is your life. It’s up to you to decide what you do with it.

    The only thing standing between you and your dreams is you. And if you let your fears dictate your choices, if you let external opinions govern your actions, and if you let negative thoughts influence your beliefs, you’ll end up settling for what’s comfortable for you instead of what’s best for you.

    So stop getting in your own way. Define what success means to you and say no to everything that isn’t that. Don’t be afraid to share your gifts with the world—because we’re waiting.

    We might not be able to choose what happens to us, but we can choose how we spend our time on this Earth.

    We can choose to spend it working toward our dreams, or we can choose to spend it working toward someone else’s.

    We can choose to spend it doing something that is meaningful to us, or we can choose to spend it doing something that is meaningful to someone else.

    We can choose to spend it following our hearts, or we can choose to spend it helping someone else to follow theirs.

    I know what I’d rather be doing. Do you?

    “There is freedom waiting for you, on the breezes of the sky, and you ask ‘What if I fall?’ Oh but my darling, what if you fly.” ~Eric Hanson

  • How to Reach Your Goal (And Why Three People Showing Up Isn’t Failure)

    How to Reach Your Goal (And Why Three People Showing Up Isn’t Failure)

    “If you believe it will work out, you’ll see opportunities. If you believe it won’t, you will see obstacles.” ~Wayne Dyer

    I’ve been part of a social meet-up group for the past few years, one that’s helped me through tricky times like quitting my job, dealing with anxiety, and having my first baby. When I first joined the group, there were three people who attended the events. (Yes, you read that correctly—three people!)

    There were lots of people in the group itself, but only three of us would regularly attend monthly events. It meant that if one of us couldn’t make the meet-up, we would have to cancel the whole thing (or it would be a rather intimate evening).

    And yet, in the last year, the monthly attendance has quadrupled. (Admittedly, that only takes us to twelve people… but that’s still a 300% increase!)

    Not bad in a year (and anyone who’s organized an event knows how hard it can be to get people to actually show up). And we’re talking twelve “regulars”—people who love the meet-ups, and who come back time and time again, enthusiastic and inspired.

    Plus, our attendance is still growing, and interest is mounting. Who knows where we’ll be in a year’s time!

    As we tested out ways to increase our numbers, I realized that the lessons I was learning could be applied to life—not just to meet-up groups. I started using them in my own life, with great benefit.

    I realized that anyone going after a goal or project could use these strategies (and most of us are going after a goal, in some form or other).

    So here are five lessons I learned about getting what you want, as taught to me by our small (but ambitious) meet-up group:

    1. Be patient; play the long game.

    When we set out to increase numbers, we didn’t get disheartened if we didn’t see results straight away. We knew the long game was the most important thing. The first meet-up had four attendees. The next one had five. Then we went down to four again. It took a year for us to get more than ten regular members, and to really notice how the group had changed.

    A year can sometimes seem like a long time when you’re pursuing a goal or dream. But the time will pass anyway! Why not spend it doing something you love or are really passionate about?

    2. Do things that scare you every now and then.

    One of the ways we increased attendance was by messaging every single member of the group—to say hi, tell them about the monthly events, and to ask if there were specific reasons why they hadn’t attended in the past.

    At first, this felt scary. Are we bothering them? Will they tell us to go away? Or will we hear something bad about the events? It’s daunting reaching out to people you don’t know, and putting yourself out there.

    And yet, more often than not, it’s the best thing we can do! Let’s face it, if the things you’re doing currently aren’t working, then you might as well change it up. Try something new. What have you got to lose?

    Pressing “send” on that email, or saying yes to that call might feel scary for a few minutes, but imagine how great it would feel if you got the thing(s) you wanted. Are a few minutes of discomfort worth it for long-term progress or growth? I’d say so.

    3. Remember that things grow exponentially (one thing leads to another).

    The best thing about taking action is the snowball effect: your action sets off another action, which sets off another. And before you know it, you’re storming ahead.

    With our group, as more members attended, we could post more photos of our events (that didn’t show the same three people hanging out!) And as more people saw our photos and started coming to events, they told friends about it and invited them too.

    It’s the same with goals or projects. You might nervously share a few of your blog posts and think nothing is happening; you’re not gaining any traction. But you never know what’s happening out in the ether. Perhaps one of your posts resonated with a local professor, who shares it with her colleagues, who share it with their friends…

    The fact is, you never know what’s going on behind the scenes. So take an action step, and then another, and let the momentum build!

    4. Ask for help.

    No one does anything worthwhile alone. There’s always a team involved.

    The three of us emailed group members, posted on our Facebook wall, and spread the word however we could. We contacted friends. We held brainstorming sessions for ideas. We sought advice from peers and local event leaders.

    The best thing about asking for help is that most people want to help. In fact, they love it! Think about the times that you’re asked for advice. Do you get annoyed by it, or does your chest puff out ever so slightly?!

    Use the resources around you. Don’t be afraid to do so—because when the tables are turned, you may well be able to help in return.

    5. Be passionate about it.

    I’ve left this one till last because it’s the most important one, in my opinion. Be passionate about what you’re doing.

    The three of us in the group really believe in what we’re doing. We love holding the events. We love the sense of community we’ve created. And we’re so passionate about what we’re doing that we work on it—willingly—in our spare time.

    If you’re working on a goal or project and not feeling passion toward it at all, why are you doing it? Are you doing it for someone else, or to look good?

    Things are so much easier when we enjoy doing them. So choose wisely. Choose things you’re passionate about. And then during the tough times or dips (which do happen) you’ll be more likely to keep going, and you’ll feel even more committed when you come out the other side.

  • It’s Not “Failing” to Leave a Toxic, Abusive Marriage

    It’s Not “Failing” to Leave a Toxic, Abusive Marriage

    “Forgive yourself for not knowing better at the time. Forgive yourself for giving away your power. Forgive yourself for past behaviors. Forgive yourself for the survival patterns and traits you picked up while enduring trauma. Forgive yourself for being who you needed to be.” ~Audrey Kitching

    I have always been an extremely glass-half-full kind of person. I always see the best in everyone, and not only the best but also the unlimited beauty and potential. And my god, it’s glorious!!

    I met and fell in love with a charming man. I was on a trip to Alaska to visit a lifelong friend and met Mr. Wonderful at a gathering. He was attentive, charismatic, and made me feel like a queen. I was hooked. We were married four months later, and five months after that I had my second daughter.

    I didn’t see the red flags. Looking back, I ask myself how I could have been so naïve, so trusting, so blind. Slowly but surely, though, my world changed.

    First, it was little things, like coming out to check on me at night when I was breast pumping milk to see what “I was up to.” Then there was the name-calling and shaming if I wanted to dress up and go out with friends to a dinner. I wondered if other wives got called sluts too because they would wear a pretty shirt.

    There came a day when it became difficult to see the beauty in myself, and in him. Everything changed that day. And it never was able to return back to how it was before. The person that had vowed to love me, to cherish me, to protect me, and be there for me cut me to the core with words that will never be undone.

    “Nobody else will ever want you,” he sneered, his eyes filled with scorn and disgust. “A mother with kids from two different dads,” he chuckled to himself. “You are a slut, a whore, a sperm depository.”

    I curled up on the floor, in the fetal position, feeling as though he had stabbed me with a knife in the gut. I was sobbing, but I don’t remember hearing the sound.

    “Why are you saying this?” I gasped.

    “I read your journal,” he yelled, referring to an entry about my past lovers, as if that justified his cruelty.

    Stress does strange things to a person. I had recently broken out in painful boils on the left side of my torso and under my arms. They were excruciating. It hurt to lower my arm all the way down.

    “You are a fat, lazy, boil-infested bitch.”

    I remember at that moment shutting down. Going inward. A part of me disconnected in order to stay alive.

    Days turned into weeks. I felt myself dying inside a little more every day. I became withdrawn, and as time went on it took more and more energy to smile and pretend life was normal.

    Many friends didn’t understand. I remember them having shocked looks. “But I thought you were happily married,” one said, seemingly unable to comprehend the nightmare that had become my life.

    I gave up trying to talk about it, to explain. I felt it was my fault. Somehow I had attracted this, and perhaps somehow I could make him happy if I just did the right things and earned enough “Brownie points”—if, for example, I stayed home from social events and remained “on duty” with our baby all the time. Eventually I learned there were never Brownie points. Nothing seemed to make him pleased.

    One evening, he became angry with my older daughter, who was born blind in one eye, and called her a Cyclops. I remember wrapping one arm around my sobbing daughter while trying to bounce a baby on my hip. I was so exhausted from sleep deprivation and postpartum depression, it was all I could do to stay standing.

    I had never felt so alone, so isolated, so hopeless.

    I got the children settled to sleep, and I made a choice that night that I was finished.

    The next few days were a blur of his hateful and cruel remarks, as he knew I would not take him back; it was truly over. I knew I had to take a stand for myself, and if not me, for my children. They deserved better. I knew I did too, but I couldn’t see it at that time.

    It has been five years since we separated. I am resilient, and for that I am grateful.

    I am still an optimist, and I still see the beauty in everyone. I take a pause now, though, and I evaluate situations more carefully. My trust takes much more time to be earned now than it did eight years ago when I fell in love too fast, without knowing the real person behind the charming facade.

    Many people, including my parents, were disappointed in my failed marriage. Many sent prayers that it would be healed. For a long while, I felt like a failure.

    I have come to realize there is no shame in ‘failing’ in a marriage, especially if that marriage is toxic and harmful to your soul. I appreciate those thoughts and well-intended prayers, but at the end of the day, an abusive person who is not willing to self-reflect is not likely to change. The best thing to do at that point is to extricate yourself while you have the strength to do so.

    Recovering from trauma takes time. It has taken a lot of courage to look at my vulnerabilities and why I attracted such a relationship in the first place. This doesn’t mean I blamed myself. I just recognized that I had a strong need to feel loved and accepted, even if I was in an unhealthy situation, because I never felt loved and accepted as a child.

