Tiny Buddha

Category: Blog

  • How Life’s Daily Challenges Can Actually Be Gifts in Disguise

    How Life’s Daily Challenges Can Actually Be Gifts in Disguise

    “Smile at your patterns.” ~Tsoknyi Rinpoche

    Partway through Eckhart Tolle’s Conscious Manifestation course, I furiously jotted down his teachings about challenges and obstacles to remind myself that they’re not only a normal part of the human experience but necessary for spiritual growth. “Yes!!!!” I wrote in agreement.

    When faced with difficulty, the human tendency is to react and resist, and when we do this, we add suffering to an already difficult situation. This tendency is reflexive within me, and my mindfulness practice has enabled me to either observe the cascading habit pattern as it unfolds, which disentangles me from its snare, or to gently accept what is happening and proceed with calm action and a quiet mind.

    When we can practice acceptance and equanimity, when we can say, “Okay, this is my present moment experience, and I can allow it because it’s already here,” we soften and open in the most tender way. And with this opening, we can receive a bounty of lessons and wisdom that our obstinance so often obscures.

    A few days after listening to Eckhart’s talk, I had to see several doctors and get lab work done to address symptoms I’d been experiencing. The entire week was pockmarked with small difficulties.

    First, the doctor’s office lost my lab sample, so I had to go back and give another one. Then the lab work process got delayed, and in an attempt to access my results, I spent two hours getting transferred between multiple staff members who ultimately said they couldn’t help me.

    At the end of the week, I confronted my last hurdle: I arrived for a follow-up appointment, only to be told that the automated system had canceled it and that the doctor was not available.

    After I explained my situation and expressed my discontent, the medical assistant managed to rebook me with another doctor. I softened, thanked her, and sat down, acutely aware that I’d lost my (spiritual) way.

    With each setback, I was upset and resistant. Like a snake releasing venom, I texted my husband flurries of frustrations, spoke exasperatingly to hospital staff, and felt my body tighten with stress.

    I realized that I only softened to the medical assistant because she told me what I wanted to hear, and within moments, this insight allowed me to look back on the entire series of events with a compassionate and non-judgmental eye. 

    I saw with clarity that in cloying for ease, I only created more difficulty. I saw that I had been behaving as if everything were a threat—like the healthcare system was out to get me—and that the real predator was my own mind. Immediately, I felt an internal release, like a nearly bursting balloon slowly deflating with the prick of a pin. I realized I could stop fighting. I realized that I could choose to surrender.

    After my appointment, I had to go to the lab, and I arrived at what felt like a crowded DMV: people everywhere, red ticket numbers glaring overhead, and a wait that seemed unending. I took a deep breath, pulled a number, and decided that I was going to use the wait—which I now perceived as an opportunity, not a threat—for mindfulness, presence, and spiritual practice.

    I looked around me at all the people. I watched as children caringly pushed their elderly parents in wheelchairs, as a pregnant woman patiently engaged her three children, and as a person laboringly limped to the ticket machine, burdened by a massive leg brace.

    I thought: Everyone is here because they are experiencing some difficulty; everyone has health scares; everyone is taking time out of their days to be here; everyone is waiting.

    I was so touched by the kindness and patience I witnessed. Suddenly, my story became enveloped in everyone’s story. I was them and they were me. I felt a deep kinship—a tenderness that made me feel enveloped in, rather than targeted by, the human experience. 

    As my awareness expanded further and further outside myself, I began connecting with those around me. I told the pregnant woman sitting beside me that I admired her patience, and when she shared that she was fasting for a half day of pregnancy-related lab work, I became even more aware that mindset is a choice.

    I made eye contact with a man whose gentleness I perceived underneath his masked face. We didn’t say anything, but we said everything.

    I kept scanning the room, and I noticed it had transformed from a chaotic, undesirable place, to somewhere I wanted to stay, somewhere I felt deep meaning and connection. Then I noticed that the space did not transform; I simply changed my relationship to it.

    When I left the lab, I was buoyant. I felt energized, connected, and light. I was overwhelmed with the experiential realization that the entire week was a skillfully designed lesson on challenges. I saw what happens when I fight to make them go away, and then I saw what happens when I invite them in, with an open heart and an open mind.

    “Challenges as gifts” left the theoretical world of quotes and concepts and burrowed into my lived experience. It stays there, and reminds me of itself, when I allow it to shine its light.

  • Ending My Toxic Relationship with My Mother Was an Act of Self-Love

    Ending My Toxic Relationship with My Mother Was an Act of Self-Love

    “It’s okay to let go of those who couldn’t love you. Those who didn’t know how to. Those who failed to even try. It’s okay to outgrow them, because that means you filled the empty space in you with self-love instead. You’re outgrowing them because you’re growing into you. And that’s more than okay, that’s something to celebrate.” ~Angelica Moone

    I was taught to love my family and to just accept the love they give. With the passage of time and the dawning of maturity, I began to doubt this kind of unquestioning love. The chronic emotional and mental stress of the relationship with my mother came into a new light after the birth of my youngest daughter.

    I could no longer avoid and just accept a toxic relationship that was void of emotion and affection. I began to look at the dysfunctional familial relationship with her through the eyes of a new parent and started to see things differently.

    I started asking myself questions like “Would I ever purposely treat my child with such indifference and disregard them so callously?” So many more questions I asked myself were met with “no.” So, why would I just accept this behavior? Why was I allowing this constant stress to take up so much energy in my life?

    I can look back and see now that I was holding out hope for a grand gesture while craving to receive maternal feelings of love and security.  My inner child was holding out for love from the person that gave birth to her, but the adult in me sees that the love I was truly needing was love for myself. 

    The walls to unquestioning family loyalty came tumbling down around me about five years ago. My husband and I had been living in the Bay Area and felt strongly that it would be nice to raise a family near family. So, before the birth of our youngest, we decided after fifteen years of living in California to move across the country to Connecticut.

    During our plans to move, I held on to the delusion that if I lived closer, my mother would want to be part of our lives. She even called me while packing up our last few moving boxes to tell me how thrilled she was that we were moving back and that she could not wait to visit us all the time. She never came to visit; I had built up the illusion that she wanted to be part of our lives.

    The coup de grace was when she called me out of the blue on her drive up from Florida, where she vacations in the winter, tell me she was planning on stopping for a quick visit on her way home to Massachusetts. Giving me a time frame as to when she would be arriving.

    As the week passed, she did not call or visit. However, I did receive an out of the blue message three months later to say hi, which never acknowledged the previous plan to visit.

    It was after this final act of indifference that I made the decision, I could no longer allow the hurt and manipulation to continue. What was I teaching my children about boundaries if I was not creating healthy boundaries?

    My therapist once asked me “Would you go shopping at a clothing store for groceries”? When I answered, no, it dawned on me that I wouldn’t, so why was I expecting something different from my mother?

    I once read that people can change, but toxic people rarely do. Toxic individuals, according to this adage, seldom change. Because if someone isn’t accepting responsibility for their acts and lacks self-awareness, how can you expect them to alter their ways? The change I was waiting for was not her to change but my willingness to change.

    At first, I questioned my decision to end this relationship. Was it cruel of me to not allow my children to know their grandmother? However, at the same time the realization came that she was not really a part of our lives.

    Unraveling this toxic tie has been an act of self-love. For myself, for my inner child who is still healing, and for my children, so they can witness their mother loving herself enough to quit letting someone else harm her.

    Since this decision, I have had family try and talk to me about my decision. Telling me stories of how their friends severed their relationship with a family member and regretted it after their passing. When that time happens, I will grieve, I will grieve for what never was.

    Instead of clinging to this toxic relationship, I am teaching my children so much more by ending the cycle of neglect and creating healthy boundaries. I am showing my children how to love themselves.

  • 5 Simple Ways to Overcome Your Mind’s Constant Judgments

    5 Simple Ways to Overcome Your Mind’s Constant Judgments

    “It’s easy to judge. It’s more difficult to understand. Understanding requires compassion, patience, and a willingness to believe that good hearts sometimes choose poor methods. Through judging, we separate. Through understanding, we grow.” ~Doe Zantamata

    If you don’t live in a cave, you have probably noticed two things. First, there are a lot of annoying, incompetent, stupid, and very difficult folks living in this world. Second, assuming you agree with my previous sentence, you have a very judgmental mind.

    For better or worse, you’re not alone. A hundred thousand years ago, the ability to judge people quickly helped our species survive. If we saw an unknown caveman and thought they “looked friendly,” we could die if they actually ended up being a killer. Thus, our minds learned to judge people quickly, and if in doubt, with great suspicion. After all, judging and being afraid of strangers could save your life.

    Yet nowadays, the tendency of our minds to judge most everyone as annoying, different than us, or just plain difficult simply leads to stress and unhappiness.

    Fortunately, there are five simple phrases you can use to overcome your mind’s constant judgments, and instead feel open hearted, compassionate, and at ease with others’ behavior.

    Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to find the simple phrase or phrases that work best for you. Once you find a phrase that works for you, you can maintain a peaceful and loving attitude toward people—even when they’re committed to being super annoying.

    It Must Be Hard Being Them

    The first phrase I’ve used to quickly let go of judgment is, “It must be hard being them.” This sentence is meant to evoke compassion, not superiority. If you think this phrase and feel superior to whoever you’re judging, you’re not using it the way it’s intended. However, if you think this phrase from your heart, and feel compassion for a person for being burdened by their difficult behavior, then you’re using it well.

    Recently, I talked to a very rude airline reservation clerk over the phone. She was curt, unhelpful, and incompetent (in my judgmental opinion).

    Anyway, she was either a very wounded and angry person, or she was having a particularly bad day. Yet, when I thought in my mind, “It must be hard being her,” I immediately felt more compassion for her. After all, someone as angry and unhelpful as she must create a lot of havoc in her life.

    She probably feels very lonely, frustrated with her job, and angry that she gets a lot of resistance to her difficult personality.

    Strangely, as soon as I felt more compassion for her, her behavior became less troubling. It often goes that way.

    How is That Like Me?

    I used to live in a spiritual community. I liked some of the members of this community, while others I found particularly irritating. When annoyed, in this community we were encouraged to use a phrase that helped us to immediately let go of our self-righteousness and annoyance. The phrase was, “How’s that like me?”

    So, if Joe was complaining about how it was too hot to work outside when it was eighty degrees, I’d ask myself, “How’s that like me? Do I ever complain like Joe is doing?” The answer was an inevitable “yes.” In fact, I’d try to pinpoint exactly how I sometimes behaved like Joe’s current annoying behavior. For example, I might remember that my complaining about being out of potato chips was similar to Joe being upset about working in less than perfect weather.

    When I would see how I sometimes acted in ways that were similar to whatever I found annoying or difficult in another, two things would happen. First, I would let go of my self-righteousness and feel humbled. Second, I would feel more compassionate toward whoever I had been judging.

    After all, we all do annoying and even stupid things at times. We’re human. The phrase, “How’s that like me?” has helped remind me of our shared humanity and assisted me in seeing that I, too, am not perfect.

    Don’t Know Mind

    A third approach to overcoming our mind’s judgmental tendencies is to think a phrase such as, “I don’t really know the whole story.” In the Zen tradition, they call this “don’t know mind.”

    Our mind always wants to attach a story to whatever is happening in our lives. Even when we have almost no information, we create a story in our head as to what things mean and what’s really going on. Most of these stories that we create make us look pretty good and make others look pretty bad. Yet, if and when we get a fuller picture of reality, we see that there’s no such thing as one person being “all good,” and another being “all bad.”

    People are complex, and they often have very good reasons for their behavior—even if we can’t see it at the time or know what it is.

    As a psychotherapist, I get to see “behind the curtain” of why people behave the way they do.  Several years back, I had a client who was required by a court to see me due to his having repeatedly hit his wife and kids.

    I had never seen such a person in my office, and my initial reaction to him was one of judgement and disgust. However, I soon learned that his father had not only beaten him, but sexually abused him as a child. As I learned about his life, I understood why he had turned out the way he did. I felt deep compassion for this wounded man, and as therapy progressed, I let go of my judgments and he let go of his violent tendencies.

    Had I held on to my initial judgment that he was a bad person, neither of us would have been healed. Not believing your mind’s initial judgments can be a path to greater freedom for both you and others.

     They Are a Perfect Them

    In most spiritual traditions, there is the idea that behind our personality and behaviors, we all share a common awareness, soul, or divine nature. This divine nature may be hidden under many layers of ego and problematic behavior, but it’s there somewhere.

    If you can quiet your mind and open your heart, you can sometimes tune into this soul or divine aspect in others—even if they’re being annoying.

    A phrase I’ve used to help me along this path is, “They are a perfect them.”  When I say this sentence from my heart, it reminds me that everyone is simply doing the best they can, and that a perfect soul is hidden underneath all their wounding.

    In movies, there’s always a “bad guy” or gal who we root against. Even if that character’s behavior is abhorrent, we may still marvel at the acting abilities of the person portraying the antagonist.

    In a similar way, when I see someone doing something I find offensive, I can still admire how well they’re playing their role. They might be a world class jerk, but at least they are playing that role perfectly. And behind the role they are playing, they are a wounded, vulnerable human being—just like me.

    In short, they are a “perfect them,” and as I allow them to be who they are, it gives me the chance to let go of my judgment and feel compassion and peace.

    A fifth and final way to conquer your (and my) judging mind is to use a phrase that Jesus used: “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.”

    People don’t consciously do stupid or self-destructive things. After all, people never put their hand on a hot stove if they know it’s hot. If we see someone acting in an upsetting or self-destructive manner, it inevitably means they’re too unaware—or too compelled—to do anything else.

    Because we assume babies are not very aware and have little or no free will, we tend to not judge them when they do things we don’t like—such as cry. In a similar manner, we can see that many adults also are so unaware or so compelled by their past conditioning that they’re really like a little baby. From our understanding that they “know not what they do,” it’s easier to let go of our judging and being annoyed at them.

    Ultimately, we all want to love and be loved. Unfortunately, our Neanderthal-like judgmental minds get in the way of what we truly crave deep down inside. By trying out the four phrases I’ve discussed, you may find a quick way to sidestep how your mind creates separation and annoyance. Once you find a simple way to elude judging others, you can instantly enjoy more peace, compassion, and love.

  • Why I’d Rather Be Vulnerable with People Than Pretend I’m Perfect

    Why I’d Rather Be Vulnerable with People Than Pretend I’m Perfect

    “Give up being perfect, for being authentic. Give up the need to be perfect, for the opportunity to be authentic. Be who you are. Love who you are. Others will too.” ~Hal Elrod

    I’m not perfect. Not that this would come as any kind of surprise to anyone who knows me. But I often feel pushed in the direction of trying to represent myself as someone who has it all together. Especially because of the nature of my work as a coach and facilitator. What about you? Do you ever feel like you’re putting on a show for others?

    The more I find myself trying to represent a perfectly put-together person, the less confident I feel in who I am because I know I am being inauthentic. It’s a big part of what took me off social media a few years ago.

    I don’t like that social media has the ability to mold what you think about yourself by way of comparison and encourage posturing. It’s a slippery slope, as we’re hardwired to yearn for love and connection as part of our survival. For me, it didn’t feel like the kinda place I wanted my love and connection to come from.

    Having the ability to talk about our flaws, what’s going wrong in our lives and where we’re getting stuck, is a huge part of human evolution that we often forget about. If we don’t have an environment to talk about our vulnerabilities, the wounds never get a chance to heal.

    Before getting into therapy, my life was a bloody mess because I pretended like these wounds didn’t exist.

    I don’t remember a period in my life without depression. Even as a teen it followed me around like a shadow.

    I believed the world would be better without me. I felt worthless—like I shouldn’t even have a seat at the table with other humans. I should have been in an alley eating scraps of food with sewer rats. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, the shadow mocked me for dreaming of a better future. My unwillingness to unpack those thoughts meant the infection spread to all areas of my life.

    I grew up in the nineties, when no one was talking about mental health. You struggled in silence.

    I battled demons in high school. I only lasted till eleventh grade before dropping out. I couldn’t stand the thought of spending another day being somewhere that made my life hell—but really, hell was inside me.

    The voice inside my head was (and still is at times) vicious. Every day it was like the Vikings raided and settled into my thoughts to destroy my existence. Those thoughts have left scars that would look like battle wounds of lobbed-off arms if you could see them.

    The voice inside my head was a reminder that I sure as hell would never do anything my parents would be proud of. It was easier to do nothing so that nothing was expected of me. I didn’t feel stupid if I didn’t try, so it made my reality an easier pill to swallow.

    I did graduate and made my way to university, but my life became increasingly dysfunctional. My love for being black-out drunk on Sailor Jerry rum became the perfect way to cope with a chaotic mind I didn’t understand.

    This comes back to not treating open wounds. Everything I resisted continue to persist.

    I had next to no insight into what I was going through because I wasn’t willing to share that I was struggling.

    At the time, my problems took on the weight of the world because I didn’t let people stand by my side to support me. I burned through relationships like a brushfire. I had no idea how to be in an open and communicative relationship because I barely had a relationship with myself.

    Once the wounds became visible through therapy, I could stop the infection from poisoning my ability to think and function. Vulnerability saved my life. I have no doubt that if I didn’t get that support, I would not be here today.

    We forget that our survival depends on being vulnerable. Author Brad Stulberg talks about this in his book, The Practice of Groundedness. He writes, “Our ancestors who survived weren’t those who were the strongest by traditional measures, but those who were most effectively able to share their weaknesses with one another and work together to overcome them.”

    If I didn’t share what I’ve been through, would you still be reading this? Probably not. It would be just another fluff piece on embracing your vulnerability.

    Without openness, there is no love and connection.

    Without openness, you and I wouldn’t be sharing this moment.

    Without openness, you and I can’t heal and grow together.

    The idea of being vulnerable scares the sh*t out of most of us. No one wants to be perceived as weak or admit they have flaws. We’re afraid that the lions of the world will sense our weaknesses and pick us off one by one.

    Except I’ve never actually been mauled by a wild animal when I’ve asked for help, or taken responsibility for a mistake. It’s actually had the opposite effect. Through my writing and vulnerability, I’ve connected with people on every continent of earth.

    It becomes impossible for me to pretend my vulnerabilities are mine alone if people from all over the world have said I’ve captured what they’re struggling with.

    This idea is backed up by research from The University of Mannheim, in Germany, that Stulberg references in his book.

    He writes, “They repeatedly found that the individual doing the sharing felt that their vulnerability would be perceived as weak, as a negative. But the person on the other end of the conversation, the listener, felt the exact opposite: the more vulnerable the sharer was, the more courageous they perceived him or her to be. The listener viewed vulnerability as an unambiguously positive trait.”

    And I think this is why a lot of us continue to feel stuck. We’re so damn wrapped up in worrying about what others will think of us when we open up that we miss the chance to connect.

    When we feel we need to be perfect, it becomes impossible to grow because we’re not being honest with ourselves about how we’re struggling and what would help. My life couldn’t move forward if I refused to see the reality that partying, substance abuse, and pleasure chasing was an attempt to escape depression.

    When you choose the illusion of perfection over vulnerability, you become a stunted version of who you’re capable of becoming.

    The first place you get to take the armor off is when you’re staring at the reflection you see in the mirror.

    Are you willing to be vulnerable with the person staring back at you?

    Are you willing to admit that life is not going the way you want it to?

    Are you willing to put aside judgment so you can get the help and support you need?

    We all want changes, but are we willing to make the choices that give us that change?

    These questions have the potential to shake the core of your foundation free from all the bullsh*t that accumulates over the years. It’s bloody liberating to let go of stories that no longer serve you—stories about who you need to be and what you need to do or have in order to be happy and loved.

    I didn’t need to achieve a promotion or drive a sports car to receive love from my parents. I didn’t have to do anything to show the world that I mattered. I needed to ground myself in vulnerability, rather than an image of perfection, so I could show up as my authentic self and make a difference for other people by being the real, imperfect me.

    Pretending to be somebody you’re not is exhausting work. Not to mention it does the complete opposite of what you want it to do. If vulnerability gives you the power to connect, lead, and grow, that means the inverse is also true. A lack of vulnerability means you end up feeling disconnected, a fraud, forever stuck with a fragile version of what you’re capable of because your ego is afraid of getting hurt.

    Putting a name to what you’re facing puts the power back in your hands. So recognize that you too may be pretending to be perfect to avoid admitting you’re struggling and feeling vulnerable. That single choice to embrace vulnerability could be the most important decision you ever make in your life. And it just may give you the confidence to know you can face anything and rise above it.

  • Why I Despised My Skin Color & 5 Strategies That Improved My Self-Image

    Why I Despised My Skin Color & 5 Strategies That Improved My Self-Image

    “Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.” ~Coco Chanel

    I believed I was ugly and blamed it on my dark skin. I hated my skin color. Looking back, I realized it’s because I didn’t fit in with the white kids, nor did I fit in with the black kids.

    I am mixed race. I have a black father and a white mother. Until I started school, I never considered myself different. My family and I were close, and I felt love and acceptance.

    When I started second grade, I developed a crush on a boy, who never noticed me and fawned over the pretty blonde girl in class. She was beautiful, with springy blonde curls and a soft, feminine voice. She wore colorful dresses that enhanced her beauty. I felt drab and plain next to her. Thus, began my dislike of my dark, frizzy afro.

    As I grew older, the name calling occurred. I was called zebra, Oreo, and n*gger. I spent a lot of my youth in tears.

    I wish I could say that it got easier as I grew older. I grew envious of the blonde girls, who caught the boys’ attention. I even envied my two sisters. One had no trouble getting boys to like her, and the other had beautiful hair that fell naturally down her neck in wavy curls.

    However, entering the seventh grade solidified my hatred of my skin color and frizzy hair.

    I sat in the back of my math class working on my assignment, while passing notes to my friends. Exhibiting a form of bravery, I tossed a note to my secret crush named Mike. He wrote back which pleased me.

    In one particular note, I asked him why he didn’t like me. As I handed it to him, I hoped with all my might that he’d tell me I was wrong. When he gave me the note back, he smiled, and I grew hopeful. I opened it and tears formed in my eyes. My heart plummeted to my stomach and bile rose to my throat. His words seared my brain as if he said them aloud.

    “Because you’re ugly.”

    Devastation enveloped me. I crumbled up the note, but the words couldn’t be as easily destroyed like the piece of paper. It sat in the back of my mind as an explanation to me why boys didn’t like me.

    In ninth grade, I was called a dog and had spitballs spat at the back of my head. I left them there, too embarrassed to even rummage through my thick frizzy mass to find them.

    “Why did you let them throw spitballs at you?” the substitute teacher asked me after class, as she removed the wet globs from my hair.

    I shrugged and left the room thinking, “Why didn’t you stop them?”

    By the time I graduated from high school, I pretty much gave up on finding somebody to love me for me. I did go on dates, but I had to do the asking. Even as I went out with them, I could tell that they’d have preferred to be anywhere else but with me.

    I struggled with my self-esteem but hid it all behind a smile. I decided to just be myself, be friendly, be kind, and smile. In private, I would cry as I wrote my feelings in stories and journals.

    Then one day at the college computer room, I met Rick. He spoke to me and showed an interest in me. When he asked me out, I accepted. Unfortunately, my life never went like I had hoped. I got pregnant. He left me.

    Deciding to keep my baby, I raised him with the help of my parents and went back to college to get my degree. I decided then to focus on myself and my little boy. Naturally, obstacles surfaced, but I chose to be myself and incorporated five strategies that slowly helped me start liking myself.

    1. I practiced self-care.

    Although self-love needs to come from within, I knew I’d feel better about myself if I put more effort into my appearance, so I bought new clothes and changed my hairstyle. This reinforced that I was worth the effort. Wearing flattering clothes and makeup enhanced my skin tone and body shape.

    I also took care of myself mentally by reading books that centered on personal growth and following steps to keep my thoughts positive, such as reciting positive affirmations and being more aware of my negative thoughts so I can reframe my thinking patterns.

    Taking care of my mind and body really helped me see myself differently. When I felt more comfortable in my skin and more at ease in my own mind, my self-confidence grew.

    2. I stopped worrying about what people thought.

    I had always been shy and introverted, and I was afraid of being judged. Being in college helped me break out of that shell. I spoke up in class and asked questions. I stopped worrying what people would think about me because I knew this was holding me back. My entire focus centered on what I wanted to learn and get from the classes I took.

    My best friend at the time told me that I should walk with my head up and back straight. She taught me that with my shoulders back and my head held high, I’d appear confident, and when I felt confident, no one’s opinions could hurt me. I adopted that form, and believe me, it felt great to walk with extremely good posture and feel the confidence exude from within me.

    3. I focused on the positive.

    Being positive had always been hard. I would wallow in self-pity and then wonder why I didn’t have many friends or couldn’t get a date. I changed my mindset and focused on the good things in my life and positive changes I wanted to make.

    I spent a lot of time with my son and worked on my writing skills, because being a writer was very important to me, and still is! I learned everything I could about business management and continuously developed my skills. I also started hanging out with positive people with healthy self-esteem and emulated their free spirit and vivacious personalities. Spending time around people who see the world through a positive, empowering lens has helped switch my mindset and feel better about myself and life.

    4. I started smiling more.

    By smiling more, I felt positive and happy more often. I wanted people to view me as someone approachable and friendly, so I smiled and showed my courtesy to those around me. It’s amazing what a smile can do for yourself as well for others. Smiling at someone in passing could touch that person and ease whatever pain they’re enduring. It could brighten their day and, and in turn help you feel good about yourself.

    When I was on my way to work one day, after picking up a hot chocolate at a nearby food court, I walked down a few steps toward the exit. An unkempt man entered and held the door open for me. I flashed him a smile and thanked him. He did a doubletake and then smiled hesitantly at me. It was then that I realized the power of a smile. It made me feel good to acknowledge this man because of a courteous gesture on his part.

    By being kind and grateful, I shared a moment with a complete stranger and it felt good.

    5. I found the courage to be myself.

    After practicing the steps above, I was no longer afraid to be myself. I broke out of my comfort zone and even spoke in public at church and seminars I took. Being myself freed me from living in a shell, where the walls I had built at a young age came crashing down.

    Today, my skin color no longer bothers me. I still hate my hair, but that’s beside the point. The fact is I realized that it wasn’t my skin color that was stopping me from making friends and finding love. It was me all along. I need to love and take care of myself first before anyone else could love me.

    I now have a wonderful, gorgeous husband who treats me the way I’ve always wanted to be treated by a man. He values me and loves everything about me—flaws and all!

    Exercising these five strategies created a life for me that I’m quite proud of. In retrospect, I wish I could tell my teenage self that life will get better, just be patient, and enjoy your naturally built-in tan.

    I’m proud to be half black and white. It is a blend of both my parents, who I love very much. Without them, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today.

  • Healing After Heartbreak: How to Turn Your Pain into Your Greatest Superpower

    Healing After Heartbreak: How to Turn Your Pain into Your Greatest Superpower

    “Blessed are the cracked, for they let in the light.” ~Spike Milligan

    Ever since I was a little girl, Disney films, story books, family, and friends unconsciously conditioned me to believe that the definition of happiness was a knight in shining armor galloping into my life to rescue me, sweeping me away, soothing all my problems as we ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after.

    However, it’s fair to say, that fairytale didn’t play out how I’d expected in real life. Nor does it for most, if any of us.