    It’s taken half a lifetime, but I’ve finally learned that everything I need is inside myself. I am complete on my own.

    Still, I have to work almost daily at forgiving, acting with grace, and ensuring that I am not compromising my needs or my right to be treated with dignity and respect in order to make him happy. I am still learning to stand my ground and expect respectful treatment when it comes to co-parenting.

    I will forever be grateful to the supportive network of family, friends, and a counselor who saw me through that incredibly rough time. A broken heart, shattered self-esteem, and deep postpartum depression did not disappear overnight.

    With the bravery it takes to self-reflect and learn from what appears to be a very unfortunate circumstance comes unparalleled growth. The self-forgiveness opens up opportunities for deeper self-love and self-compassion, and a much deeper understanding of my own humanness and how my past shaped me.

    But with time, self-love, self-forgiveness, and self-acceptance, I am a stronger and more empowered person today in spite of that experience. I am a phoenix, transformed by the fire. I will continue to see the beauty and unlimited potential in people, and I still choose to see the glass as half full. I do daily forgiveness work for myself and choose to move forward with love and grace, honoring my journey and my experience for what I have learned.

  • To Do What You Really Want to Do, You Need to Befriend your Inner Critic

    To Do What You Really Want to Do, You Need to Befriend your Inner Critic

    “Our ‘inside critics’ have intimate knowledge of us and can zero in on our weakest spots.” ~SARK

    We live in a world that often glorifies the power of positive thinking and affirmations.

    Don’t get me wrong, affirmations can be a powerful tool to help us acknowledge our self-worth. We need to learn to look for the positive and to be grateful for all the beautiful things in our lives if we want to be happy. Befriending your inner critic may seem to be in contradiction to these goals.

    A couple of years ago I began to pursue the creative life I had always dreamed about. I wanted to be happy and change the circumstances that weren’t bringing me joy. I had always wanted to be a writer, but I struggled with blocks on every level. Every book and blog I read seemed to agree that I needed to practice gratitude. They offered affirmations to help me get unstuck. But it didn’t seem to work.

    I struggled to be grateful. I couldn’t bring myself to believe the things I wanted to affirm in my life. My inner critic had long been in control of my thought patterns; trying to ignore the negativity seemed only to make it louder and more insistent.

    My inner critic is, at times, a little kid who will do anything to get the attention it craves. Sometimes it is a bitter old woman, muttering to herself in the corner about all the ways life has wronged her. Until I began to pay attention, I had no idea just how constant this background noise was in my brain.

    And it turns out I couldn’t learn to be a happier, more positive person without learning how to talk to my inner critic first. She was whispering in my ear all the time, trying to hold me back. I had to learn to listen to her fears and start to talk back and challenge what she said.

    The more adept I got at the process of befriending my inner critic, the more gratitude started to come naturally. It had been there all along but had been drowned out by all the negative noise I had been doing my best to ignore.

    Who or What is Your Inner Critic?

    Scientists tell us that we have a negativity bias. We are hardwired to anticipate danger and take action to avoid it.

    In the days when big brown bears were out to eat us for lunch, this was a useful adaptation. But when it comes to writing or any other creative pursuit, we are rarely in mortal danger.

    No one will die if I take the risk to write about the things in my heart. But my inner critic is aligned with my negativity bias and will do her best to tell me all the dangers that await me when I step out of my comfort zone and open myself to the creative possibilities of my life.

    Within my body the dangers can feel the same; it can feel as if I might die every time someone points out a missed comma. My inner critic is something of a drama queen, blowing everything out of proportion. The fear of criticism, the fear of judgment for every misspelled word, and the fear of rejection when I put myself out there all feel like they could be the end of the world.

    Your inner critic may also sound a lot like a hyper-critical parent or sibling or friend. Someone who let their own fears have too much power and tried to project them onto you. But it’s not helpful to blame others, or yourself, for negative thinking. Treating your inner critic with compassion and understanding does not mean you have to believe what she says.

    Once I knew this, I could see that my inner critic meant well but was misguided in her approach. She was trying to do her best for me, not wanting me to get hurt or disappointed if life failed to live up to my dreams. But I didn’t have to give her any power over whether or not I pursued my writing.

    Before I understood who my inner critic was and how to respond to her, the dialogue in my head went something like this:

    Me: “My writing is important, even if only to me.”

    Inner critic: “No, it isn’t. Who are you to create anything? Stop wasting your time. You don’t have what it takes.”

    And before I even get to be grateful to have the time and resources to be a writer, I’ve been stopped in my tracks. I may as well go check out cat videos on YouTube and distract myself back to feeling okay. What’s the point in wasting my time on this writing thing?

    And I was blocked and unable to move forward.

    What is it that you want to pursue in this life? How is your inner critic holding you back?

    What to Do About Your Inner Critic?

    In her book The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron calls these critical thoughts “blurts.” They seem to come from nowhere and blurt out. I am calling the voice of my thoughts my inner critic; I find it helpful to personify the critical voices in my mind. Others use the phrase inner tribunal, or even your inner mean girl.

    In The Artist’s Way Cameron suggests that you make a list of all your blurts. First, find an affirmation about who you want to be, e.g.: “I am a creative being who has the power to create the life of her dreams.” Then write down all the negative things your inner critic throws at you when you think about the creative work you long to do.

    We often think giving too much attention to our negative thoughts amplifies them. But our aim is not to dwell on those things. And trying to push them to the back of your mind rarely makes them go away. Knowing what your inner critic is telling you gives you the power to turn those thoughts around.

    So once you have a list of all the things your inner critic is telling you, the next thing you need to do is gently approach each thought and ask if it is true.

    Maybe it could go something like this:

    Me: “I have the power to create the life of my dreams.”

    Inner critic: “But you never finish anything, and you’re disorganized, and you just don’t have the talent.”

    Me: “Thanks for the positive feedback. But yeah, I mean you may have a point, I’m always starting new things and….WAIT! That’s not right. I finish the important stuff. I finish the things that matter to me; not every idea I have is worth pursuing. And I’m organized enough. I can learn to be more organized if I need to, but I achieved x,y,z and …”

    Inner critic: “You’re wasting your time trying to write.”

    Me: “Am I? Watching cat videos on Facebook, that is wasting time. Although cats are cute. But trying to write? That’s growing, learning, and doing the thing I keep saying I want to do. How is that wasting time?”

    You get the picture. You can talk back to your inner critic. You don’t have to believe anything it says. Your power comes through questioning every negative thought and asking if it’s true. Once you know it isn’t true you can start moving forward with your plans.

    My inner critic is a needy child who wants attention. But I no longer believe what she says, and I don’t let her negativity control what I do and don’t do with my time.

    Stop Fighting Your Demons and Make Peace with Yourself

    We are often told to fight our demons, or slay the dragon of our negativity and break up with our inner critic. I no longer find this way of thinking helpful, for two reasons:

    1. It puts us to war against ourselves.

    2. It doesn’t work. My inner critic is amazingly tenacious!

    I have found it more helpful to befriend my inner critic. She really is just doing her best and trying to save me from me. The problem is she has no idea how to do this. I am learning to treat her like we all want to be treated—with kindness, understanding, and curiosity.

    She is free to believe whatever she wants even though it doesn’t make her happy. I’m listening but not letting her define the way I think anymore. Maybe she needs reassuring that everything is going to be okay. She lives in the most primitive part of our brains, the lizard brain that has no reason or logic, just fear.

    Her fears are just that, fears. What’s the worst that can happen? You work on your dreams, and it doesn’t work out. That’s going to hurt, but no one will die. You’ll be fine, and you will get over the disappointment. Besides, you’ve faced setbacks before and come out of them stronger.

    Which would bring you more regret? To have let your inner critic have the upper hand and never have tried? Or to have tried and failed and tried again?

  • 7 Ways to Know If Your Sacrifices Are Worth It

    7 Ways to Know If Your Sacrifices Are Worth It

    “The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” ~Henry David Thoreau

    Have you ever looked at the path you’ve chosen and questioned if your sacrifices have been worth it? If you’ve prioritized the “right” things, pursued worthy goals, and ultimately, made “good” choices?

    Have you ever wondered if you’ll one day look back on your life and regret not only what you did, but also what you didn’t do, because maybe you’ll feel you wasted your time or somehow missed out on something important?

    If you answered no to these questions, you’re my new hero. I admire anyone who lives with such presence they never question what they’re doing because they’re too busy living it.

    But I, a consummate over-thinker, am not that person.

    I started thinking about this just recently after listening to the second episode of Next Creator Up, a podcast I’m producing with my partner in many things and show host Ehren Prudhel.

    In this interview, LA-based actress and filmmaker Melissa Center talked a little about what she’s had to sacrifice for her dreams. And though she got emotional when discussing the very different lives her friends and family are living—lives with houses, children, and financial security—she ultimately concluded that, for her, all the sacrifices have been worth it.

    She explained her reasoning, and I admired her sense of certainty. Because I know how easy it is to doubt yourself in a culture that not only promotes the idea of “having it all” but also bombards us with images of people pursuing alternative, seemingly better paths.

    I also know how hard it is to feel confident in our decisions, particularly because of many of us are disconnected from ourselves. If we don’t know what we stand for, it’s awfully hard to ascertain what’s worth prioritizing and what’s worth giving up.

    With this in mind, I decided to create this list of ways to know if your sacrifices are worth it. A lot of this comes down to knowing yourself.

    If you’ve been questioning your path, perhaps this will help you fully commit to it—or make the tough decision to change directions.

    7 Ways to Know if Your Sacrifices Are Worth It

    1. What you’re doing aligns with your values.

    We all have different core values—things we stand for and regard as crucial for our overall life satisfaction.

    When we live in alignment with our values, and honor them through our choices, we feel a sense of peace, even if our lives are sometimes challenging. When we we’re out of alignment, we feel internal conflict.

    For example, my top values are freedom, creativity, adventure, family, and integrity.