    For much of my teenage years, I had a turbulent relationship with my dad, who was absent a lot of the time (both physically and emotionally), as he battled with a toxic relationship with alcohol and mental illness. He was inconsistent, distant, and showed little interest in me or any of my achievements as I went through school and university.

    The story I told myself and the belief I adopted was that I clearly was not enough for this man, my own flesh and blood, to love me and to want to play a part in my life.

    I never recognized or processed all the negative emotions around him; the anger, hurt, resentment, and sadness that resided discreetly and comfortably in a deep dark corner of my heart, waiting for an opportunity to make their ugly appearance years later.

    I was twenty-three when I met the man that would years later become my husband. He was consistent, present, and loveable—all the things my dad was not. He loved me and made me feel like I was enough.

    Finally, my knight in shining armor had arrived—albeit not on a horse, but in a dark bar one Saturday night dressed as Spiderman. Regardless, I was sure it was going to be just like the fairytales.

    Like everyone else in my friendship group at that time, we progressed our way through the game of life like it was some kind of tick-box race:

    • Good job (tick)
    • Find a partner (tick)
    • Get engaged (tick)
    • Buy a house (tick)
    • Get married (tick)

    In all those films I’d watched and books I’d read, this was the equation for happiness. I’d seemingly completed the game successfully and nailed the equation. I’d gotten all those things I’d been yearning for, yet something was missing. I felt like I’d been cheated somehow. I didn’t feel truly happy, I didn’t feel really fulfilled, and I found myself asking: “is this it?”

    After a lot of contemplation and sleepless nights, I pressed the self-destruct button on my life and made the decision to walk away from my marriage and home. My friends thought I was mad. My family questioned my sanity. Somedays even I questioned my own decisions, but something deep inside me—my intuition, an inner knowing maybe—told me that I was not where I was meant to be.

    I reluctantly followed that pull, even though I was stepping into a terrifying unknown. My future looked dark and all the hopes, dreams, and plans that I had quickly fell to a thousand little pieces at my feet.

    I subsequently went from 0-100mph into full distraction mode. I threw myself into a new job, went traveling on my own, I dated, and from the outside I looked to be coping brilliantly. On the inside, however? I was far from brilliant. I felt lost, scared, and lonely, with an overwhelming feeling of failure with a sense that I just wasn’t “enough.”

    All those limiting beliefs and stories I had been telling myself since I was twelve bubbled up to the surface, and in my mind, had all been validated in one fell swoop.

    Crushed, I found I was frantically grasping for the things that once made me feel loved, safe, and secure, and there was nothing there. It gave me no choice but to go inward and be my own savior— my own knight in shining armor.

    This was the start of a journey of deep healing, rebuilding, and self-discovery—my comeback story. With the right support from a counselor and a coach, I processed and healed the wounds in my heart from my dad, and later from my divorce, which had unsurprisingly unearthed a lot of past trauma.

    I made a commitment that I was going to see this through no matter how tough and painful it was. I owed it to myself. I changed and transitioned, many times. I peeled back all the delicate layers of my heart and held each one up to the light with a compassionate curiosity. I had to break wide open in order for me to stick myself back together piece by piece.

    I took time to get to know myself. I healed and grew stronger and wiser. I expressed forgiveness and gratitude. I accepted all of myself. I learned to love myself. And slowly but surely, my natural confidence blossomed and spilled out. I realized that the more love I gave to myself, the more I had to pour into others.

    Self-love was the answer. For my whole life I had been looking to other people and external things to validate me, make me happy, and make me feel loved, when all along that was my job. I first needed to be enough for myself.

    I learned that it’s not about what you get in life. All of that ‘stuff’ is impermanent. Your looks? They’ll fade. Material stuff? Doesn’t mean anything, and you can’t take it all with you. Your job? Can be taken away. People? Can leave you. It’s who you become that’s really important.

    So, I made peace with my past and arrived at a place where I felt grateful for all of it. I then decided I was going to use every challenging experience to learn, grow, and become the best version of myself I could be.

    All healing begins with the ability to love yourself first—the ability to accept and acknowledge all of yourself and all your experiences, the good and the bad. Like water weathering a rock over time, your experiences have shaped you into the incredible, unique person that you are today.

    Forgiveness is another critical part of healing. You must find it in yourself to forgive others when they were doing the best with what they had, and to also forgive yourself for the mistakes you made when you were doing your best. If you don’t forgive, you are the person who suffers. It’s like walking around with an open wound; until you heal it, you will continue to bleed over every aspect of your life.

    After a lot of inner work, I healed and found the courage to shine a light on the biggest shadow that resided deep in my heart: that in some way I just wasn’t enough—not loveable enough. It pains me to see those words in black and white now, because they are no longer my truth.

    I carried the worry that people would judge my path because it looked different for too long. I chose to embrace the change, let go of caring what other people thought, and became the person I wanted to be. The person I always was underneath all the conditioning, limiting beliefs, and stories I’d made up as a result of my experiences.

    I thought, “What thoughts would the best version of me be thinking? How would she speak to herself? How would she treat others? How would she show up?” And I chose to become her.

    Since stepping into my authentic self, I have attracted the most incredible, diverse, inspiring people into my life. I had to choose to love some people from afar, but now I see how it was necessary in order for me to grow and evolve into the person I was always meant to become. The woman I am now proud to be.

    Don’t get me wrong, I still have days where I can wake up with a heavy heart or feel sad, but I’m human, and healing is by no means a simple or linear process. The difference is that now I am prepared with the mindset, awareness, and tools to approach challenging days with grace and self-compassion.

    We have been conditioned to think that a relationship ending means we are a failure. Yet, a relationship ending can often be evidence of strength, bravery, and empowerment. It can be the moment we stop settling for mediocrity and we finally say “enough” and choose ourselves.

    Although they do not feel like it at the time, endings are powerful containers for growth, learning, expansion, and exciting new beginnings.

    Yes, I lost a relationship with someone who I thought would be my forever person; we didn’t gallop off into the sunset and live happily ever after like I had expected we would. But through that messy, painful process of healing and re-building, I found the most secure, fulfilling, and loving relationship with a person who is going to be by my side until the day I take my last breath: me.

  • Book Giveaway, HumanKind: Changing the World One Small Act at a Time

    Book Giveaway, HumanKind: Changing the World One Small Act at a Time

    The other day, while scrolling through my Facebook feed, I came across the kind of uplifting story that makes my exhausted-mom-bleeding-heart melt.

    It was from a mother who’d decided to fly alone with her two-year-old and five-year-old, only to find herself overwhelmed by two screaming, overtired children.

    I can imagine the stress and anxiety she felt, given that I often feel that way just sitting in my living room with my poor-sleeping baby and high-energy toddler—which is why I almost shed a tear when I read about the other moms who stepped up to offer help.

    One fellow mama let the solo mom cut her in the security line, another helped carry all her bags, and a third woman held one of her children for a long stretch on the flight and carried him all the way to baggage claim, where she left with a hug and a “Merry Christmas!”

    Right when she needed it, this mother found herself the proverbial village it takes to raise a child—through the air and back again. (See what I did there?!)

    Whether it was the spirit of the holiday season or just basic human decency, these women made a tremendous difference through their selfless acts of kindness.

    I don’t know about you, but I can’t get enough stories like these—tiny reminders that the world is full of good people who care and want to help.

    It’s easy to feel discouraged sometimes, whether you’re covered in spit-up at 3am or collapsed under the weight of all your responsibilities after one too many days burning the candle at both ends.

    In moments like these, when we’re feeling drained and depleted, we need to remember that there are kind, loving people all around us who are willing and eager to lend a hand, if only we speak up.

    For me, and for many, that person is Brad Aronson. Not only did he amass a beautiful collection of kindness stories in his bestselling book HumanKind: Changing the World One Small Act at a Time, he walked his talk just recently by offering me his time and support after I reached out for advice.

    True to form, he’s also offered ten free copies of HumanKind to Tiny Buddha readers, and I couldn’t be more excited to get his inspiring book into even more hands.

    There’s a reason Forbes referred to it as “the most uplifting and life-affirming book in years.”

    HumanKind shines a spotlight on the best of humanity and includes countless practical suggestions and ideas to help us bring out the best in ourselves.

    What strikes me most about HumanKind—aside from the fact that all author royalties go to Big Brothers Big Sisters—is that the people profiled are just like you and me. They’re everyday people with struggles of their own who one day decided they wanted to do something good—then did.

    Whether you’re looking for confirmation that the world is a caring place or inspiration to make a difference in your own sphere of influence, HumanKind has you covered.

    It will feed your spirit, fuel your motivation to give back, and fill your heart with hope.

    To enter to win a free, signed copy of HumanKind,  comment below, sharing why you or someone you love would appreciate this book. Then email the link to your comment to kind@bradaronson.com so Brad has your email address to contact you if you win.

    You can enter until midnight PST on Sunday, December 12th. Brad will contact the winners directly the following week.

    Happy Thursday, friends!

  • Feeling Burnt Out? Meet Toxic Productivity & Grind Culture with Rest

    Feeling Burnt Out? Meet Toxic Productivity & Grind Culture with Rest

    “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” ~Audre Lorde

    When you hear the word “productive,” you likely think of something positive: busting through that work assignment, making your house sparkly clean, or crushing your hobby.

    Productivity is what we all aim for, right? On workdays and even on our days off, we seek to make something happen.

    Grinding and hustling are seen as admirable, and something to work toward, always.

    If we fall short, we beat ourselves up, and sometimes even drag ourselves off the couch to force ourselves into productivity. We feel if we don’t complete all of the tasks, we’ve failed. We set crazy high expectations for ourselves then hate ourselves when we don’t meet them.

    What would happen if we scaled back, even just a little? What if we included rest in our practice?

    It seems we’d fall apart, we’d become piles of mush, not contributing to society or our own lives. This is bullsh*t. Toxic productivity grinds us down, not forward.

    The need to be productive all the damn time impedes our ability to enjoy life and take a breather once in a while.

    I’m not saying that all productivity and hustle are bad. I’m saying the culture around needing to be a robot of a human, producing 24/7, is what gets us into trouble.

    I’m guilty of it myself. When I got my first big girl job out of college, I worked for a fancy tech start-up. I was amped to be given so much responsibility at age twenty-three, so I worked all the hours I could to prove I was capable.

    The “work hard, play hard” culture was pushed at my job. After all, we had a ping pong table, avocados in our snack room, and bean bag chairs to nap on. Who needs an apartment when you’ve got everything at work?

    That was my mindset. I grinded, early mornings and late nights, extra coffee and minimal sleep. It was almost cool to be working in the office on a Saturday.

    I had a coworker who slept at the office multiple nights a week. We all thought she was crazy, but I wasn’t far off.

    On top of all my work, I had a gazillion hobbies. I was running a blog, playing hockey, volunteering at my meditation center, attending twelve-step meetings, and trying to date.

    The grind never ended. When did I rest? Never. Rest was for the wicked.

    It all eventually caught up to me when, one dreary winter evening, I sat in my therapist’s office sobbing about how I didn’t want to be alive anymore. I had burned the candle at both ends for too long, and it had all become too much.

    I was sent to a mental hospital, and my whole life came crashing down. I had been institutionalized for two whole weeks when I began to reconsider my life.

    “Is this what I want for myself?” I thought. “Can I even keep going like this?”

    The answer was no. My work and life patterns were not sustainable. I couldn’t keep “yes-ing” everything and everyone.

    Something had to give. I was bursting at the seams, with no coping skills to tie me together again. With no choice, I had to give up my job and submit to my healing.

    For a year, I didn’t work a full-time job. It was very unlike me. I was privileged to get on disability and was able to take the time to pick apart my life to find what wasn’t working.

    What I found to be toxic was the grind, or the pursuit of always needing to be doing something. It ate away at me and my perfectionist tendencies, always wanting to be the best.

    Instead, I embraced rest. I know I’m privileged in this because not everyone has the same chance to do such a thing. Some have no choice but to work forty-plus hours a week.

    Still, even now, with a full-time job, in grad school, in a relationship, and with several hobbies, I carve out space for rest. I know how important it is to my overall well-being.

    I do this by giving myself some space on a certain day of the week to just do nothing. I have full permission to kick back and do whatever I please: nap, read a book, watch tv, lay in the grass. The point is to not have to be productive for some time.

    Not only do I give myself an entire day, I try to carve out moments all throughout the week where I can just take a deep breath and be. Whether that’s getting up for a stretch or walk from my work computer or cuddling with my roommate’s cat for a moment, I enjoy life.

    Life isn’t just about how much I can produce. Being able to rest is essential to being the best human I can be and enjoying this short amount of time I have on Earth.

    The way that I suggest to drop the grind culture and toxic productivity is to examine your life. Ask yourself these questions:

    • Am I pushing myself beyond my limits?
    • Do I have too much on my plate?
    • How am I beating myself up?
    • What can I prioritize?
    • Where can I include more rest?

    Take a look at your life and see where you fall victim to toxic productivity. But don’t be overscrupulous! The point is to peek, not scour.

    With this information, you can make informed choices that intentionally include rest. Rest is the way out of this mess. Sometimes my productive brain even tells me, “If you rest, you’ll be able to work harder!” Maybe, but that’s not the point.

    The point is we need to recharge. There’s a reason why we sleep almost a third of our lives; we need the respite. Look at working out, one needs to rest in order to rebuild.

    Our bodies are sending us cues left and right that it’s what we need to do, but we often don’t listen until it’s too late and our gauge is past empty.

    You don’t need to wait until you’ve been hospitalized to rest. You can choose it today, in whatever increment makes sense for you. I promise it’s worth it.

  • 4 Powerful Lessons I’ve Learned from Grief Since My Mom Died Suddenly

    4 Powerful Lessons I’ve Learned from Grief Since My Mom Died Suddenly

    “Losing my mother at such an early age is the scar of my soul. But I feel like it ultimately made me into the person I am today. I understand the journey of life. I had to go through what I did to be here.” ~Mariska Hargitay

    At 6:07 pm on July 18, 2020, I was sitting on the couch with my boyfriend. It was a Saturday night, and I had canceled plans with my friends because I had a migraine. I had eaten dinner already, and I was in my pajamas, watching TV. My phone rang—my dad. “I’ll call him back later,” I said, flipping the phone over on the couch and returning my attention to the television.