    I could never sacrifice my integrity to make money. Sure, I’d love to roll around on a bed full of cash, but the pain of acting without integrity would override the joy of financial abundance.

    I could never choose a lifestyle that leaves little room for spontaneity or limits my ability to visit my family. No matter what the rewards of said lifestyle, I would ultimately feel conflicted and dissatisfied.

    If your choices require you to sacrifice the things that matter most to you, regardless of the potential rewards, you will ultimately feel unfulfilled. If your sacrifices don’t threaten what’s most important to you—or at least not beyond the short-term—then they’re far more likely to feel worth it.

    2. You’re living your own version of success.

    Much like we all have our own values, we all have our own definition of success. Contrary to what our culture might suggest, there’s no one-size-fits-all scenario.

    My grandmother, who was one of my greatest heroes, lived a life very different from mine to date. She lived all of her eighty-two years in the same city, married young and had four kids, and devoted every bit of her free time to her family.

    She rarely traveled, didn’t have much money, and seemed perfectly content—ecstatic, even—to live the same day over and over again.

    If you gave her a table crammed with her loud Italian kids and grandkids, and a big pot of pasta to feed them, she was happy.

    Because she valued family, she never complained when caring for my grandfather, who ultimately lost both of his legs to diabetes. Caring for him took much of her time and energy, and she rarely did much for herself.

    But this—this love, this loyalty, this generosity of spirit—this is what defined a successful life to her, so ultimately, it was all worth it.

    Ask yourself what success looks like to you, and why. What do you do? What do you give? What do you gain?

    If you’re living your own version of success, then the satisfaction of enjoying what you have likely far outweighs the pain of accepting what you lack.

    3. You’re not trading happiness today for the hope of happiness tomorrow.

    You may have read the story of the Mexican fisherman before, but if not, here’s a condensed version:

    An American investment banker ran into a local fisherman in a small Mexican village and, seeing the several large tuna in his boat, asked the man how long it took him to catch them.

    When the fisherman said it didn’t take long, the banker questioned why he didn’t stay out longer and catch more. The fisherman said he had enough to meet his family’s needs.

    When asked what he did with the rest of his time, he answered, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.”

    Hearing this, the banker offered the fisherman his help in creating a business—so he could buy more boats, catch more fish, and eventually be at the helm of an empire. This would require him to relocate, but in fifteen to twenty years, he’d be rich.

    The fisherman asked what he would do then, to which the banker responded, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

    I think of this often when making life choices. If there’s nothing about an opportunity that excites me and fills me passion and purpose—if it’s solely about creating some ideal life down the road, or worse, meeting an ego need for success or validation—it’s most likely not worth my time and energy.

    Stop and ask yourself: Is this is a process I can throw myself into with enthusiasm? Or am I sacrificing potential joy now in the hope of finding joy later?

    4. You could be satisfied with your choice even if you didn’t reach your ideal outcome.

    Building on the last point, you know your sacrifices are worth it if you could be content with your choices regardless of where they lead you.

    If you need to make a certain amount of money, or reach your ideal goal exactly as you visualize it, to justify what you’ve given up, then you’re setting yourself up for potential heartache. Because there are no guarantees in life.

    No matter how hard you work, how much time you devote, or how smart or talented you are, you could one day realize that your efforts didn’t pay off in the way you hoped they would.

    Or, they could pay off for a while, and then something could change—you might have to switch gears to care for a loved one, or could lose everything due to circumstances you couldn’t possibly have predicted.

    If you could look at the time spent and conclude it wasn’t wasted—because you enjoyed yourself, felt a sense of purpose, or made a difference for other people—then in the end, your sacrifices are more likely to feel worth it.

     5. You’re still able to meet your needs, despite your sacrifices.

    When asked what surprised him most about humanity, the Dalai Lama said, “Man. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.”

    No rewards—monetary or otherwise—are worth sacrificing our physical, mental, and emotional well-being.

    If you’re working so hard that you have little time to eat well, exercise, and get sufficient sleep—and you end up overweight, exhausted, and on track for a heart attack—would any reward or glory really justify it?

    There are many things I would sacrifice for a cause I believe in or a dream that excites me—I don’t need luxuries, I don’t mind buying used, and I also don’t care if I own a car or a home.

    But I won’t sacrifice the things I need to function at my best. I can’t be present, and I’m no good for anyone or anything, if I’m physically weakened and so stressed that I’m constantly ready to snap.

     6. You only or mostly question your sacrifices when you compare yourself to other people.

    Though I’ve sacrificed a sense of community because I’ve chosen a free-spirited, nomadic life of adventure, I don’t often regret the path I’ve taken for all the reasons listed above.

    But every now and then I compare myself to other people and question if perhaps I should have what they have.

    I see people on Facebook who are a lot like my grandmother—lifers in one town, well connected to many, dialed into local causes—and I wonder if I’ve prioritized the wrong things.

    I’ve lived the life George Bailey fantasized about in the 1940’s holiday classic. But wasn’t his life lauded as somehow more wonderful than the life of an adventure-seeking dreamer and wanderer—and also far more meaningful?

    I see old friends on Instagram building new memories with people they’ve hung around with for decades, and lament that, unlike them, I’d have a hard time creating a large bridal party if I were to ever get married.

    Aren’t connections the most important thing in life? And do mine really count if they involve less face time—if I’m not at every family dinner, every holiday, and every milestone?

    But when I put my phone down and dig my heels into my own life, I remember that no matter what I choose, it’s a choice not to do something else. No one has it all. And those who have what I lack likely envy and glamorize what I have at times, just like I sometimes romanticize their circumstances.

    If you feel happy on the whole when you’re fully present on your path, and only question it when you take your eyes off the road, then odds are, your sacrifices are worth it.

     7. Your current path brings you meaning.

    We are all wired to seek pleasure and avoid pain—what positive psychologists refer to as hedonic happiness.

    This is what we feel when we do something that boosts our mood, and it’s why we often chase varied highs. We sometimes think “the good life” means abundant leisure time, fun, and excitement. And those things are definitely awesome, which is why we’re often willing to make sacrifices in the present in the hope of having more of them in the future (see #3).

    But there’s another kind of happiness that doesn’t depend on hedonistic pleasure. It’s called eudaimonic happiness.

    This is what we experience when we have meaning in our lives. When we devote ourselves to something bigger than ourselves. When we take on new challenges, grow, and use our strengths to contribute to the greater good in some way.

    If you’re doing something that feels deeply meaningful to you—if you’ve dedicated your life to a cause, you feel engaged in your devotion to it, and you feel proud of the impact you’re making—it will be a lot easier to make peace with sacrifices.

    This might mean working at a non-profit that pays you very little but enables you to make a tangible difference in other people’s lives.

    Or volunteering during your free time, which limits some of your social options but fills you with a sense of pride and purpose.

    Or raising children and going without sometimes, knowing your sacrifices are directly benefitting them and enabling them to grow into strong, healthy people.

    Ask yourself: Do I feel a sense of meaning? Am I proud of the person I’m being? Am I doing something that matters not just to me but also the world at large? Odds are, if you answer yes to these questions, you’ll look back without regret for what you gave up in order to give what you gave.

    —

    The number of realities we each could be living is absolutely mind-blowing if you think about it. Change any one choice and, through the butterfly effect, our lives could look completely different.

    And each of those little worlds would have its own gifts and challenges. In every possible scenario we’d have some rewards, some sacrifices, and some occasional doubts about whether the former justifies the latter.

    The good news is, as long as we’re still breathing, it’s never too late to change directions. If ever we recognize we’re not being the people we want to be or doing what we really want to do, we can take a new path, or even pave one where there is none.

    At any time we can decide to rebuild our lives around what we value, live our own version of success, and create a life of joy and meaning.

    —

    If you’re interested in listening to Melissa’s interview, about her experiences with her short and first feature film and the sacrifices of being an artist, you can find it here. And if you haven’t heard the first episode yet, with singer/songwriter Kelley McRae, you can find it here. 

  • When You Can’t Take Away Their Pain: Just Being There Is Enough

    When You Can’t Take Away Their Pain: Just Being There Is Enough

    “Just being there for someone can sometimes bring hope when all else feels hopeless.” ~Dave G. Llewellyn

    Parents, if I were to ask you what your worst nightmare is, what would you say?

    I daresay it probably falls somewhere under the category of “safety and health,” and the negative version thereof.

    Death. Illness. Suffering.

    It could largely summed up as “to watch or know my child is suffering,” an extension of that being “… and to not be able to do anything to help or take it away.”

    If you’re not a parent, I’m guessing you’re felt this same way about someone else you’ve loved, so a lot of this probably applies to you as well.

    Let’s focus for a minute on the illness angle, as that is where I have a personal frame of reference.

    Illness is a painful reality for millions of people around the world.

    It doesn’t matter whether that illness is something as seemingly innocuous as the common cold, or something far more sinister on the health scale; for a parent to watch their child get sick and suffer, it’s not a situation that anyone wants.

    They’re forced to put on a brave face and shove down the feelings that threaten to bubble over at any point: fear, sadness, guilt, anger, helplessness, frustration, and exhaustion, just to name a few. 

    Chronic illness has left its mark on my family; spun it’s web, drawn us in.

    I may not have been a child when my whole world changed—I was a young adult of twenty-four years old—but my parents had to stand by and watch it all unfold.

    I’ll be a child in their eyes—their child—always.

    They’ve not only had to witness the initial impact—that devastating moment when they were told to brace themselves, stand strong, for their child was so critically ill that her life was hanging in the balance—but they’ve also had to continue living with those ever-reaching threads for fourteen years.

    They’ve watched me overcome adversity and shine, time and time again.

    But then the coin flipped over and they had to face the underlying realities of my situation despite my vibrant smile: the ongoing chronic pain, neurological deficits, and life challenges.

    When a person is chronically ill, the whole family feels the pain.