    Three minutes later, I received a text from my dad to my sister and me.

    “Girls, I do not want to alarm you, but I am at the emergency room in Asheville. Your mother and I were riding our bikes, and she was hit by a car. An ambulance came very quickly, and they have her right now. I am doing some paperwork at the front desk, so I don’t know her condition. I will keep you posted. Love.”

    I read it to my boyfriend, concerned. I worried she had broken an arm or perhaps even a leg. My mother had never broken a bone before. I answered my father’s Facetime. I could see the hospital waiting room behind him. Crowded. I looked back at his face. My stomach tied itself into knots, and my migraine pounded.

    “God almighty, shit.” My dad’s refrain.

    I looked at my sister’s face. I stared at her, a tiny square on my phone. As my dad described what had happened, my eyes bore into my twin’s, as if I could make everything okay if I just looked at her hard enough.

    My dad told the story, occasionally stopping to speak to doctors or the hospital chaplain, Jim, who remained close by. That was the first sign to me that something was very wrong. All those people in the waiting room, and the chaplain was only speaking to Dad.

    I’ve heard this story thousands of times by now. I know every detail by heart. So I’ll tell it in my words, not his.

    Around 3:32 pm, Jane and John Beach left their cabin in Saluda, North Carolina, with their mountain bikes hitched to the back of their twenty-one-year-old Toyota Four Runner. They drove to Pisgah National Forest near Asheville, where they planned to go on a bike ride before stopping by their favorite brewery for dinner.

    At 5:21 pm, Jane and John were finishing their ride. They took a right on Brevard Road. John went first. And Jane followed.

    At 5:22 pm, twenty-five-year-old Hannah was driving down the road. If Jane had turned right seconds later, at 5:23 pm, Hannah would have sped right past. Instead, Jane was hit from behind by Hannah’s tan Buik Sentry.

    John heard the impact, skidded to halt, and threw his bike across the road. Sprinting to his wife, who was now lying in the street. Her bike was destroyed. Her helmet split in two. At the same moment, Hannah, with blood on her hood and a cracked windshield, drove away as quickly as she came.

    At Mission Hospital, Jane was intubated and treated with attention and care. At 7:18 pm, I learned over FaceTime that my mother had died. My father was crying.

    “God almighty, shit.”

    He continued to repeat.

    That day, the moment my mom died, I joined a community of hundreds of thousands of others who were grieving. If you’re reading this article, you’re probably part of my community, or maybe you love someone who is.

    During the months after my mother’s death, I would lie in bed at night and think about everyone I was connected to, everyone else who was lying in bed, unable to sleep because they were thinking of someone they loved and lost.

    Since then, I’ve learned a lot about grief through articles, books, podcasts, and speaking to other people who were going through similar experiences. I wanted to understand grief because I wanted to know how to recover from it. But what I learned along the way is that grief is not something you heal from. When you lose someone, you carry that around with you forever, and it becomes a part of you.

    Grief can actually mold itself into something beautiful that reminds you of your strength and your capacity to love and be loved so fiercely that it hurts.

    Dumbledore said it best when he said, “To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.”

    If we can learn how to live in harmony with grief, it can teach us so much and help us grow. Here are four powerful lessons I’ve learned from my grief.

    Lesson 1: Love yourself harder.

    After my mom died, I was a mess. Not only was I in physical pain, but I felt as if all of the mental health struggles I’ve wrestled with for most of my life (anxiety and hypochondria, to name a few) were bubbling back up to the surface and threatening a takeover.

    Grieving can bring up old wounds and make other emotions seem unbelievable overwhelming. That’s why self-love and self-compassion are essential to ease the suffering that comes with grief.

    Self-compassion isn’t an easy thing to learn, but a good way to begin is by making a list of things that comfort you and making time for those things. Put in an effort toward just showing yourself some love.

    Grief taught me the importance of nurturing myself. I like to take baths, curl up with a good book, and take long walks. I’ve found that these moments of stillness and calm help me get through the moments of chaos and sadness and fear and frustration.

    Lesson 2: Fully feel your emotions.

    Grief often stimulates an overwhelming range of different emotions. People who are grieving feel their emotions very strongly, whether it’s sadness, joy, fear, or relief. Even a year and a half after my mom’s death, my emotions still hit me like bricks, and sometimes I really don’t see them coming.

    It’s natural to try and avoid the more uncomfortable emotions, like anxiety or fear, but that just makes them stronger. Instead, try sitting with your emotion. Fully feel it, and allow it to exist without any avoidance.

    Mindfulness, or grounding yourself in the present moment, can really help when you find yourself pushing an emotion away because it’s too painful. Try sitting quietly in an empty room. Imagine your emotion sitting beside you. Remember, you are not your emotion. It doesn’t have to control you. You don’t have to push it away out of fear.

    Another thing that’s important to remember is this: it’s okay to feel things. It’s okay to feel sad or angry or frustrated. Don’t push away any feelings because you think they’re “wrong” or “not helpful.” When you’ve gone through the trauma of losing someone, all feelings are valid. Let emotions live freely and recognize that you’re going to have good days and bad days.

    Lesson 3: Rituals and reminders can be therapeutic.

    When my mom died, I struggled to think of her without feeling pain. I hid everything that reminded me of her and took down all of my photos. Remembering her felt like staring directly at the sun. But eventually, I started to take comfort in reminders. I wanted to talk about her and see her face.

    Now, I wear her wedding ring every day and think of her often when I look at it. I drink earl grey tea and remember the days we used to spend sipping hot drinks in the Barnes and Noble coffee shop. I wear her favorite sweatshirt and think about the day she got it when she wasn’t much older than I am now, and she was pregnant with me and my sister.

    Staying connected with your loved ones after they’re gone can be tremendously comforting. There are many rituals that can help you accomplish that feeling. Here are a few of my favorite ideas:

    • Read their favorite book
    • Sit in a spot they loved in the house
    • Talk to their childhood best friend and ask to hear stories about them
    • Look at old photos
    • Listen to the music they loved
    • Plant a tree or flowers in their memory
    • Donate to a charity your loved one supported

    Lesson 4: Find people who understand you.

    Talking to other women who have lost their moms in their twenties has been an essential part of my healing process. I’ve met so many strong women who have overcome loss and trauma and used their grief to become better versions of themselves.

    One of my most meaningful connections formed through an organization called The Dinner Party. A few weeks after my mom died, I signed up without thinking that I would really get anything out of it. A few weeks later, I got an email saying that I had a new “buddy”—a girl only a few years older than me who had lost her mom in a biking accident just one month before I lost mine. A year and a half later, we still facetime regularly and are a big part of each other’s lives.

    Talking to someone who shares such a huge life experience with you is a relief, and it feels great to be able to express your full range of emotions to someone who understands because they are feeling all of those things too. From how to support our newly single dads to how to bring up your dead mom to a new friend, we’ve talked through so many things that are meaningful and important to me. We’re close friends, and she has been a great joy to come out of this difficult tragedy.

    Losing my mom has undoubtedly been the most difficult experience of my life, but I’ve learned to love my grief throughout my journey. It has made me stronger and more compassionate, and I know myself and my purpose better now than I ever would have without my grief. I would trade it all to have my mom back, but I know she would be proud of me if she were here right now.

  • Busy Mind Keeping You Up? How to Mindfully and Peacefully Drift Off to Sleep

    Busy Mind Keeping You Up? How to Mindfully and Peacefully Drift Off to Sleep

    “I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.” ~David Benioff

    I can feel the night converting into day. Hooting owls pass the baton to chirping birds before flying off into the slowly fading night. Low-grade panic sets in as total silence gives way to minor stirrings, and I realize my time to carve out at least a tiny patch of sleep amidst this mostly sleepless night is running out.

    These words, which I wrote during one of my first face-offs with insomnia back in college, aren’t reflective of my life-long sleeping patterns. Sleep and I hadn’t always had such a complicated relationship. As a child, I’d nod off without any struggle, pretty much as soon as I entered my bed. It wasn’t until I reached early adulthood that it started playing hard to get with me.

    Sometimes sleep’s elusiveness could be attributed to my surroundings. Like many young adults, I’ve resided in a fair share of environments that weren’t the most conducive to restful sleep—whether it was the house in Montevideo, Uruguay with twelve housemates who liked to blast reggatone music at 3 AM, or the apartment in the heart of San Francisco’s Mission district where garbage trucks, drunk people peeing (or puking) outside my window, and music blasting from nearby parked cars constituted the typical nighttime cacophony.

    External factors weren’t the sole cause of my sleeplessness, though. A lot of times even if my room or the street was relatively quiet, a clamorous mind kept me awake.

    While I still have trouble sleeping some nights, practicing mindfulness has made a significant overall difference. For anyone else who’s at times plagued by a revved-up night-time mind, here’s some of what has helped me.

    Read before bed.

    Ideally material that won’t over-activate your mind. Cramming your brain with new information or revving the analytical wheels may prevent it from relaxing, making for a more difficult transition into sleep. That said, the newspaper might be best reserved for starting your day with (to wake the mind up) while fiction may help to calm you down.

    I’ve found fictional stories provide a smooth transition into dreaming. Reading a short story or novel, all cozied up in your blanket, takes your mind off of the day’s stress and helps you relax, physically and mentally. If reading the newspaper is like climbing a hill, immersion into fiction is like slowly submerging one’s self into a jacuzzi.

    Recent books I’ve read that have helped guide me into sleep were The Island of Missing Trees, narrated by a sensitive and observant fig tree (I could feel my thoughts slowing down the more I got pulled in to the story); and Crying in H Mart, poignant and evocative in its exploration of a nuanced but deeply loving mother daughter relationship, with mouth-watering descriptions of Korean food.

    Practice free association.

    As I lay awake certain nights, the thoughts trundling through my mind tended to be: “Don’t think these things. Stop worrying. Go to sleep.”

    As I found time and again, though, telling yourself not to do something proves far less effective than providing an adequate substitute or stand-in for the habit or behavior in question. So what might that substitute be?

    After reaching an impasse, we writers often engage in free-association to unearth new ideas—the only rule being that we keep typing, documenting any thought that comes our way without forecasting ahead to the possible outcome. This allows our mind to relax, creating space for new ideas to flow in.

    Applying a comparable technique to your night-time mind can result in a similar effect. Instead of abolishing my thoughts, I’ve shifted now to giving up my attachment to any one of them, focusing more on letting them flow in and then out.

    Allow nonsensical or loosely related associations to pass on by through your mind without judging or obsessing over them. Maybe a regret from your day brings up a random embarrassing memory from seventh grade. Maybe a worry about tomorrow evokes an irrational fear of getting sick in a meeting. Let your mind go wherever it goes.

    You can think of it as a night club, yourself as the bouncer and your thoughts as the guests. Rather than make your venue into a snobby, selective place, allow it to be all-inclusive. At the same time, don’t provide the guests with any compelling reason to stay. While it’s natural to feel uneasy about letting in certain characters, you can rest assured that they won’t stay for very long if you don’t engage with them.

    Once I adopt a more permissive mentality, the motley crew starts finding my night club lame and boring. They’re used to VIP service, so my negligence simply doesn’t appeal to them. Barred from free food, drinks, and preferential treatment, they vacate soon enough—leaving my mind quiet, pristine, and more welcoming of sleep.

    In short, the monkey mind wherein thoughts run rampant is not what’s to be feared. It’s the lingering on any one of these thoughts that we could benefit from shifting away from. Because it’s when we’re trying too hard to control our minds that it often remains awake, vigilant, and filled with tension.

    Don’t despair.

    In some cases, deeper exploration and more individualized analysis is necessary to address the underlying issues, as insomnia can at times be only one symptom of a deeper-rooted health problem.

    Other times, though, as Alain de Botton wrote (even while acknowledging that insomnia that lasts for weeks “can be hell”): “In smaller doses—a night here and there—it doesn’t always need a cure. It may even be an asset, a help with some key troubles of the soul. Crucial insights that we need to convey to ourselves can often only be received at night, like city church bells that have to wait until dark to be heard.”

    ~~

    While these aren’t full-proof remedies by any means, the primary nugget I hope you’ll take from them is that similar to many things in life, the more we adopt a drill sergeant mentality, the more elusive sleep becomes. The gentler and more permissive we are of our minds before nodding off, the likelier it is to descend upon us. As Ronald Riggio put it, “My expectation that eight uninterrupted hours of sleep is required was a big part of the problem.”

    I once wrote in my diary, “My body tenses up—the opposite of what it needs to do in order to achieve sleep. <— ACHIEVE sleep. That word choice alone reflects your misguided approach. Sleep is something you SURRENDER to. Leave the achieving for your job or future marathons.”

    So the next time you’re tossing and turning, try surrendering yourself to free-association. Maybe the next place it takes you to—amidst all the random corners the mind inevitably traverses—will be the [restorative] kingdom of sleep.

  • Scared of Losing People You Love? How to Work through the Fear

    Scared of Losing People You Love? How to Work through the Fear

    “People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.” ~Joseph F. Newton

    “Oh my God, Mom…” she said with a verbal eye roll.

    “What?” I responded, sure that I had said too much or overshared like I normally do.

    I can’t recall what my daughter and I were discussing openly about while standing in line at the grocery store checkout, but I do remember the girl ringing us up laughing and saying we sounded just like her and her mom.

    I paused, unsure what that meant.

    “Is this what a healthy mother/daughter relationship sounds like?” I questioned to myself. It was a completely foreign concept to me.

    I wanted to create a strong bond with my daughter, but my own relationship with my mother was dysfunctional and boundary-less when I was a child, leading me to overthink everything when it came to creating a relationship with my daughter.