    Healthy family members are often overworked, physically and mentally, particularly if they have assumed caregiver responsibilities, all of which is compounded by the helplessness they feel when they’re unable to provide relief to the family member in distress.

    I’ve always been aware of this impact. I’ve always known my parents would willingly take my illness and make it theirs, if that option existed.

    I know my parents often feel powerless; they don’t know what to say, how to act, or what they can do to help me.

    I’ve always understood and had empathy for this. But I’ve never fully comprehended the true extent of their experience and feelings.

    How could I possibly?

    Just like they can’t walk a mile in my shoes, I can’t walk a mile in theirs. Our shoes are unique. They fit only us.

    Life lesson coming up…

    Horus, my fur child, has had some health challenges over the past twelve months, seemingly one thing after another.

    His most recent ailment relates to a leg issue that thankfully is now on the mend, but it’s certainly been cause for worry.

    At one of his recent check-ups, his vet made mention that Horus is most likely experiencing a high degree of pain and discomfort, despite the perpetually happy exterior and perky disposition, and it suddenly struck me:

    My child, so like his Mumma, is in pain.

    Quite possibly a high degree of pain.

    I will never know for sure.

    And I can’t take it away for him.

    A blow to my heart. I’m his Mumma and I can’t take away his hurt and make it all better.

    It’s a blow that my parents, and in this example context, my mother, has no doubt felt, time and time again, with my situation. Only I know hers would be amplified tenfold. A hundredfold. And my father’s as well.

    Because parents love their children so deeply, they would make any sacrifice required to take their hurt away and make it all better.

    What happens when you really can’t take away their pain, despite all the wishing and heartfelt sentiments? 

    When you really can’t remove your child’s obstacles, in whatever form they may take?

    I can’t fathom the agony, anger, guilt, frustration, helplessness, powerless and the myriad of other emotions that my parents must have felt, and continue to feel, when they think about my challenges in life.

    And even though I am in an amazing new season of growth, opportunity, and health, the challenges are still real, albeit tapered down—thank goodness!—and I know they still struggle because I struggle.

    A parent is supposed to take away all of her child’s obstacles.

    Or are they?

    Truthfully, that is an unrealistic burden to place upon yourself.

    To any parents reading this—or to anyone who’s feeling the agony of being unable to heal their loved one’s pain—please do your upmost to release yourself from these mental shackles. 

    The mind is very cruel at times, if you allow it untethered freedom, and it will keep you stuck in a place of sadness that serves neither you nor your child. You can’t be there for them, or anyone else, if you’re lost in your head, beating yourself up for not being able to do more.

    You’re doing the best you can. Why compound your pain with unnecessary guilt?

    To my parents, please know this:

    You have equipped me with everything I need in this life.

    You can’t take away my pain, but you can be happy that you gave me the strength and the will to persevere.

    You can’t take away my obstacles, but you can be there, physically and emotionally, to guide me, to hold out a hand, to lift me up when I fall down, to be my biggest cheerleaders.

    Sometimes, all you can do is be there.

    But just being there might be enough.

  • What I Did to Survive: Not Proud but I Forgive Myself

    What I Did to Survive: Not Proud but I Forgive Myself

    “Forgive yourself for not knowing better at the time. Forgive yourself for giving away your power. Forgive yourself for past behaviors. Forgive yourself for the survival patterns and traits you picked up while enduring trauma. Forgive yourself for being who you needed to be.” ~Audrey Kitching

    I used to suffer from survivor’s remorse.

    What does this mean exactly? Well, I was ashamed of the things I did to survive.

    As I reflected back on my life, I’d get filled with sadness, shame, and regret.

    Sadness because I did things that were against my moral values when I knew right from wrong.

    Shame because I did things that I never thought I would have to do, in order to survive.

    Regret because I was involved in drugs, sex, and violence.

    I had kids to feed, and they depended on me. As a single parent, I was willing to do whatever I had to do for them. I would sell tools and electronics for gas money. I would sell plates of food to buy diapers. I even chose to sell my body. I did whatever I needed to do to get by.

    I hurt family and friends along the way and lost their trust with my broken promises. Promises that I would pay back money that I borrowed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to. I used people for my own personal gain. My pain caused other people pain.

    I was risking my whole life, and I didn’t even realize it. I could have gone to jail and lost my kids, all because I was trying to provide for them.

    How Did I Get Into a Life of Drugs, Sex, and Violence?

    Well, I had a rough childhood; I dealt with physical, verbal, and sexual abuse as a child, and witnessed abusive relationships amongst relatives and family friends . I processed this into rejection, fear, and anger.

    I struggled to feel love because I equated it with hurt. My family members said they loved me and then did things that caused me pain. I thought this must be love; this is normal behavior.

    The hurt turned into anger, and then I started to resent people. This caused extreme paranoia.

    Still, despite my relationship fears, through a twisted turn of events, I had a baby at fifteen years old. I told myself I would do anything to make sure my son didn’t have the same life I’d had.

    Then at eighteen years old I was a homeless high school senior.

    My Survival Tactics

    I found myself on public assistance. I was in situations that evoked the exact feelings I’d experienced as a child, when I saw my mother depend on welfare and food stamps to get by. I felt impoverished, worthless, and dependent on a system to survive.

    I found myself wrapped up in an abusive relationship, with three kids now, around drugs, around violence, and I saw no way out. This was my life. I wanted to leave, and I tried to many times, but he held me at gunpoint, locked me in a closet, and even choked me at times.

    Domestic violence is a learned behavior. I witnessed it growing up and he witnessed it as well. This abuse was familiar. I didn’t know if I was prepared for the fight. I needed to be loved, so I accepted any love I could get even when it hurt.

    I eventually chose to break the cycle and free myself from the lifestyle I was caught in, but it left me at ground zero. I had to fight for myself, for my kids, for our future. I had to get out of this abusive relationship before he killed me, or I killed him. I’d had enough!

    But leaving was just the beginning of change, and not the end of my stress. My fight-or-flight response was constantly activated. I was always thinking, “I got to do something. My kids need shelter, food, and clothing.”

    I needed food stamps, I needed public assistance, I needed section 8 housing. I needed everything I could get to survive.

    I was doing things that I knew were wrong—lying and stealing what didn’t belong to me—but I felt like I had no choice. I couldn’t call anyone to come save me. I had already borrowed money from people. I couldn’t depend on help from my kids’ father. No one was coming to protect me. I had to save myself.

    I felt helpless. At this point I had a high school diploma, little job experience, and no stability. I was in complete survival mode.

    I did not possess the language to tell someone that I was hurting, that I was struggling and needed help. My fear (ego) told me that no one would listen, and no one would care.

    I feel so ashamed for lying to my mother, for stealing, for degrading my body. I know this is not who I am, but looking back I can see these were my survival tactics.

    I only wanted to survive, and guess what? I did.

    But eventually I wanted more than that. I wanted freedom. The freedom to let go of the past. These secrets that I was ashamed to say out loud.

    This was over fourteen years ago. I was still holding on to guilt.

    My Accountability

    I never wanted to talk about my past because it was painful. I wanted it to disappear.

    I didn’t want to admit that I was broke with $2.29 in my bank account, with three kids.

    I didn’t want to admit that I was on food stamps because I couldn’t afford food.

    I didn’t want to admit that I’d taken other people’s property for my personal gain.

    I didn’t want to admit I’d used my body for financial gain.

    I didn’t want to admit that I was in pain from different traumas, and I was self-medicating with drugs.

    Still, I had to stop and realize that I’d made it and could now focus on thriving—but I could only do that if I forgave myself. That required self-compassion. But I also realized I couldn’t blame anyone else; I had to take complete and total responsibility.

    I had to take responsibility for my choices. I had to take responsibility for doing what I felt I had to do to survive.

    Note to self: “Beating yourself up for your flaws and mistakes won’t make you perfect, and you don’t have to be. Learn, forgive yourself, and remember: We all struggle; it’s just part of being human.” ~Lori Deschene

    My Forgiveness and Pride

    I had to forgive myself for not understanding my power and for inheriting patterns from the trauma I’d experienced.

    I also had to give myself credit for breaking the cycle.

    I remember once, I was having a conversation with my three daughters, and I was telling them about a time when they were little, and I couldn’t afford to do certain things. One of my daughters said, “Aww, Mom. You used to be poor?”

    In that very moment, I realized that I had survived. And I had created a better future for myself and my kids. Not only did I make it, I provided a lifestyle for my kids without drugs, sex, or violence.

    I apologize if I was toxic energy in anyone’s life, including my own. My forgiveness doesn’t mean that the guilt never existed; it just means I’m letting go of the shame and pain that once controlled my life.

    I used to feel a sense of strength because I’d endured a high amount of abuse, but deep down I was so fragile.

    At this very moment in my life, I now choose to measure my strength by how quickly I release things that threaten my peace of mind.

    I looked at my sadness, I looked at my regret, I looked at my shame straight in the mirror. I acknowledged them, accepted my past, and decided they would no longer control me. This was my first step toward my freedom.

    I made mistakes. I was doing the best I could. I realized I was afraid of speaking my truth, but it’s my truth that’s setting me free.

    Whatever you did in the past to survive, I’m sure you did the best you could too. You were hurting and you used the tools you had based on what you’d witnessed and learned.

    But the past is behind you now. You don’t have to beat yourself up over who you’ve been. Accept your past. Learn from it. Forgive yourself for being who you thought you needed to be. And face your shame so you can let it go. You’ve been through enough. Why torture yourself even more?

    Whatever you’ve been through, and whatever you’re going through now, may your truth set you free and may you heal from your pain.

  • How to Be Like a Tree: Still, Strong, and Uniquely Beautiful

    How to Be Like a Tree: Still, Strong, and Uniquely Beautiful

    “This oak tree and me, we’re made of the same stuff.” ~Carl Sagan

    I was hugging trees long before it was cool.

    Recent research suggests that spending time in nature can reduce your blood pressure, heart rate, and stress level, not to mention cut down your risk of type II diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and premature death.

    But when I began hugging trees, it was an undeniably weird thing to do.

    I risked the odd looks of strangers, however, because trees felt so calm and welcoming to me. When I wrapped my arms around their broad trunks, it felt like I was being gathered into the protective embrace of a beloved elder, as if their steadfastness imparted strength, and their rootedness helped me find my own solid ground.

    Recently, however, I’ve realized that their benefits extend far beyond momentary stress relief; it’s from trees that I’ve learned the most powerful lessons about how to deal with chronic depression and anxiety.

    Here are the biggest and most unexpected things I’ve learned so far from trees:

    1. When in doubt, don’t do.

    Every time I hug a tree, I’m struck by how still it is. There’s a silence, a spaciousness, and a total lack of movement that boggles my mind.

    I mean, it can’t be easy to be a tree. If you’re not getting enough sunlight, you can’t just pick up and walk a few steps to the right. If some animal builds its home too close to your roots, you can’t do anything to move it.

    I, on the other hand, respond to any perceived threat by jumping into action. That’s the nature of my anxiety; when I’m afraid, I want to do something—anything.

    But because I’m not acting out of clarity or wisdom, and because listening to fear makes the fear grow stronger, almost every action I take just makes things worse.

    Like the time when I was anxious about leaving my therapist because I was about to move back to Atlanta after fifteen years away. Jumping into action, I decided to go off my anti-depressant medication before I left so I would have her help, but I did it at a time when I was also changing careers, starting a business, and getting ready to move cross-country. Needless to say, it made a difficult time even harder for me.

    When I don’t get the results that I want, I feel even more out of control, my anxiety grows—along with my compulsion to act—and the negative cycle reinforces itself.

    Trees show me how to break this cycle by demonstrating the value of not doing.

    When I’m smart enough to imitate a tree, I get still. I feel. I listen.

    When I do this for long enough, one of three things happens: Either the problem resolves itself, or a wise response becomes clear to me, or I realize that it wasn’t really a problem in the first place.

    2. Support all of life.

    I’m often awed by how much trees give to the creatures around them, from the moss that grows on their bark, to the birds and squirrels they feed and shelter, to the humans who breathe their oxygen and enjoy their shade.

    When I’m depressed and anxious, I usually feel both overwhelmed by my own misery and guilty that I don’t have the resources to give more to others.

    It’s another negative cycle whereby my misery makes me unable to focus on anything or anybody else, which causes me to feel horribly self-centered, which makes me feel even more wretched and less able to give. What makes things even worse is that supporting others is one of the few things I’ve found that reliably helps me feel better.

    The effortless generosity of trees offers a way out.

    When trees have something to give, they share it with everyone, no matter how small or undeserving. But they don’t beat themselves up for not having acorns in the spring, or leaves in the winter. They simply extend whatever’s there to extend.

    Sometimes all I have to give is an apology for not being more considerate. Other times it’s a smile, or appreciation for someone’s support. Over time, if I give what I have, I have more to give, but the key is never to believe that it should be more than it is.

    That way, I can support all life, including my own.

    3. Don’t be afraid to get big.

    I’ve never been one to take up too much space.

    I’m talking physically: I’m over six feet tall and always felt awkward jutting up above most of the people around me, so I subconsciously slouched and made myself smaller.

    But I’m talking emotionally and relationally as well: I never used to like to call attention to myself, ask for what I needed, or speak up about my opinions. I went out of my way not to negatively impact anybody else, even if that meant sacrificing my own happiness or well-being.

    After years of always making other people’s needs and opinions more important than my own, it was hard not to feel depressed, helpless, and hopeless. By that point, however, making myself small wasn’t so much a choice as a well-ingrained habit.

    When I began to hang out with trees more, I started to notice how unapologetic they are about the space that they take up. They don’t worry that growing tall will cause somebody else to feel inadequate, or that stretching their limbs out wider will mean they’re taking up too much room. They just are who they are. When I stood next to them, I could feel their expansiveness begin to bloom in my own chest.

    Acting on this newfound sensation, I gave myself permission to get big. When I needed something, I asked for it. When I had an idea, I shared it. When I wanted something, I moved toward it. Not worrying about how others might perceive me, I stood tall and enjoyed the unique view.

    The best part is, after a long time of feeling powerless over anxiety and depression, I finally saw that I was bigger than either of them.

    4. Being crooked is beautiful.

    I’ve made plenty of wrong turns in my life.

    I used to feel ashamed that I had ten jobs over ten years before finally finding one that felt like a fit. Or that I had so many failed relationships before getting married nearly a decade after most of my friends. Or that fear made me wait twenty-five years to write a second novel when I knew after finishing my first at age twelve that I was born, in part, to write.

    Most of us (including myself) tend to think that the straight path is the best one. We beat up on ourselves for our false starts and slow progress.

    But have you ever noticed how beautiful trees are? And how crooked?

    I’ve come to believe that it’s precisely because of their odd angles and unexpected curves that trees appear so graceful. A tree made of straight lines would hold no appeal.

    Looking back, I can see that every job I had taught me more about what I wanted and brought me one step closer to work that I loved. Every relationship prepared me in some small way to be with the man I would eventually marry. And every time I negated my desire to write, that desire grew stronger, and I had more material to work with once I finally was ready to say yes to the call.

    We can’t undo our wrong turns, but we can appreciate their gnarled beauty.

    5. It doesn’t matter who you are.

    When I was younger, I thought that it was what I did that made me worthy. I pushed myself hard to do well in school, excel in sports, and achieve as much as I could.

    Eventually that strategy led to an unsavory mix of perfectionism, anxiety, and depression. Desperate, I got help from others and re-evaluated my beliefs. I soon concluded that it wasn’t what I did but who I was that mattered.

    At first this new belief seemed helpful, but eventually it brought its own set of anxieties. I was trying my hardest, but was I really calm enough? Or kind enough? Or wise enough?

    Then one day when I was hugging a tree, I tapped into a truth that made such questions irrelevant.

    I’d just gotten curious about what a tree’s energy felt like. Opening up to it, I was immediately flooded by a sense of expansive serenity. Peaceful as it was, it was also vibrant and strong. Welcoming and warm, it pulled me in. Suddenly I felt as if I were filled with, made of, and surrounded by sunlight.

    The energy was coming from the tree, but I realized that I could feel it because it was stirring something already within me. In other words, the tree and I shared the same true nature. Beneath my body, beneath my personality, and beneath my small identifications, I am this beautiful energy. So are you. So are we all.

    Unified in this way with every other living thing in the world, even I have to admit that the idea of being unworthy doesn’t make any sense. It’s not only irrelevant; it’s impossible.

    That’s when I realized that the magic lies not in what we do or even who we are, but in what we are, and how often we remember that.

  • How to Keep Going When You’re Not Good at Something New

    How to Keep Going When You’re Not Good at Something New

    I believe the people who are the most satisfied in life are those who feel the most alive.

    We generally feel most alive when we propel ourselves out of our comfort zone and seize new possibilities for meaning, excitement, and passion. But unfortunately, we’re wired to do what feels easy and safe, and it rarely feels easy or safe to be a beginner.

    No one wants to feel like Bambi taking his first wobbly first steps—weak, inept, like he could fall over at any time.

    And no one wants to feel as vulnerably exposed as Napoleon Dynamite during his awkward “Vote for Pedro” dance, an audience of underwhelmed peers staring blankly back at him, possibly judging in their heads.

    We want to feel competent, confident, and proud. Like we know what we’re doing and we’re doing it well. But that’s not usually how it works when we’re just starting out.

    Recently I’ve been helping produce a new podcast called Next Creator Up, a show that helps people get out of their own way and create what they want to create. In the first episode, Ehren Prudhel, my partner in many things, interviewed singer/songwriter Kelley McRae.

    After spending years touring, Kelley wanted to focus more on connection, community, and giving back, and ultimately started Song Rise Arts—a non-profit through which she helps underprivileged youth share their stories through song.

    Though her interview was full of aha moments for me, one thing that really stuck out for me was a discussion about getting a win quickly.

    She shared how she helps her kids complete something on day one so that they feel proud of themselves and motivated to continue.

    It’s such a simple idea, and yet incredibly powerful.

    Think about it: How many times have you tried something new and hard, felt overwhelmed, and then decided it wasn’t for you?

    I remember when I was really into step aerobics in my twenties. I liked to stand in the front row in class so I could see my form in the mirror.

    Since I’d been taking classes for months, I never felt insecure being front and center. In fact, I felt confident and proud of myself for hopping around up there with such precision of movement—so much so that it blinded me to the potential consequences of stationing my newby friend right beside me in the spotlight.

    Looking back, I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me that she likely wouldn’t appreciate being quite so visible while learning something new.

    Sure enough, she struggled throughout the entire class, every misstep reflected back to the whole group in the mirror; she felt discouraged and embarrassed; and she never again came back.

    I’ve had many similar experiences like this myself.

    Like the time I decided to learn to cook. One would think, after my aerobics experience, I would have recognized the importance of starting small and safe. But no.

    I didn’t try an easy recipe for one simple dish. I tried a four-course gourmet meal, burned most of it, then decided to go back to sandwiches and frozen food. Because I just wasn’t meant to cook.

    Then there was the time when I first tried painting. It would have made sense to find a class for beginners or a YouTube tutorial for something basic. But instead I overspent on art supplies, including a massive canvas, and quickly felt discouraged when I realized my piece looked like something I’d painted blindfolded. And drunk.

    In both situations, I expected instant perfection and set myself up for failure—not just in the moment but also in the long-term. I went from someone who could learn to cook and paint, in time, to someone who was afraid to try. Because I sucked at both… or so I thought.

    I now understand the importance of creating an early win, and continuing to create small wins over time, which I’ve learned requires me to do the following:

    • Adopt a growth mindset
    • Start small
    • Hold reasonable expectations
    • Avoid comparisons
    • Give myself credit

    If you want to feel more alive, and have identified a way to stretch into new territory, this is the path to seeing it through.