    My mother had significant mental health challenges, which eventually led to her death by suicide.

    I had no idea what healthy felt like.

    Insecurity plagued me when it came to connecting with my daughter. Was I giving her too much or not giving her enough? Did she trust me? Did she feel comforted by me? Was I too lenient? Was I too distant?

    It was hard to tell when the voices of doubt chimed in.

    I’ve watched other moms with their daughters since I was a young girl. I wasn’t exactly sure what normal was, but I knew it was not telling their daughters how depressed they were or talking through their marital issues. I knew it was not asking their daughters for advice and relying on them to feel good enough to get out of bed by midday.

    I knew my relationship with my mom was different, but it was the only one I had. My normal was gripping codependency and making sure she was okay so she would be there the next day.

    I didn’t want that relationship with my daughter. I wanted her to feel whole and complete and deeply loved without having to take care of another human being to feel it.

    My journey into motherhood was far from easy. With few role models and almost no experience with children, I felt like I had nothing to go on besides instinct alone. And my instincts were part of my problem. I couldn’t always hear them.

    When a child grows up in a volatile environment during their early development, they learn to distrust connection. When what feels comforting and loving one minute can turn to betrayal and rejection in the next, trust in others does not come easily.

    A human’s natural inclination is to want connection, but inconsistency or harm against a person creates a fear in that same connection. When this happens during early development, the child learns to fear what it also deeply desires—which develops into an adult who is quietly terrified to experience and trust reciprocal love.

    The only way I knew how to create that healthy connection was to look deeply into myself and be aware of my patterns and how I was passing them on. And so I observed—a lot.

    I observed other families and the way mothers spoke to their daughters. I observed the way the daughters responded to their moms. I watched what drew my daughter in, and I watched what pushed her away.

    I learned to listen without speaking (which is absolute torture when codependency feels like home), and I learned to ask more questions instead of giving unsolicited advice. I’m still learning, and most likely will be for the long haul since old habits die hard.

    But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just learning how to respond to normal discomfort when someone I love was uncomfortable. It was learning to respond to normal discomfort when I was uncomfortable. It was learning to not shut down and begin to emotionally detach when insecurity started to get loud.

    Raising my children is one of the biggest challenges I’ve had to navigate with these embedded fears. To give birth to a part of you and know your job is to let this soul grow into themselves while they slowly leave you a little more each day. Pulling them close to me to feel safe and loved and teaching them to leave all at the same time. It’s like one long continual dance of love and grief.

    My daughter started college this year and I knew it was going to be tough when she moved on campus, but I had no idea the depth of the grief I would feel. It’s not logical. And the logical part of me likes reason and boxes to put my feelings in. I cognitively knew it was temporary, but my body did not know. It stores memories of every loss and every time I’ve felt left behind, and it was eager to remind me.

    “Life will never be the same again. It’s over.”

    And that is true. But until those old pangs of grief retell their stories without being dismissed and reprimanded for being dramatic or “too much,” I could not see that the new life may even be better than the one before.

    When I let myself experience the sad and angry feelings without reacting to them, they moved through me faster and I could see what I needed to stay connected.

    I requested we have small doses of consistent communication during the beginning stages of her being gone so I could show my fears they were unwarranted. We sent pictures on snapchat most days, and it was just enough to feel connected without being intrusive. It worked for us and comforted my childhood-driven fear until it passed.

    The first time she came home was over a month after she left. Our oversized puppy expressed it best with his big cries and leaping happiness to be with her again. We missed her and our little family felt the absence of her presence in a big way.

    The joy of her energy filling our house was immense. To be in my space again and under my care felt like she never left. She was in and out and visiting friends and doing her thing, but her presence was the reassurance I needed.

    It felt like the scared toddler in me re-experienced object permanence. Proof that it’s safe to trust that if love walks out the door, it also returns. Maybe not in the same shape or the same way, but it comes back when it’s ready… and maybe it never truly left to begin with.

    My little-girl heart, still quietly afraid of loss, was healing.

    Fears of re-experiencing old pains and heartache are the norm in the human experience, and the more we understand our fears, the more we can work with them to keep our connections strong and secure. It also helps us to not pass them on to our children, our partners, our friends and family.

    Our job is not to silence our pain or our fears. Our job is to invite them to the table, let them speak, let them breathe, and let them share their story to completion. Their interrupted cycle is what keeps them around longer as they impatiently wait to be noticed.

    When a fear shows itself through strong surges of emotion (sadness, anger, loneliness, etc.), ask it for more information like you would someone else.

    You can do this verbally out loud or write it out. Ask, tell me more about that pain or fear. What does it feel like? Where do you feel it in your body? Does it hurt or feel restricting? Have you experienced this feeling before?

    Then ask when was the last time you recall feeling this way. What was happening? Who did it involve? What were you scared of? What was the outcome? What might you be doing right now to avoid that same pain? Is it working?

    As you start to uncover the sensations and emotions, ask, what would you tell someone else who was experiencing this same pain? What would you tell a child?

    And my favorite question, what is the most loving and compassionate thing you can do for yourself right now?

    Questions like these give us the opportunity to feel our feelings without transferring them on to someone else and give them a voice they might not normally have. Our inherent need to be seen and heard is met, and we are not ignoring what is asking to be felt.

    The more we let ourselves feel, the more we can hear the voice underneath the feelings once they pass. The quiet intuitive voice who always knows how to nurture us, heal our wounds, and instructs us how to have the courage and ability to have loving relationships with those we care about.

    It’s normal to have fear in our connections. It’s part of our experience as humans and often how we learn about ourselves most. But to let those fears dictate the way we connect keeps us from connecting in the ways we truly crave. True intimacy requires vulnerability and a trust that starts within ourselves. The more we are willing to listen to the fears that drive us, the more we are open to the love that feeds us.

    What are you really scared of? Let your fears be heard, but let your heart lead the way.

  • Tiny Buddha’s 2022 Day-to-Day Calendar & Planner, Available Now!

    Tiny Buddha’s 2022 Day-to-Day Calendar & Planner, Available Now!

    Hi friends! First things first, happy December. I hope you’re all enjoying the holiday season so far!

    I’m excited to share that I’ve launched my first ever day-to-day desk calendar, along with an eco-friendly planner, for 2022.

    The colorful daily calendar pages feature quotations (all from the Tiny Buddha blog) on happiness, love, relationships, change, meaning, mindfulness, simplicity, self-care, letting go, and more.

    With an easel backer for desk and tabletop display, the calendar will hopefully keep you encouraged, uplifted, and motivated all through 2022!

    As I write this, Amazon only has three calendars left in stock, with more on the way, but it’s available on other sites as well, including Barnes & Noble.

    As for the planner, it also features quotes from the blog, on colorful patterned pages, and it’s made entirely of recycled materials. The lay-flat sewn (exposed) binding is a unique feature—it uses cloth thread and is free of glue, plastic, and metal. And because it lays flat, it’s friendly for lefties!

    You can grab a planner for yourself or someone you love on Amazon here.

    I hope you enjoy the calendar and planner as much as I enjoyed creating them!

  • Why I Stopped Measuring My Self-Worth and Trying to Prove Myself

    Why I Stopped Measuring My Self-Worth and Trying to Prove Myself

    “You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anyone.” ~Maya Angelou

    How do you measure your self-worth? By the salary you make each year? By the length of your resume? By the number of people who follow you on social media?

    Now what if you never had to measure your self-worth again? That is what I want to do.

    I grew up as a gifted kid with high expectations to boot, always pushing myself to meet them. I earned the best grades I could, secured a full-ride scholarship to a local university, and soon enough ended up at one of the top law schools in the country.

    Thanks to all the achievements, my self-worth was high. I believed I was outshining my peers, boosting my ego. I felt safe in this comfort zone I’d created. 

    Law school drastically changed my perspective of the world. My peer group became some of the smartest and most talented people in the country. I tried competing against them to prove myself, but I struggled more than ever to stand out and feel accomplished.

    In just a few months, my ego began crumbling apart, taking my once lofty feelings of worth down with it. I was out of my comfort zone and felt invisible.

    I turned to strangers online in an attempt to put the pieces back together and resurrect my worth. I relied heavily on social media to put myself out there for superficial likes and comments. I turned lifelong hobbies into side hustles, trading content I cared about for bits of validation here and there.

    I was desperate to find some new measure of success on which I could rely. But I never noticed the damage that desperation was doing to my psyche until it had already taken its toll.

    My ego had protected me for so long from doubt that as soon as it was gone, I never felt good enough. Once I believed I was a failure, I only kept confirming my demoralizing feelings by pushing myself to excel immediately in new areas. I compared myself to the best of the best and treated myself like the worst of the worst.

    I was trapped in a downward spiral leading to worthlessness. It was only when I slowed down to reflect on my mental health that I realized my life looked like an endless rat race to find some proverbial cheese. I strained to earn my worth and ended up empty-handed.

    If you always chase after self-worth, you never stop to see if you have found any.  

    How is it so many of us believe our worth is conditional? I believe it is a long, grueling process.

    Many of us learned growing up to associate self-worth with achievement of some kind. As we discovered authority figures gave us the most positive feedback and attention when we were doing a great job, we linked our worth to excelling. Without that encouragement, we were lost.

    The world around us exploits this correlation on a daily basis. To some extent, it makes the world go round.

    Western culture, in particular, thrives on permanently tying worth to achievement: the more people pursue success in what they do, the more productive they are and the more money that flows. Accordingly, society constantly tries to push the idea that hard work is sacred and will ultimately lead us to a life of achievement, ergo worth.

    Western culture does not reward those happy to just be. Instead, we are expected to keep laboring away until we can do something well. Even then, some types of work are highly valued over others, so we have to find the right work to do just to get by. 

    So, if you do not feel happy and fulfilled, do you not just have to work harder?

    Yet, not all hard workers reap the benefits. After all, achievement requires meeting a certain standard, inevitably doing better than someone else. Only significant time and effort may lead to a worthy triumph.

    There will inevitably be haves and have-nots because the system at play rewards a limited number of people who play the system best, who achieve the most success. The more limited the rewards, the more everyone forces themselves to try harder day in and day out.

    Unfortunately for us, the reward is merely the validation we apparently need to go about our lives. If our worth is dependent solely on our achievements, we have no choice but to compete with one another over a limited, essential resource. Achievements are only as valuable as they are rare.

    But this competition cannot be won. There will always be more to do. And someone will always do more.

    External validation never makes you content. It only keeps you hungry for more.

    In my struggles, I have had a difficult time understanding how to view my worth.

    How much worth do I have? How does it compare to other people’s worth? Does it go up and down?

    When am I finally worthy once and for all?

    To answer these questions, I vehemently tried to attach a number to my worth whenever possible. After all, a number is a concrete, self-explanatory concept. I could tell when I had more or less than someone.

    Thus, using numbers allowed me to measure my worth and other people’s worth with ease. This gave me a way to understand my place in the world.

    Using numbers also allowed me to gauge how my worth was changing. For example, if I received more likes than usual, I was happier than usual since I must have been doing something right. If I received less, I was in need of quick improvement.

    Except numbers are hollow. They have no value unless we agree to give them value, but our obsessive nature often gives extraordinary value to the benign.

    We use shortcuts like numbers to explain concepts we have a hard time comprehending. Self-worth certainly seems to be one of those trying concepts, always just out of reach like an elusive fruit hanging above us or a receding pool of water.

    Breaking away from society’s expectations provided me the room to realize self-worth is only as complicated as I make it.

    If self-worth need not exist conditionally, it can exist inherently. In fact, it exists now without exception.

    Your worth cannot be assigned a value. It simply is. 

    By virtue of the fact that you are alive, you are just as worthy as anyone else who has lived before, lives now, or will live after.

    We all come into the world the same, and we all leave the same way. Our lives may differ widely in content, but not in value. Nothing separates us at the most fundamental level.

    And none of us start out deficient in worth. We need not go on a lifelong journey to earn our worth by moving up in the world. Our worth remains steadfast regardless of how our lives take shape.

    Work does not shape our worth. No matter how you decide to share your skills and talents, the world will be better off, even if you alone trust the value in what you do and who you are.

    Society may try to tell us how we should view and feel about ourselves, but we are not obligated to listen. Fighting those ingrained ideas of what others think we should do is never an easy battle, but it is worth the independence.

    No matter how one does or does not measure worth, it does not vary, and it does not waver.

    We are all enough as is, right now.

    There exist millions of ways to compare ourselves to others, but we owe it to ourselves to make light of differences and revel in our shared humanity.

    So how do we move forward knowing that we cannot improve or reduce our worth?

    Well, the possibilities are endless. The doors open up to a life where you can be you unabashedly. And more importantly, you can be a part of something bigger than yourself without feeling small.

    Waiting for others to prove you are worthy is time better spent sharing your true self. 

    After spending the last few years of my life trying to prove myself without ever reaching the level of success I wanted, I realized my definition of success kept changing until I made it impossible to feel fulfilled. I stopped myself from being happy unless I was universally revered.

    I lived thoughtlessly, spending what free time I had attempting to make myself look accomplished rather than enjoying the time. I conformed to what I thought people would like rather than let myself flourish.

    My true self was suffocated. Receiving even the most primitive criticism felt like being stabbed in the chest. I was more distanced from others than ever before because I did not feel like I deserved to be liked anymore.

    But I do deserve to be me, to take up space, to contribute to the world in my own way. And you do too.  

    Knowing that what you do cannot change who you are promotes freedom in how you want to live, freedom not just from others, but also from expectations and doubt.

    Knowing you always have worth allows you to connect with the people around you more deeply, empathize with them, and support their journeys through life.

    It is with this knowledge you can find and share true joy.

    You can pursue what you love instead of what you feel you ought to do. You can work at your pace to be the person you want to be. You can stay present knowing neither praise nor disapproval affects your worth.