    Adopt a growth mindset.

    This is a crucial first step because you have to believe in your capacity to grow and improve, or you likely won’t allow yourself to keep going after your first imperfect attempt.

    Psychology professor Carol Dweck coined the terms “fixed mindset” and “growth mindset” over thirty years ago after studying thousands of kids and recognizing two opposing belief systems that influenced their efforts and their outcomes.

    People with a “fixed mindset” believe that success is based on innate ability—meaning you either have it or you don’t, and if you fail, it’s confirmation of the latter. It means you’re not talented enough, smart enough, or good enough, so there’s no point in trying any further because you’ll just make yourself look bad.

    People with a “growth mindset” believe that failures are part of learning, and if they keep trying, they can get better over time. Because they believe this, they keep showing up and eventually confirm their own belief. They may feel embarrassed when starting out, but they understand this is just part of the process.

    It turns out growth truly is possible for anyone. Research in brain plasticity has shown that through repeated practice—at anything—we can build new pathways in our brain, enabling continued progress.

    I remember when I was in Amsterdam, where more people ride bikes than drive cars. I had never ridden a bike in a street before, or ridden a bike at all since childhood, and I struggled to start up again whenever a red light turned green.

    On my first day, I was holding up bike traffic at an intersection as I tried to get myself going, so I turned my head and told the biker behind me, “Sorry, I’m not really good at this!” With a huge grin, he responded, “Not yet!”

    And he was right. By the end of my month there, I was stopping and starting like a pro, something that couldn’t have happened if I kicked my bike to the curb in resignation on day one.

    So before you go into this new thing, whatever it is, no matter how hard, recognize that ineptitude is just a starting point, and if you put in the time, even just a little every day, you will eventually see results. 

    Start small.

    When we feel a sense of accomplishment, it activates the reward center of our brain, releasing the neurochemical dopamine. Because we feel good, we’re then driven to do more.

    And the thing is, we don’t actually need to achieve massive success to feel a sense of accomplishment. Even a small win—like writing one section of a blog post or signing up for a class—can motivate us to keep moving forward.

    This isn’t relevant only when pursuing passions and professional goals; the same principle applies with everything you might want to improve in your life.

    If you’re struggling with depression or anxiety, applying one lesson or tool from therapy or personal research can help you feel encouraged and inspire more healthy choices.

    If you’d like to improve your financial situation, unsubscribing from one store newsletter or bringing lunch instead of buying it can empower you to make more smart money decisions.

    Or, if you’re trying to improve your health, walking ten minutes on a treadmill or smoking one fewer cigarette today could help you find the motivation to keep taking tiny steps forward.

    This was actually the most helpful approach I used when recovering from bulimia. The treatment centers preached abstinence, and for good reason, I know—setbacks can have fatal consequences when you’re putting such strain on your heart.

    But I was too far in to simply stop, and every slipup created massive shame, which then led to more slipups. So instead of expecting perfection, I told myself to do one fewer disordered behavior today, and to do at least the same tomorrow, or one fewer than that if I could.

    Sure enough, I eventually started to feel proud of myself, my pride built momentum, and through that momentum (along with continued therapy to address trauma from my past), I slowly healed.

    Hold reasonable expectations.

    In order to start small, you have to be willing to let go of any unrealistic expectations about what you should be able to accomplish.

    This isn’t always easy to do. We live in a culture that promotes extraordinary natural talent as an indicator of worth, and celebrates “overnight success” as the ultimate sign of accomplishment.

    But the truth is, even people with natural talent need to work hard to excel at their craft, and “overnight success” usually happens after months and years of work that no one knew to recognize, because it wasn’t public.

    So let go of the idea that you should be anywhere other than where you are. Release yourself from the burden of believing your current skill level says anything about who you are as a person, or what’s possible for you.

    If you’re going to expect anything as you start doing something new, expect that:

    • You may not be very good at it.
    • You may feel embarrassed if other people are watching.
    • You may follow every small win with (what feels like) a small failure.
    • You may feel frustrated and wish you could do more than you can do.
    • You may not be able to live up to your own taste level (another insight from Kelley’s interview).
    • You may want to give up because it feels too hard.
    • You may make slower progress than you’d like.
    • But if you accept all of the above and keep showing up anyways, you will eventually see results.

    Avoid comparisons.

    There’s a quote I love that reads, “Don’t compare your chapter one to someone else’s chapter twenty.” I’d extend this further to include, “Or someone else’s chapter one.”

    It’s tempting to judge ourselves based on someone else’s capabilities or accomplishments, especially since they’re in our face all day, every day, on social media. But all this does is feed into our insecurities and doubts and leave us feeling inadequate and discouraged.

    We’re all starting from different places, with different backgrounds, strengths, and skill levels. And we all have different wants, priorities, and values. Maybe you value balance, so you’re moving more slowly than someone else who works around the clock and deprioritizes family time and sleep.

    You could compare yourself to that person, but would it really be a fair comparison?

    And even if you are making a fair comparison, does it actually serve you in any way?

    I’m not going to lie; knowing this doesn’t always make it easy for me to stop comparing myself to other people.

    I sometimes see people who seem to be doing better, question if maybe they’re just fundamentally better—not just at whatever they’re doing, but also as people—and then get stuck in a cycle of shame and self-judgment. And sometimes this all happens so quickly I don’t even realize I’m doing it.

    If you find it hard to avoid comparisons, then maybe a better goal, for now, is to avoid comparison triggers.

    If you know you get down on yourself when you look at a specific person’s Facebook updates, unfollow them. If you can’t read about the greats in your niche without feeling like a failure, don’t read about them.

    Keep your eyes on your own path so you’re less apt to convince yourself your small wins are insignificant.

    Give yourself credit.

     A small win only has value if you acknowledge it, so stop and create some self-satisfaction by asking yourself the following questions:

    • What did I do right or well?
    • Why was this impressive or noteworthy for me specifically, based on my unique personality, past, and challenges?
    • What fears did I have to push through to do this?
    • In what way did this push me out of my comfort zone?
    • Why is this small win actually a big win?
    • What would I say to a friend or my child if they had a small win like this?

    Proactively choose to build yourself up for doing whatever you did, no matter how small, and you’ll be more likely to do the same, or even more, tomorrow. Then you’ll give yourself more credit, feel even more motivated, and slowly, over time, become the person you want to be and do the things you want to do.

    —

    If you’re interested in hearing the podcast episode I mentioned at the start of this post, you can find it here, along with detailed show notes.

    I’m incredibly proud of Ehren, the show’s host, who’s pushed himself outside of his comfort zone with this new venture, and has been collecting small wins over the last several months leading up to this launch.

    And I’m beyond inspired by Kelley McRae, a talented musician and brilliant teacher who’s making a tremendous difference for low-income kids by enabling them to tell their stories through song.

  • What My Parents Did to Me and Why I Cut Them Out of My Life

    What My Parents Did to Me and Why I Cut Them Out of My Life

    I wrote this letter to my extended family years after I chose to become estranged from my parents because many of them cut me out of their lives instead of reaching out to hear my side of the story.

    It pains me that I have lost contact with some of them because they refuse to see the full picture, and at times I feel as though I have lost a part of myself. Yet, at the same time, I am free.

    The letter you are about to read comes from a place of acceptance and longing. I have chosen to share this letter publicly because I suspect I’m not alone in what I have been through, and I hope my experience can be helpful to others in some small way.

    —

    I never meant for you to get hurt or caught in the crossfire. I never meant to place you in a situation where you found yourself questioning your loyalties and what you thought was true.

    From the outside you saw a happy home. You saw a child receiving educational opportunities and the latest technology, fashion, and trips around the world, and having birthday parties with friends and family.

    You saw pictures of vacations and holidays where everyone was smiling and appeared to be happy. You read the Christmas cards and email updates describing family vacations, accomplishments, and happy memories.

    You read about my sister getting sick, and you believed the beautiful story of a family coming together to overcome this adversity.

    At a family gathering you watched as my parents presented me with a gift before I went away to university. They acted so proud, and you found yourself thinking “What kind and loving parents.”

    Then, without warning, you found out that I was not speaking to my parents and they were not even invited to my upcoming wedding.

    Maybe you thought about reaching out to me to hear my side of the story, but you didn’t. Instead, you contacted them and you believed their story.

    You began to think that I was nothing more than a rude, entitled, spoiled brat who had decided that she didn’t need her family anymore and didn’t want to help her sister with her ongoing health problems because she was marrying into a “better family.”

    If you did contact me, you tried to convince me to change my mind. You didn’t listen to me and you became frustrated. You declined my wedding invitation and sent me a pity gift out of duty, or you chose not to respond at all.

    The years passed, and when another family member mentioned my name, you either said nothing or asked if I had “grown up and started speaking to my parents again.” Or, you questioned why they would want to continue to have a relationship with me.

    What you don’t realize is that I tried. Behind the family gatherings you attended, the pictures you saw, and the stories you heard, a very different picture was being painted. I kept quiet about this picture, and I even helped to paint it out of fear and shame.

    At times, I desperately wanted to believe that this picture was true. I tried to convince myself that it was, but I have learned that you can only endure pain and abuse for so long before you either give into it, surrendering yourself in the process, or fight to break free.

    After I left for university, I began to change how I saw the picture and I began to accept it for what it was, not what I so desperately wanted it to be.

    I reached out to my parents many times, I invited them to come and visit me, and I suggested activities that we would all enjoy together. I came home for holidays and tried to connect with them. I bought them gifts and tried to fill my old role within the family.

    Each time I reached out I was rejected; they made excuses as to why they couldn’t come and why they didn’t have more time to spend with me over holidays, and they continued to find ways to tear me down. The pain of this rejection ate away and my sense of self-worth, and I started to question why anyone would love or take a genuine interest in me.

    I invited them to award ceremonies and concerts, and while they appeared to express pride over these accomplishments, the story they told me was the same as it had always been:

    “You will never amount to anything. You are going to come to a sad end. They only gave you that award out of pity. You only accomplished that by luck. If you had worked harder you could have gotten first place. You are never going to have a successful career—that’s just a pipe dream.”

    I never told you about these comments or how they tore apart my self-esteem, causing me to question everything I did and everything I knew to be true, because they told me that you would never believe me, and I didn’t want to cause more conflict.

    Out of a sense of compassion I let my parents keep their picture, all the while hoping that you would see mine and reach out to me and be part of my life again.

    I hope you understand that no one comes to a decision like this lightly. For most estranged children, this is one of the hardest choices we ever had to make. A choice that we have agonized over with our friends, other therapists, and in the silence of our own minds.

    Often it takes years of hurt and pain to accept that we will never have the adult relationship that we want with our parents.

    We are taught that relationships with family are the most important relationships we will ever have, and we are socialized to believe that we should continue to have these relationships no matter how they impact us physically and psychologically.

    Society has painted a picture of the estranged child as being the problem, the emotionally unstable one, the one who asked their parents for money so many times they bankrupted the family and had to be cut off.

    Rarely do you hear the voices of the other side, the voices of the children so desperate for love, validation, and approval that they feel empty and continue to try harder and harder until they break. The children that long for their parents to take a genuine interest in their lives, without judgment, and walk alongside them in support during every phase of life.

    But for some of us this picture will never be, and we can either be consumed by that longing or accept the picture that is. I know that this may seem harsh, but sometimes acceptance holds the key to a better life.

    Once I accepted the picture that is, I was free. I still saw parents helping their children buy supplies for university, but I no longer wished my parents would come and help me.

    I still watched the proud parents with the graduates at convocation and longed to be one of them, and I still found myself imagining what supportive parents might have said at my convocation and my wedding, and yes it still hurts. It might always hurt.

    At the same time, I am free from the hope that maybe this time they will come, maybe this time they will be proud of me, and maybe this time I will be enough. I can grieve the loss of what I had hoped for, accept what is, and move forward with my life.

    If we ever talk again, you might ask me, “Would you ever talk to your parents now, now that you have grown up and are living the life you want?”

    As I start to answer that question I find myself again imagining the relationship I had longed for and still long for, but I stop myself. Instead I will ask you a different question: “Can you please forgive me for the choice I had to make and be a part of my life again?”

    Grandma wisely said, “Every choice we make will hurt or impact someone, but sometimes you need to do what is right for you.”

    When I chose to stop speaking to my parents, I had to not only grieve the loss of them but you as well.

    I don’t feel I can call you and reminisce about that time you taught me how to parallel-park, my failed attempt at making grandma’s Christmas pudding, or the camper I saw that reminded me of the one that grandpa had that we used to play in.

    I have no one who has lived through those memories with me to reminisce with, and this only fills me with a greater sense of loss.

    If we ever talk again you might ask me: “Do you hate your parents?” The answer is no, I don’t hate them. The truth is I don’t feel anything for them anymore. In my heart I have forgiven them for the pain they caused me, but I don’t want to open the lines of communication to tell them that, not yet, maybe not ever.

    As I think back on the relationship, and those years of pain, I acknowledge this experience has made me who I am today.

    I strive to live a full life. I fill my days with activities and work that bring meaning to my life and the lives of others. I trust my instincts and I am aware of how people and situations affect my well-being, and I work to reduce the negative impact of these factors whenever possible.

    I’m opening up about this experience because I hope you will start to paint a new picture that allows me to be a part of your life again. But if you don’t, then let me use this experience to help others.

    I have learned that some people can only give us so much, and I am grateful for the only gift my parents could ever give me—my life, a life I will live to the fullest, and one I want you to be a part of it.

    —

    To anyone struggling with the choice to become estranged from their parents, let me ask you these questions:

    Have you tried many times and been rejected? Do you feel that nothing you can ever do or be will be enough? And finally, do you hear their voices inside your head and then question your ability, your instincts, and your self-worth?

    If so, you may need to let go. If you do decide that this is the right choice for you, you will grow in ways you never imagined, and with that growth will come a sense of peace and self-love. You will learn to trust yourself and to care for yourself physically, psychologically, and spiritually which will lead to improved happiness and health.

    Researchers have found that abused children do not stop loving their parents; they stop loving themselves. After I stopped speaking to my parents, I became more confident, I began taking risks, and I learned for the very first time to love myself and accept the journey I am on.

    I earned two bachelor’s degrees, a master’s, and I started my PhD. I taught at prestigious arts schools and wrote and had articles published. My point is not to brag, only to point out that had I not let go of the relationship with my parents, I never would have accomplished any of these things.

    Their stories of what they thought I was incapable of and what I couldn’t be would have held me back, because I would have believed them. My relationship with my parents would have been like a dark seal that I would never have broken through.

    If this is true for you as well, know that you likely will not be alone if you decide to cut ties with your parents; odds are, there will be people in your life that will support you and even take on part of the role a loving parent would have taken. These people might be friends, friends’ parents, neighbors, colleagues, or even extended family. Any number of people might step up once they understand your story.

    They will be grateful for what you bring to their lives and will love and support you unconditionally. It will not be the same, but you will cherish these relationships because they are positive.

    A part of you may always long for a supportive relationship with your parents, but don’t fight this feeling; acknowledge it as a part of your journey.

    You might even find yourself questioning this choice years later and wonder if time could have healed this relationship. Remember why you made this choice, remember the pain, and trust that you made the right decision.

    Also, realize that you didn’t make this decision alone, although it may feel like it. Your parents helped to make this choice with you through their attitudes, their actions, and their refusal to be a part of your life in the way you needed them to. Knowing this may help to ease your feelings of guilt.

    And know this: If you are estranged from your parents, you are strong because you have taken back the paintbrush and are now free to repaint your picture with those who love and support you.

    —

    UPDATE: In response to some of the reader comments questioning her decision, Jen has posted a video follow-up to her article on YouTube here.

  • How a Creative Hobby Can Boost Your Mental Health

    How a Creative Hobby Can Boost Your Mental Health

    “The world always seems brighter when you’ve just made something that wasn’t there before.” ~Neil Gaiman

    A few years ago I wrote an article about my personal experience with bulimia. The piece was published by several different media channels, and some time afterward I was interviewed by CNN.

    It was the first time I had publicly and explicitly spoken about that particular part of my journey. But the desire to acknowledge and address the emotional effects of my experience had been present for some time.

    Prior to writing the article, I hadn’t felt ready to lay myself bare in such a direct way. However, I instinctively knew that I needed a means of self-expression that would allow me to speak of what I’d been through without being quite so specific.

    That’s where creativity came in.

    I began using photography as a way of expressing everything I was still too vulnerable to verbalize. It was a beautiful revelation for me to realize that I could share my thoughts and feelings in an abstract way. I could pour my pain into the creation of something new. This was a crucial step in my recovery.

    I’d begun binging and purging as a way to avoid my feelings after the breakdown of my marriage. I had fallen out of love with my husband, and I was carrying a tremendous amount of guilt inside me, constantly feeling as though I’d failed my family and friends by not being able to make my relationship work. I hated myself for walking away from my marriage, for daring to want more.

    I was also dealing with intense pressure at work and financial stress, all of which had left me feeling as though everything was out of control.

    Bulimia had given me the illusion of control, but it was also a way of punishing myself for not being able to stay in a relationship that everyone else expected me to be content with.

    Mental health issues are often accompanied by feelings of shame and guilt. We tell ourselves that we should be able to handle everything, that we shouldn’t be placing a burden on our loved ones. It’s a self-destructive cycle that has the potential to send us spiraling.

    Although creativity doesn’t act as a magic wand, it does give us an opportunity to take a breath and gain a greater understanding of what’s going on internally. We can use creativity as a means of translating ourselves to ourselves.

    Photography became a lifeline for me. I could capture texture and shadow, play around with light and motion. I could convey some of the darkness that was still haunting me, but instead of succumbing to my feelings, I was able to build something from them.

    I also began to use poetry and creative writing as tools to help me channel my emotions. The personal value of this was enormous. In creativity I had a friend, a means of telling my own story in my own way, and a source of strength and support that I could rely upon to be there for me.

    Here’s how a creative hobby can help us cope with mental health issues:

    1. Creativity reminds us that we have the ability to effect change, and it also helps us be more present.

    When we are experiencing mental health challenges, it can be easy to fixate on the fear that there won’t be any light at the end of the tunnel. When I was dealing with bulimia, I would obsessively weigh myself every morning and every night. If I were away from home or in a place where I didn’t have access to a bathroom scale, I would feel a sense of rising panic. I couldn’t imagine a time when I would be free of the need to control my weight.

    Immersing ourselves in creativity can help us believe in our ability to heal, grow, and change because we are actively participating in the production of something new.

    Whether it’s baking, gardening, painting, dancing, sculpting, or any other creative pursuit, we are taking an idea and breathing life into it.

    This not only helps to keep our focus on the present moment, thus alleviating future fears, but it also gives us the additional benefit of shaping and impacting an outcome through our efforts.

    When we create, we are combining imagination and resourcefulness. We are envisaging an end result and then taking action to make it happen. This adds to our personal skill set and emboldens us to have the same courage in other areas of our life.

    Whenever I’m revisited by old demons that threaten to topple me, I create something. Anything. The act of creating helps me to re-center and focus on my abilities, rather than obsess about my perceived shortcomings. It also helps me step outside myself, shift my perspective on my challenges, and remember what’s truly important.

    I recently herniated a disc in my back and was unable to practice yoga with as much ease as usual. As I lay on my mat at home one morning, feeling frustrated at my body for failing me, I began to slip into some old self-talk about not being good enough.

    But then I noticed the pattern that the sunlight was projecting on the wall beside me. I took my phone and snapped a photo. As the light shifted again once more, I was reminded that nothing is static and everything is always changing. My energy automatically lifted.