    Many will struggle to agree with you, though, that you can exist in peace without having to fight to prove your value. Even I still struggle to keep not just naysayers, but also my inner, learned uncertainties at bay in regard to whether I offer anything worthwhile.

    Learning more about your inherent worth means unlearning those harsh, ingrained principles of life as we have known it. These principles will never fade away completely, but we can make a choice every day to drown them out.

    Take it from me, your life will not immediately change in discovering your own worth, but it can improve a little day after day the more you take your discovery to heart. As is the case with any transition, there will be ups and downs. I still have doubts creeping in when I least expect them.

    But the more you live openly and share yourself with others, the more those principles will take hold and the stronger you will be in challenging what life throws your way. Instead of seeking achievement and improvement, you will be content, one with the universe.

    You will be free.

  • Want to Help Someone Through Depression? Here Are a Few Things to Try

    Want to Help Someone Through Depression? Here Are a Few Things to Try

    “There were two classes of charitable people: one, the people who did a little and made a great deal of noise; the other, the people who did a great deal and made no noise at all.” ~Charles Dickens

    “It’ll be okay, just…”

    If I could have taken that expression and thrown it at each person who said it to me when I was struggling with depression, it would have felt much better than hearing it each time.

    Here are a few ways people ended that sentence:

    “Try not to think about it.”

    “Cheer up.”

    “Get some exercise.“

    “See someone about it.”

    All well-intentioned, true, and completely unhelpful.

    I didn’t need to hear advice, or pointers or solutions. I just needed them to be present, to remind me I wasn’t alone.

    I was in a new town, totally broken, in despair, having had no physical rest for weeks. I couldn’t pray, couldn’t read (I tried), couldn’t sleep, and felt like moving forward was the most insurmountable task of my life.

    I could write a book about my journey to and through depression; I could list all the unhelpful things people said and did, but instead I just want to share a few things that did make a difference for me personally while I was at my lowest point. If someone you love is struggling with depression, here’s how you might be able to help.

    Be present.

    It is so difficult when we don’t know what to do or say to help. Just being present is so valuable. Make it a point to be there physically whenever you are able. And if you’re not able to be there in person, be present from afar.

    My best friend Crystal lived very far away at the time. But she knew about my struggle. One day she called, and when I was too drained to even talk, she started praying for me on the phone. She continued to call every weekend and prayed on the phone for about thirty to forty minutes, while I just sat there and listened, often crying. For a year! That was like someone picking me up and carrying me. I am so grateful to her.

    You may not do exactly the same thing, but if you can, make yourself present. Physically be with the people you want to help. You don’t even need to say much. If you are unable to do that, call or write. A quick note that will only take thirty seconds to write, a text that reads, “I love you.” Or “I’m thinking about you.” Or “I’ll see you soon.” Or “You are such a good…” (friend, mother, person, artist, whatever …

    This will remind them that they are not alone or forgotten.

    Let them talk.

    Without judgment or interference. There may not be too many insights you can provide, especially if you haven’t been through the same struggle, but listening is such a priceless gift to offer.

    Most of their thoughts or perspective may be flawed—depression can distort our perception—but they need the freedom and safety to express them. Then, you can gently and graciously challenge their thinking if you think that would be helpful.

    Let them cry too, it’s okay. It’s a release. Feelings need to be felt in a safe environment until they’re processed. It’s better than holding them inside and letting them weary and crush you.

    Take them for a walk.

    Somewhere beautiful, if possible, and if you can throw a dog into a mix, even better.

    Nature and animals are so healing! When Winston Churchill said, “There is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse,” he knew what he was talking about.

    I personally felt like I was being rebuilt from the inside every time I was around trees, or just touching a horse or a puppy.

    Help with what they need.

    Find out what they need, not what you think they need. Maybe it’s to watch their kid while they sleep, or perhaps bring them a meal they would enjoy. Maybe you can help them clean their desk or a bedroom, a kitchen, a closet. Find out from them what would be helpful.

    One time, when I was struggling, an older woman who met my husband at work learned that I was in a rather tough spot in life and insisted that she and I talk because she really “wanted to help.” This lady, knowing I had just had a baby, asked if I “could get a babysitter so she could visit with me and teach me some things” about life and parenting. It seemed like it was more about her than me. Needless to say, I didn’t want anything to do with her or her “wisdom.”

    Hug and hold.

    A good hug fills a gap between loneliness and belonging and triggers oxytocin, along with the rest of the “happy” hormones. It’s so comforting and therapeutic.

    Remind them of all they have overcome.

    They may resist your attempts to show them their strength, but you can state the facts that prove they are strong or determined, and that these qualities are already in them and will assist them in getting well.

    Celebrate little victories.

    Because they probably won’t.

    Accomplishing anything is a victory for someone who is barely motivated to do anything at all. Help them see that they are progressing, even if it doesn’t feel like it. Hope is what is so needed in order to keep moving forward.

    Then, after doing these things, you can tell them: “it will be okay.” And maybe then they’ll believe it.

    I wish you well in encouraging those you love.

  • How I Recognized My Fear of Failure and How I’m Mindfully Overcoming It

    How I Recognized My Fear of Failure and How I’m Mindfully Overcoming It

    “The only way to ease our fear and be truly happy is to acknowledge our fear and look deeply at its source. Instead of trying to escape from our fear, we can invite it up to our awareness and look at it clearly and deeply.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    My daughter began taking tumbling classes a week before her eighth birthday. She had been dancing since the age of three, and those classes included instructions for cartwheels and roundoffs. The harder stuff, like the back walkover, required tumbling or gymnastics classes, and she wanted the chance to be able to show off those moves during the annual dance recital.

    My wife wasn’t interested in watching our daughter repeatedly and blindly dive backward in a bendy arch, each time hoping her hands met the ground firmly enough to slow down the momentum of her trailing head and torso. But I was interested.

    Her dancing wasn’t exciting to me at that point because the skills involved weren’t physically challenging yet. That would come later. But each back walkover was a potential catastrophe, and that made them fun to watch.

    Tumbling classes aren’t cheap, and it was apparent to me that a single class a week was a slow way to acquire a skill. So we came to an agreement that we would try to spend at least a little time each day practicing things she was learning in class. This would be like quality father-daughter coaching time except I had no background in tumbling, coaching athletics, or not being an overbearing control freak. I would be the one doing most of the learning.

    A YouTube Tumbling Coach

    Obviously, there’s no technical challenge too complex that it cannot be mastered by watching two or three related YouTube videos by experts whose credentials you have not bothered to verify and are not qualified to assess.

    That’s where my training began—with good intentions and numerous short videos of young girls in leotards plunging backward into smooth backbends while their lead legs fluttered up and over their bodies and their trailing legs followed seamlessly after in a graceful full-body hinge.

    The cheaply produced clips became a source of embarrassment when my YouTube account synched with my work laptop. I remember stammering through an explanation to my students for the video recommendations that followed a TED Talk I had shown them on a classroom projector. They collectively grimaced.

    Not being aware of any of the finer points of the movements only fueled my coaching confidence and my daughter was soon mastering bridge kickovers, then backbend kickovers, and then, a short time later, the back walkover. She would appear at her weekly class suddenly able to easily perform a skill that was out of reach the week before. I loved that.

    Within months, I had assembled a trampoline in the yard without consulting my wife or daughter first.

    The basement’s piles of assorted clutter were repositioned to make room for a large gymnastics tumbling mat. A smaller one was added later as some of the clutter was donated to area charities. A third would eventually stretch the combined mats the length of the room diagonally with the last section rising vertically against the far wall as a protective barrier against my daughter’s growing gymnastics awesomeness.

    With the basement a de facto shrine to her hobby, I was emboldened to live vicariously through my only child’s growing list of technical accomplishments. Which I’m to understand is always completely healthy and never a problem…except when it is.

    Mindful of Being Way Too Much

    Relatively early in our collaboration, I treated my daughter to the sort of pep talk that makes eight-year-olds cry and not want to learn anything from you. It would not be the last.

    She kept working with me though. Even if I occasionally barked at her about her attitude like a stereotypical high school football coach, she still wanted to practice and improve. That willingness to endure my nonsense quickly became important.

    The back handspring was not conquered as easily as the previous dozen or so skills, and that was frustrating for the both of us. We tread water for months, her arms refusing to support the weight of her backward springing body, and she seemed to enjoy our practice time less than before. That was true for me as well.

    It was great being a successful inexperienced, unqualified tumbling coach. The less successful version just felt painfully aware that he wasn’t experienced or qualified to know how to address a repetitive breakdown in form. Do I yell at her arms? Can you motivate an appendage like a drill sergeant? It was a mystery.

    I cannot recall how many YouTube clips, message board recommendations, poorly described alignment changes, and conditioning drills I subjected her to over that time. It was too many and our shared frustration made me harder to be around. But I was confronting the reality of my coaching limitations one failed experiment after the other.

    With hindsight, this was the most important period for our collaboration and my growth as her coach. Nothing was working, progress was invisible, and the only thing I could do was to behave in a way that encouraged her to continue.

    Thankfully, my mindfulness practice was helping me develop my own skills. And those mindfulness skills would help me recognize the detrimental role fear was playing in my coaching.

    Noticing the Fear of Failure Is a Win

    Our time in the basement became a laboratory for my own mindfulness practice. Barely six months after beginning our collaboration, my daughter had lost faith in herself and the process. Just bringing my full presence to her in that atmosphere was a challenging spiritual exercise—especially when I assisted her with repetition after repetition of back handsprings and every part of me wanted to shout at her bending elbows for failing us both.

    The first move for this practice was to go into the basement with the intention to practice mindfulness.

    Yes, if you are a mindfulness maximalist like me you are usually trying to practice bringing a deeper level of attention to whatever you are doing. But more challenging situations can benefit from clearer intentions.

    My next move was to deconstruct the reactions I was experiencing.

    Those reactions consisted of mental images, mental talk, and emotional body sensations. Noticing the sensations that arise when I am frustrated gives me a handhold for dealing with the reaction skillfully.

    The third move was to bring my attention to prominent sensations.

    In those practices, thinking is a sensation, and I would try to get a clear sense of my inner chatter and visuals. Fixing a reactive sensation in attention while supporting your daughter’s lower back as she leaps backward is a bad idea, so I would consciously pause between repetitions.

    The frustrated thoughts and emotions expressed by the body could be embarrassingly dramatic. I was occasionally angry at reality for not honoring my efforts. Did reality not understand how much time I had spent on YouTube?

    Importantly, I didn’t dismiss or dispute the content of my thoughts. I practiced acceptance and non-engagement. The assumption here is that resisting your emotional resistance only creates more resistance, like trying to smother a brush fire with dried leaves.

    That was my fourth move: to have equanimity with what I was feeling.

    Except when I couldn’t. Then I tried to have equanimity with my inability to have equanimity with what I was feeling. Failing that, I tried to have equanimity with my failure to have equanimity with my lack of equanimity. It was equanimity all the way down.

    My fifth and final move was to recognize insight.

    It is easy to dismiss some insights as common sense or something you should have already known about yourself. But that might lead to a missed opportunity to learn and grow, especially if you are already experiencing emotionally immature reactions in response to reality being mean to you.

    The insight that emerged from my mindfulness practice during that period of stagnation was that I was afraid of failure.

    I was afraid that I would fail as a coach and my daughter would fail as a gymnast. And there was nothing I could yell at her elbows to change that.

    I was maybe most afraid that I was teaching an eight-year-old hard work doesn’t always pay off, your best isn’t always good enough, and it isn’t always worth the time and effort to learn how to do hard things.

    Those lessons aren’t entirely wrong, they’re just beside the point. My greatest fear should have been for her to no longer enjoy doing something she wants to do…because of me.

    I knew from the season I ineptly YouTube coached her soccer team a couple years earlier that young children have an incredible ability to still enjoy the things well-meaning adults are accidentally making less fun. But this was different.

    My fears weren’t just making me less effective as a coach; they were sending the message that our time together could only be enjoyable if she was making clear progress. I didn’t believe that and didn’t want her to believe it either. I committed to change my approach.  

    By the time the back handspring became another easy skill, coaching had become a deliberate practice of being present with my daughter. I would encourage her to explore her boundaries and to celebrate her efforts even when they did not represent visible progress.

    Several years later, I still offer myself the same encouragement when my own practice of being present falls short of my expectations, as it often does. To be fully present for the other, even for a moment, we cannot habitually neglect to offer the same openness to our own difficult features. And fear can make those features particularly hard to view with compassion.

    Each time we descend the stairs to the basement, we do so as different versions of ourselves. It is wise to be generous and assume the well-meaning tumbling coaches in all of us are trying their best. There is nothing broken in us that patience, consistency, and the right YouTube video cannot fix.

  • Put Down Your Phone: Why Presence Is the Best Gift You’ll Ever Give

    Put Down Your Phone: Why Presence Is the Best Gift You’ll Ever Give

    “When you love someone, the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    The only thing worse than not listening to someone is pretending to listen.

    Giving the vague murmur of agreement, or a quick nod to communicate “Yes, I’m listening, totally,” when really, we’re not.

    I remember vividly a dinner I had with friends about four years ago. I’d been backpacking in New Zealand for twelve months and had just returned to the UK. Traveling in the car to my friend’s house, I imagined how the night would look…

    There would be lots of laughter (it was always side-splitting when we all got together).

    There would be lots of hugging (I hadn’t seen them for a whole year after all).

    There would be lots of storytelling (I would get to share my epic adventure).

    Did all of this happen? To some extent, yes, but not how I had imagined.

    In fact, I left feeling a little miffed, a little gutted.

    At first, I couldn’t work out why.

    My friends were the same old fun-to-be-around people.

    Despite ‘finding myself’ while traveling (I joke), I felt I was pretty much the same old person.

    So what was different?

    It hit me.

    The constant. Mobile. Phones.