    Creativity teaches me about trust and impermanence and also expands my sense of awareness. The simple act of witnessing and photographing the moving light was enough for me to remember that each day is full of beauty. I don’t want to miss any of it by wasting my energy on criticizing my body.

    2. Creativity enables us to process some of what we’re feeling without the intensity of putting ourselves under a microscope, and it can also help us meet our needs.

    We’re not always ready to closely examine every experience. We’re not always comfortable talking things through, or wading into the depths of our pain or trauma. But we need to work through these feelings, or else they’ll lie beneath the surface, limiting and controlling us.

    Creativity can offer us a safe space in which we’re able to release some of our emotional weight without over-analyzing. We eliminate the scrutiny but still receive the benefit of self-connection.

    When we’re able to connect with what we’re really feeling—whether it’s anger or regret or disappointment—and then channel that into a creative project, we are less likely to engage in behaviors that are numbing or harmful. Which means we actually work through the feelings instead of just distracting ourselves from them.

    Creativity can also be a compass. It’s a way of identifying an inner need and then permitting ourselves to meet that need.

    Perhaps you are craving more vibrancy or flavor in your life. Being creative might mean choosing bright, bold fabrics to make a clothing item, or being experimental in the kitchen with new cuisine.

    And just as creating something from nothing can help us believe in our ability to create change in other areas of our lives, meeting some of our needs through creativity can empower us to meet other needs—the need for self-care or boundaries, for example.

    When we’re struggling with mental health issues, it’s easy to minimize or neglect our needs, but this only prolongs our healing. Creativity helps us trust our intuition and follow our instincts. It isn’t necessarily a substitute for therapy, but it can play a pivotal role in helping us build confidence and resilience, enabling us to both work through how we’re feeling and take good care of ourselves.

    3. Creativity enables us to connect with others and build community.

    Common mental health issues such as depression or anxiety can lead to social withdrawal and isolation, increasing feelings of loneliness and heightening the body’s stress responses.

    Creativity is a wonderful way to connect with others. Social media platforms provide us with ways to share our creativity and spark conversation with people who have similar interests. When I first began blogging online, I was amazed at how quickly I was able to become part of a supportive community, many of whom I’ve since met in person.

    Most libraries or community centers offer group arts and crafts classes. These are fantastic opportunities to establish local connections and circle with others. I recently attended a free creative sculpture workshop at the New York Public Library. I had no previous experience, and my creation was far from perfect—none of that mattered. It felt amazing to come together with other people and make something.

    We are all creative beings. Experimenting with different mediums can be a wonderful way to find out what sparks joy and brings comfort. You don’t have to be an expert. Remember, perfection is not the goal; you’re simply making your world a little brighter.

    My journey with creativity has given me more than I could ever have anticipated. It may not always change external circumstances, but inwardly there’s a shift every single time. An easier breath. A blank canvas and a fresh start. A reminder that I can begin again and again, as many times as necessary. And sometimes that’s all we need to be okay.

  • How I’m Healing the Vulnerable, Rejected Kid Inside Me

    How I’m Healing the Vulnerable, Rejected Kid Inside Me

    “In case no one told you today:
 You’re beautiful. You’re loved. You’re needed. You’re alive for a reason. 
You’re stronger than you think. You’re going to get through this. 
I’m glad you’re alive. Don’t give up.” ~Unknown

    I was fourteen years old and it was a holiday of firsts: my first holiday away from my family with my school and my first holiday abroad, where I had my first real crush.

    For the two weeks I was away, I was caught up in a flirtation with a boy from one of the other schools. I had to pinch myself when he said yes after I’d struck up the courage to ask if he would meet me at the disco on the last night.

    The disco was everything I wanted it to be; we laughed, we danced, and I had my first kiss. If there is such thing as cloud nine, that’s where I woke the next morning. Still in a romantic haze (well, as romantic as a fourteen-year-old can get), I went to wave off the boy I’d begun to think of as my “Prince Charming” for what would be our last goodbye.

    But the fairy tale romance didn’t work out the way it had played out in my fourteen-year-old imagination. As I walked up expecting an embrace, he didn’t even want to make eye contact, then he turned his back on me.

    I’ll never forget the feeling of rejection. It was like my whole being was blocked off and cast aside.

    Still hoping for that dream goodbye, I waited until he got on the bus, thinking maybe I had been mistaken. That’s when it happened: surrounded by his friends, looking through the window, he was pointing at me, pretending to stick his fingers down his throat, implying being sick, and making gestures about my weight.

    “Prince Charming” had actually led me on as a bet, as a joke to his friends. I was the joke. I don’t know how, but somewhere inside I had the strength to keep my tears in, probably because I didn’t want to deal with the humiliation of what had just happened in front of everyone (including my friends).

    Twenty-one years on, and for as long as I can remember, when I recall the experience I feel the exact pain—the feeling of rejection and not feeling good enough—as I did at that very moment.

    That, right there, was the beginning of my low self-esteem, which later manifested into an eating disorder, anxiety, and being in toxic and abusive relationships. I accepted physical, emotional, and sexual abuse because I didn’t want to feel the feeling of rejection again.

    It was only recently, when I retold the story to my therapist, that I realized what a life-defining moment it had actually been, and recognized the narrative I had given myself.

    As I began recalling the experience, I started “When I was fat, ugly, and spotty I had this experience… No wonder he didn’t like me.” There it was: that one life-defining moment had played out a narrative that all my being wasn’t good enough. As a result, I sought acceptance and approval from others, and accepted their opinions of me as my truth.

    As I’ve started to process not only what happened but also the huge impact it’s had on my life, these are the things I have learned and what has helped me to begin to heal:

    1. We are good enough, and what really matters is how we feel about ourselves.

    At first I found it difficult, but I had to start believing that I was lovable, good enough, and that the only opinion of me that really mattered was my own. As I began practicing telling myself “I love you,” my whole body would tense, and I’d feel wrong for saying it. As I kept practicing, I slowly began to realize that I could love myself. I even had a small ceremony sealing my commitment to myself!

    Having struggled with self-love for nearly thirty years, I found it easy to slip into seeking approval from others at times. On the days I felt weak I looked at my commitment ring as a reminder of my love and acceptance for myself. On these days I gave myself the permission to feel whatever emotion I needed to feel.

    I’ve learned that we are each the one person we are guaranteed to wake up with for the rest of our lives, so we need to make ourselves our main priority. Instead of putting others on a pedestal and seeking their approval, we need to instead change our hierarchy of love so that we’re sitting at the top.

    We deserve love, but that love needs to begin within us.

    2. What would your present self like to say to the hurt person from long ago?

    As I sat with the pain of my fourteen-year-old self, I had an overwhelming urge to hold myself tight, providing a force field of safety where no one could hurt me.

    As the tears began to flow, I told myself how beautiful I was compared to the boy who had ridiculed me; any person who feels the need to humiliate a person for a joke is not deserving of my love or respect.

    As I stayed with the moment I felt every emotion I could feel—sadness, fear, anger, and then, just as the feelings flooded through me, the weight of the emotions I had held for so many years began to dissolve.

    Talking to our vulnerable self may seem a bit weird at first, I get it, but it’s worked for me. By going back in our minds and being there for our vulnerable younger self, it’s like having a superhero swoop in to protect us, only even more empowering because we are the superhero, minus the spandex and cape.

    No matter what has happened in our pasts, we have the opportunity to give ourselves the wisdom and words of hope we wish we had heard at the time. If it’s difficult to do this, think about what you would say to a best friend if they had a similar experience. We’re often much more compassionate toward our friends, so try to see yourself in that same loving light.

    3. Where has the need for validation from others come from?

    Having committed to love and accept myself, I knew I owed it to myself to go deeper to work out why I had relied so much on others for approval.

    My reflections led me to think of my upbringing, growing up with parents affected by alcoholism. Following violent outbursts I felt I was to blame for what had happened; I felt that I deserved the abuse. In fear of further violent outbursts I began people-pleasing and seeking approval from others in order to feel safe. At my core I felt unlovable.

    I then realized that when the fourteen-year-old boy had ridiculed me it had only reinforced how I had felt inside, and made me further believe that I was unlovable. I was then able to look at how I had acted and behaved from then onward, reinforcing those core beliefs.

    I realized I had accepted poor behavior and abuse from others because I felt I “deserved it.” I also engaged in self-sabotaging behaviors in the form of an eating disorder and drinking to excess.

    Delving deep inside may not be an easy task, and it may be something that we put off, or don’t do at all. We may be connecting to a part of ourselves that we may have kept hidden for years, even decades, for fear of being rejected. But, when we have the ability to do this important work, we are finally giving that vulnerable part of ourselves a voice and an opportunity to say what it needs to heal and finally get its needs met.

    4. Nourish, nourish, nourish.

    For close to three decades I had hidden that vulnerable part of myself and turned to my eating disorder for comfort, believing that others would reject me for being fat and ugly if I let it go. I now know I need to connect to the part of myself that has been abandoned for so long. I need to nourish it, and give it the love it has deserved all this time.

    While hard at first, when I’ve eaten, I’ve reminded myself how the food will nourish me. When I’ve exercised, I’ve remembered how the exercise is nourishing my body. When I’ve sat in meditation, I’ve reflected on how good it has felt to nourish my soul.

    These small acts of kindness have already had a positive impact. I haven’t found the need to emotionally eat or purge. I have more motivation, as I’m doing things from a compassionate place of self-love. I am also finally able to look in the mirror and utter the words “I am enough” and “I love myself” (and mean it).

    —

    No matter what happened to us in the past, we have the opportunity to rewrite our narrative for our future. We have the opportunity to love and accept ourselves as a whole, including the vulnerable parts that we may have hidden as a way of self-preservation.

    With each day we begin to meet our own physical, emotional, and spiritual needs the layers of self-loathing will be replaced with self-love and acceptance.

    Be kind to yourself. xx