    The entire evening was tainted by endless selfies, videos, status updates, incoming phone calls, outgoing phone calls, and notifications.

    Distraction after distraction after distraction.

    There were moments you could have heard a pin drop as the four of us, faces illuminated by the glow of the mobile phones, sat, hands glued to our devices. Ironically, telling anyone who was on Facebook and Instagram that night what a terrific time we were having.

    To begin with, I was angry with my friends. But soon I realized I was really angry with myself. I was equally guilty, and people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones after all.

    What could have been, rather, what should have been, an evening of being deeply present with one another, each one of us offering our full and undivided attention, was tainted by technology, spoiled by social media, marred by meddling mobiles.

    Backpacking was more campfires and deep life conversations below the stars, so this evening was felt like a return to reality. Most of us struggle to put our flipping phones down.

    If we stop and think about it, what message does it send to the human beings in front of us when we are busy on our phones?

    I made a vow that evening to get better at this, to be more present with friends and family, anyone I’m communicating with.

    I didn’t want to make anyone feel how I felt that evening—unheard and unimportant.

    Zoom forward to today and, well, I’m much better but far from perfect.

    Technology certainly is a huge barrier to presence, but it’s not the main culprit.

    The main culprit lives between our ears, the mind.

    The mind is a lot like a talking alarm clock, and you have no control over when it goes off and what it will say.

    For example, I can be sitting face to face with someone, physically a few centimeters in distance, but consciously, a world away.

    Instead of listening to what the person sitting across from us is saying, we listen to our thoughts.

    Hey, did I leave the oven on this morning when I left the house?

    I hope my breath doesn’t stink.

    Why is that stranger in the corner laughing—is my underwear tucking into my shirt?

    Or literally, anything else. Anything. Any other thought can pop up at any moment, pulling my focus momentarily away from the person in front of me.

    Luckily for us, people can’t always be certain when we’re not being fully present with them, especially if we’re an expert fake listener, able to give a very convincing response like “Yeah, sure, I get you.” Occasionally, I sense that the person I’m talking to senses I haven’t been listening. I feel bad and forgive myself for being human, before returning to the conversation.

    On the other hand, when someone is really listening to us, fully present with us in the moment, we can be certain. Without a doubt, because we feel it.

    It’s tough to put such moments into words, but you just know.

    Moments when we’re fully present with someone and it’s reciprocated, it’s like magic, like the rest of the world fades into the background. Like the first time you fall in love and you just feel connected; you feel the dance of communication, the resonating, the synchronicity, the oneness.

    That’s it. This, for me, is what presence is all about. The oneness.

    A few of my favorite ways to get present and cultivate oneness are:

    Eye contact

    The eyes truly are the windows to the soul. Giving eye contact really lets people know they’re being heard.

    Listening to understand instead of listening to respond

    We’re stuck in our heads if we’re listening purely to plan our response. Tuning into a person’s words and also how they say the words has greatly helped me to connect with people.

    Limiting distractions.

    Technology, off. The world can wait.

    Remember the good old days when only landline phones existed and if you weren’t at home people would leave a message and patiently wait for a response? Bliss. Nowadays, we’re available on mobile, Facebook, Messenger, Instagram, Snapchat, email… the list goes on. Flight mode is my friend. Anytime I want to get present, flight mode is activated.

    Facial expressions.

    When I really listen to someone, I find I empathize with them so much more. Naturally my facial expressions will reflect this, communicating I understand how they’re feeling. We all wish to feel understood.

    In a few weeks’ time, I’ll be flying back to the UK to spend time with my family. In fact, this will be the first Christmas in six years we’ll all be together (my dear parents, older sister, younger brother, and me).

    A part of me is sad knowing that around the world, there will be families sitting in their living rooms, surrounded by their nearest and dearest, but not really being there.

    Distracted either by their own minds, their mobiles, or maybe their new presents.

    It doesn’t have to be like this. Board games can be played and conversations can be had, with presence, together.

    In truth, we needn’t wait until the holidays to connect in this way, as any moment, any conversation, offers a chance to be present with each other. But the holidays, for me, really are prime opportunities.

    To be surrounded by the ones we love most and be with them more than just physically, but emotionally and spirituality too, well, this is worth more than any gift you’ll give or receive this year. This holiday season, give presence.

  • Why I Blamed Myself for My Ex’s Suicide (and Why It’s Not My Fault)

    Why I Blamed Myself for My Ex’s Suicide (and Why It’s Not My Fault)

    “No amount of guilt can change the past and no amount of worrying can change the future.” ~Umar Ibn Al Khattab

    I don’t remember the exact day the message came through. It was from my son, Julian, and he needed to talk to me. It sounded pretty serious. He never really needs to talk to me.

    His father was found dead earlier that week. He’d hung himself.

    While this news hardly affected Julian at all, it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I cried.

    Our Marriage

    We met in a taxi thirty-three years ago. He was the driver, I was a drunk passenger. He was super handsome and flirty. He brought me home, and we exchanged numbers and instantly began a relationship.

    Within six months of dating, I found out I was pregnant. Since I didn’t want to be an unwed mother, we were married within a month and began our lives. We both had good jobs. I worked at a bank, he was an HVAC technician. Life was pretty good in the beginning.

    Then his job took us to a different city. We moved and for the first time in my life, I was alone with no friends and no family. I was twenty-six years old. Our marriage was okay, and we got along well.

    About six months after we moved to this new city, he started coming home later and later from work, some nights not until 2am. He always told me he had to work late. I believed him. He was on call a lot. I was home alone a lot.

    A few months later I made the decision to return to our hometown. He was to find a job there, which wouldn’t be hard. I didn’t want to be alone in this big city anymore, and I was just about to give birth. I wanted my family around.

    Life After Our Move

    We stayed at my parents’ house when we returned, and within a month had found our own apartment.

    He found a job almost instantly, and I delivered Julian two days after we got home. Life was going well.

    About a year into our lives with the baby, things started to get bad. He was out “working late” an awful lot. He would come home around two or three in the morning, smelling of alcohol. By the time Julian was eighteen months I had had enough and asked him to leave. This wasn’t the life I wanted for my son.

    He moved out and for the next six months, my life was a living hell. He would come over drunk at night, force sex on me, threaten to take my baby away from me, threaten to kill us both. He threatened me almost daily. Many nights I’d stay at a friend’s house just to feel safe. Many times the police were called.

    He finally moved out of province, and it was years before we heard from him again.

    The Divorce Agreement

    The day had come to file for divorce and put this whole marriage nightmare behind me. I filed for sole custody with no visitation allowed to him. He was unstable, dangerous, and violent, and I was not taking any chances with my son. The fact that he lived far enough away was my saving grace.

    Also stated in the divorce agreement was no child support payments. I wanted to completely cut all ties with this man. So I did just that.

    Twelve Years Later

    It may have been longer, maybe thirteen or fourteen years later, we received a package from him via his brother. It was sent to Julian. A picture of himself and a silver chain with a St. Christopher pendant.

    It meant nothing to Julian. He didn’t even know who this person was. I questioned his gesture. Was he trying to make amends? Was he trying to prove that maybe he’d changed and he wanted to start a relationship with his son?

    I never got the answer to any of those questions. He never reached out again after that.

    When my son moved away to university, he lived only a couple of hours away from his father. He made an attempt through his uncle to maybe meet up with his dad, but his dad wasn’t interested and declined the offer.

    And life simply carried on.

    Every now and then, throughout the years, Julian’s uncle would update us on what his father was doing and how he was doing. It seemed alcohol and depression were major parts of his life.

    I couldn’t help but feel responsible for this.

    Was he depressed because I took his only child away from him? Was this my fault? Whenever we got another update, I just felt guilty. Did I do this to him?

    The Call

    When I got the call, I was in complete shock. I had no idea his depression was that bad. How would I have known? Were there other factors that played a part in his suicide? Or was it just years of anguish knowing he had a son who was never a part of his life… because of me?

    Could this have been prevented if his son had been a part of his life? Did I do this??

    I cried for a week. I had never felt so much sorrow, and guilt. SO much guilt. Was I responsible for someone’s suicide?

    Dealing with My Grief and Guilt

    It took me a while to wrap my head around his suicide. It also took me a while to convince myself I was not responsible for it, nor should I feel guilty about it. I didn’t talk to anyone about this. No one would understand my feelings, and they were hard to explain.

    I realized, though, that he had been battling demons that had nothing to do with me. I made the best choice for my son, and that was the most important thing to me.

    He had made his choices as well. And I had nothing to do with them. Me not allowing him any visitation to his son was a result of his actions and choices. He chose his behavior. Not me. I chose to not have his behavior damage my child.

    I had to talk myself through that. It’s not your fault, Iva. He could have chosen to change his life, improve his life, reach out to his son more often, anything. And he chose not to.

    It’s not your fault, Iva.

    There is a tiny part of me inside that wishes things would have been different. If only he got help for his depression and alcoholism. If only he could have been a part of Julian’s life. If only he could have tried to help himself.

    I’m sorry his life ended so tragically. I’ll always feel sorry for that. But I won’t feel guilty about it anymore.

    It’s Not Our Fault

    It’s so easy to take responsibility for a loved one’s suicide, especially when you set a hard boundary for your own well-being. “If only I had done this or done that” or “if only I would have not done that,” but the reality is, it’s not our fault.

    We are not in control of how people think, act, react, or live their lives. We can only control our own lives. What people do with their own life is out of our hands. We can offer them tools and help, but it’s up to them to accept it and/or use it.

    If they don’t, that’s not our fault either. It’s easy to think that we should have/could have done more, but we did as much as we could. The rest was up to them.

  • How I Overcame My Chronic Digestive Issues by Learning to Breathe Right

    How I Overcame My Chronic Digestive Issues by Learning to Breathe Right

    “If you know the art of deep breathing, you have the strength, wisdom and courage of ten tigers.” ~Chinese adage

    Let me share a little secret: I started healing from decades of debilitating chronic digestive issues when I stopped looking for the next best solution and trying to heal. Instead, I did nothing. And I took a breath.

    Let’s start at the beginning. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease (an irritable bowel disease) at the age of eighteen, which would have marked the beginning of my oh-so-anticipated adult life, but instead, I thought my life was over.

    I had every symptom you can imagine—constant bloating, diarrhea, non-stop pain that would keep me bed-ridden for days. There were nights when I would fall asleep hugging my toilet. I could not keep food down and lost twenty-two pounds.

    My dream of going out and having fun with friends, stuffing our bellies with fondue and wine (typical French dish—I was living in Paris at that time) and so many more experiences I was anticipating, were slipping away from me. Instead, a painful, horrible reality was settling in fast.

    After being given medication for life and the advice to “manage my stress” by doctors, suffering from side effects from the treatment with no signs of getting better, I became my own wellness warrior.

    For a decade I went on a crusade for the “right” answer. I experimented with so many diets—the elimination diet, the low FODMAP diet; I quit carbs, then reintroduced them but took out gluten and dairy, while sitting in the lotus position as much as possible to reduce my stress and manage my anxiety. Sound familiar?

    Yet I had no real, sustainable improvements. My flares kept coming back. I realized healing had become my identity. I was desperately trying, looking for the next best wellness promise that would alleviate my symptoms.

    It was exhausting, but I desperately wanted to feel better.

    To not be afraid that any food, as healthy as it may be, would trigger a parade of symptoms. To not have to go to a meeting thirty minutes early to ensure I got the seat closest to the bathroom. To not be defined by my bowel disease and to live my life to the fullest.

    The day I had my first “pooping accident” in the middle of dinner with friends I realized something had to change.

    My quest for the best solution to heal my gut was so desperate, obsessive, and life-consuming that I almost stopped breathing. And when I took the time to take a step back and do nothing, it dawned on me: I had been so disconnected from my body that I literally did not remember how to breathe. 

    I don’t know if my anxiety affected my breathing pattern, which exacerbated my gut disease, or whether my gut disease caused my stress and anxiety, which changed my breathing pattern.

    Either way, a digestive issue, in any form, has as its main root cause what is going on in our head: our self-talk, our stress triggers, more than the foods we eat.

    The connection between our gut and our mind is strong and undeniable. Our digestive tract has its own nervous system and it sends constant information to our brain, our central nervous system.

    We’ve all said to ourselves or to others “trust your gut,” “go with your gut,” “I have a bad / good gut feeling.” It is literally the nervous system in your digestive tract sending signals to your brain that something is wrong or right!

    Similarly, we’ve all heard about foods that help balance our gut microbiome (the trillions of organisms that live in our gut)—fermented foods, probiotics, clean fiber-rich foods to feed our good bacteria. But how often do we hear about our true gut feelings—fear, anxiety, sadness, dread—that can actually kill all the bacteria in our gut we tried so hard to feed through nutrition? And how do we diminish them?

    If we focus on just nutrition to lower the symptoms of the gut, it is only one part of the picture. We have to look at our whole body and ourselves as a whole person. So by also focusing on diminishing stress, anxiety, and depression we can reverse the issues in our digestive system.

    Beginning to Breathe the Right Way

    Eventually, after seven years, I became tired from outsourcing my healing powers to “experts,” and I realized that the solution was not in another medication or diet but rather in my own hands. I took some time to listen to my body and to my breath. I had to re-learn how to breathe right to be re-connected to my body (and my gut).

    I noticed that what goes on in my brain is felt by my gut. When I felt stressed, my gut felt it too. Friends and family advised me to chill out or relax, but if you are dealing with a life situation that is super stressful, it’s hard to know where to start.

    So I took the first step and put one hand on my belly, the other resting on my diaphragm, and gave them love. I told myself, “I am safe, and I trust my body will guide me toward the path to wellness.” I focused on my breath as my belly rose and my diaphragm followed, and as I exhaled, I let go of every thought that was holding me back from my true healing.

    At first, I was overwhelmed with emotions of sadness and self-blame. How could I have let myself become so disconnected from my own body, my own breath? But as I stayed with these feelings and focused on my breath, I reconnected with my body in an unprecedented way. I felt strong, vibrant, and grounded in a way that I had never experienced before. I developed faith that that my body is a beautiful tool that knows what it needs to heal.

    If given half a chance, the body will heal itself by itself. We just need to stop and let it.

    I moved from being obsessed with healing to a space of not trying to heal, of doing nothing, and that is where my healing started. That state of “nothing” allows the little voice in your gut to come out—first quiet, injured, and confused and then a little clearer and more resilient each day.

    That is the voice that you need to acknowledge. Get familiar with it. Learn to trust it. Because this is where your healing and the life of your dreams begin.

    How to Optimize the Power of Your Breath to Benefit Your Gut

    1. Recognize stress.

    Stress manifests in various ways. You might experience it when you cook and your children are wrapped around your ankle, or when you have to spend time with someone you don’t want to see.

    Whatever causes you stress, you will be able to tackle it when you learn to recognize the first signals of stress in your body: a racing heart, irritable bowel, sweating, redness in your face, muscle tension, or jaw clenching.

    Take some time during the day to check in with how you are feeling.

    Go to a quiet place even for two minutes. Put your feet on the ground and feel the sensation of groundedness. Imagine you are at the roots of a big, majestic tree. Do you feel tingling in your hands, a burden on your chest, a pounding in your head?

    Do you experience feelings of anger? Fear? Joy? Anxiety? Happiness?

    Stay with these feelings. Tell yourself that you are safe. Breathe through those feelings and sensations.

    When we slow down and breathe mindfully we are allowing the mind to unpack the stress that can stimulate gut irritation.

    2. Get out of your head and into your body.

    I used to feel anxious and fearful about being in debilitating pain for the rest of my life. I wanted to stop feeling this way so bad. We all want to get rid of uncomfortable feelings as quickly as possible, but this can actually create more anxiety. Stress and anxiety disconnect you from your body, and you get cut off from emotion and intuition.

    It’s natural to feel fearful or anxious when something stressful happens, or we’re thinking about what’s going to happen in the future. But if we focus on what could go wrong, we catastrophize and our internal monologue can derail us.

    It’s important that you don’t criticize yourself for these feelings. Instead, love yourself through it by saying, “This is a normal response to my circumstances, which are stressful or difficult. It’s okay to feel this way.”

    Then do something to get out of your head and into your body. Do some light stretches, take a walk, dance to your favorite song. Anything that gets you physically moving will help you stop obsessing and dwelling.

    3. Calm anxiety by accepting it.

    When we let anxiety run its course without fighting it, it reduces. Fighting the feeling of anxiety is what can trigger a panic attack.

    You may have heard of the phrase “what you resist persists,” and you may have experienced it.

    Recognize and understand your anxiety: Tell yourself, “I feel anxious and nervous because I’m worried about …”

    Then, just breathe: Inhale and exhale slowly for several deep breaths.

    As you continue with this practice, you will get in tune with your body and learn to trust it.

    4. Learn to breathe the right way.

    How are you breathing? Through your mouth or your nose? Maybe you haven’t ever noticed how you breathe. That was me for so long until I started paying attention.

    We should be breathing through our nose. Breathing through our mouth tends to stimulate upper chest breathing, which is more shallow. It places our body in a state of stress, which increases inflammation. When we breathe through our nose, we breathe calming breaths through our diaphragm.

    Studies have shown that when we breathe through our diaphragm we are massaging our internal organs, including our intestine, reducing inflammation.

    Breathing through the nose allows us to breathe more efficiently and stay in a state where the body can heal itself.

    How Should We Start Breathing Correctly?

    Become aware of how you are breathing throughout the day. When you catch yourself breathing through your mouth, switch and breathe through your nose. If you feel stressed or anxious, that is an indication that you are breathing through your mouth.

    Try breathing through your nose as much of the time as possible. The more you practice it, the more you’ll train yourself to calm down quickly.

    Next time your physical symptoms arise, instead of looking for the next best solution and trying to heal, creating stress and anxiety, take a breath and ask your body: What do you need to heal?

    Then listen to the signs it gives you, as it is the perfect medicine for you.

  • Please Don’t Fix Me: What True Empathy Is (And Isn’t)

    Please Don’t Fix Me: What True Empathy Is (And Isn’t)

    “No one mentioned until I was in late middle age that—horribly!—my good, helpful ideas for other grown-ups were not helpful. That my help was in fact sometimes toxic. That people needed to defend themselves from my passionate belief that I had good ideas for other people’s lives. I did not know that help is the sunny side of control.”  ~Anne Lamott

    I’m a well-meaning empath.

    If you share your problems with me, I’ll quickly make them my own. I’ll listen intently, feel deeply, and want to help. I’ll give you advice and solutions you didn’t ask for, then be annoyed when you don’t do what I suggest.

    I used to think this was being helpful.

    When my partner told me his joints were aching, I thought he wanted me to teach him yoga poses to ease the pain. When my friend told me how much she hated her job, I thought she wanted me to tell her how to find a career she’s passionate about. When my colleague told me about his breakup, I thought he wanted me to encourage him to get back out there.

    Now I know better.

    We Don’t Want Advice (Unless We Ask for It)

    Most people who call themselves “empaths” also suffer from this affliction.

    We think because we feel another’s pain as if it were our own—and find it easy to put ourselves in other people’s shoes—that it’s our responsibility to fix that pain. We believe we need to offer a solution because sitting with the pain is uncomfortable for us and for them. We want to rescue them. We think advice is what they need.

    Turns out, this isn’t true. I learned this lesson when my sister told me about a big argument she was having with her best friend.

    As we sat eating noodles over dinner, she shared how hurt she felt and how unsure she was about whether their friendship would recover. I offered a few suggestions: “Have you tried calling her instead of texting? Could you ask her to meet for coffee so you can talk it out? Maybe when you do, you should take it in turns to speak to each other, while the other listens without interrupting?”

    She looked at me with a flash of annoyance.

    “Becki, I don’t need you to fix this for me. Please don’t give me advice about it. I just want you to listen.”

    Admittedly, this took me aback. She just wants me to listen? As in, sit there and say… nothing?

    “Yes, that’s exactly what I want,” she said. “Maybe you can tell me what you heard so I know you’ve been listening. But I don’t want any tips. Thanks.”

    Honestly, this was a total revelation. Since my sister is pretty direct, she has no problem asking for what she wants and needs from me (or anyone else). But most of us are too polite—or too scared—to ask for what we really want.

    When I thought about it, I realized that when I share my inner world with someone, I don’t want a solution, unless I explicitly ask for one.

    What I actually want is to be heard.

    Wait, so just listening is enough?

    We don’t share parts of ourselves with others in an effort to receive tips and tricks. When that’s what we want, Google has us covered.

    Personally, I share with people because I want to receive support. That support can be as simple as someone looking me in the eye and saying, “I get it.” Letting my pain exist between us and letting it be okay that it’s there. Making me feel less alone.

    The need to be seen, heard, and understood—the need to matter—is universal.

    Ironically, when we try to help others by rescuing them, we don’t meet this need at all. In fact, what we’re saying is, “I don’t believe you have the resources you need to find your own solution to this. Here’s what I know, so do this instead.”

    We’re saying their pain isn’t okay. That it needs fixing.

    I’m also ashamed to say that, more often than not, I make someone else’s problems about me. If they tell me what’s on their mind, I might share my experience of a similar situation (and how I dealt with it) or emotionally react to what they’ve said (so they end up taking care of me instead of the other way around).

    Recently, my partner said he’s having an issue with our relationship.

    “I want to tell you this, but it would be great if I could talk without you reacting to it,” he said. “If you could just listen—without sharing your thoughts—and give me space to be open about this with you. Then we can have a dialogue afterwards. Is that okay?”

    Now, let me be clear. It’s been years since my sister taught me to quit giving advice and calling it “empathy.” I thought I’d become so much better at listening. As it turns out, I’m better at not trying to fix people. But I still have a tendency to react to people’s stories with my own thoughts and opinions, instead of showing that I’m actually hearing them.

    “He knows I’m an emotional creature, though,” I said to myself. “What the hell does he expect?!”

    On some level, this is true. We empaths are emotional creatures. It’s how we’re wired.

    But I decided not to use this as an excuse. If I wanted to experience the kind of love, intimacy, and connection I really craved, I needed to learn how to be there for people—without inserting myself into their problems.

    What True Empathy Is—and Isn’t

    In my studies, ranging from the work of Marshall Rosenberg and Nonviolent Communication to everything by Brené Brown, here’s what I’ve learned about empathy so far.

    First of all, empathy is something we do. Not something we are.

    Yes, some of us are more naturally empathic and find it easier to relate to others. But true empathy is a skill. It’s something we can learn and improve at. Plus, many of us who call ourselves “empaths”—myself included—think we don’t need to work on these skills. Trust me, we do. We all have blind spots.

    Let’s say a friend comes to us and says they’re having a hard time right now. They’re in piles of credit card debt and feel like they’re drowning. They’re working extra hours and even started a side hustle to pay it off, but they still feel stressed, overwhelmed, and burnt out.

    Feeling the urge to offer advice already? Yeah, me too.

    Instead, let’s pause and think about what our friend wants. They might be feeling ashamed, so it’s vulnerable for them to share this with us. Since they’re already actively working to solve the problem, they probably don’t need our best debt-clearing tips, either.

    Here’s what true empathy might look like in this situation:

    • Consciously staying centered, grounded, and present with our friend
    • Paying attention to what they’re saying and reminding ourselves it’s about them, not about us
    • Maintaining eye contact, nodding, and offering non-verbal cues so they know we’re listening (“mmm”)
    • Reflecting what they’ve told us (“I’m hearing you feel really stressed about this and you’re worried about paying your rent next month”)
    • Using this magic question: “Is there more you want to say about that?”
    • Asking before offering advice and being okay with hearing a “no” (“I have an idea that might help. Do you want to hear it?”)
    • Asking before jumping in with our thoughts (“I’d like to share my perspective on this with you. Are you open to hearing it?”)

    And here’s what it wouldn’t look like:

    • Offering judgments, analyses, or opinions on what they could—or should—be doing differently (“You should read this great personal finance book.”)
    • Dismissing their feelings and therefore invalidating them (“It will be fine.” Or “Yes, but at least you have enough money to get by; some people don’t even have that.”)
    • One-upping them by sharing a personal experience which seems worse (“I know what you mean, I got myself into twice that amount of debt a few years ago…”)
    • Explaining why we think it’s happening and trying to pinpoint the reasons (“Your parents never taught you how to manage your money.”)
    • Sympathizing with them (“Oh, you poor thing, what a mess you’re in.”)
    • Educating them about what we’ve learned and how this can be applied to their situation (“I started by saving 20% of my paycheck; that might work for you.”)
    • Sneakily “coaching” or interrogating them—especially if we’re qualified coaches (“How are you getting in your own way here? How has been in debt kept you feeling safe in some way?”)

    Looking at these two lists, it’s clear what I’d like to receive from another human in response to the debt situation. The first list feels far more intimate, affirming, and nourishing. Despite this, I still find myself doing things on the second list all the time.

    Luckily, I get tons of practice to develop my empathy skills.

    I get daily practice with my partner, my family, and my friends. I even get it with the elderly woman who sits next to me on the bus, the friendly barista at my local coffee shop, and the cashier at my nearest supermarket. I don’t always do it perfectly, and that’s alright.

    I’m just trying to remember that people don’t need me to fix them. They’re not broken.

    What they need is for me to present with them. To be with them—to listen—without the need to do anything. For us to dance in the pain, together. And maybe, just maybe, that’s more than enough.

  • Are You Highly Emotionally Reactive? You May Be Stuck in Survival Mode

    Are You Highly Emotionally Reactive? You May Be Stuck in Survival Mode

    “Survival mode is supposed to be a phase that helps save your life. It is not meant to be how you live.” ~Michele Rosenthal

    Childhood is the most cherished time for many. However, nobody gets to adulthood unscathed. We all go through incidents with our friends, family, and at school or otherwise that leave us feeling emotionally bruised or scarred.

    Growing up in a household where my parents were busy raising three kids and working hard to better their economic status, somewhere along the way I felt neglected. Not that they did anything intentionally, but I was often plagued, even overwhelmed, by feelings of being misunderstood, lonely, not good enough, and generally not deserving.

    It was only after years of people-pleasing, choosing a wrong master’s degree, and climbing the corporate ladder with a great job that the suppressed feelings erupted like a volcano. The result? It made me physically sick with allergies, constant body aches, and rashes that didn’t allow me to sleep, pushing me to a complete breakdown.

    That’s when I realized that my body was trying to talk to me. It had been giving me warning signs since childhood.

    I used to cry a lot, and hence was called sensitive. I was often sick, and my parents called me a “weakling.” I would scream and shout or just shut down and recede into my room. Either way, they told me to not be so reactive. It became a vicious cycle of feeling overwhelmed and then hating myself for not behaving in a normal way.

    Back to my breakdown in adulthood, lying on the floor sobbing, I decided that I wanted to quit my job and pursue psychology. It wasn’t an easy ride from there, but nevertheless studying this subject helped me answer why I was the way I was.

    It turns out I wasn’t overreactive or sensitive at all. I was in survival mode, and my body and mind perceived everything as a threat. My body tried to keep me safe from anything remotely different by putting me into a fight, flight, or freeze state. My mind was generally hypervigilant of others’ moods and reactions. So, my body didn’t know how to relax, and it was exhausted over the years.

    Our bodies are designed to tackle threats and then move back into a relaxed mode. However, when our minds are unable to process, regulate, or tolerate huge emotions, they go into an “always on guard” mode to protect us. However, the protection turns into our own enemy when we can’t turn off the alarm bells, and we end up living with anxiety.

    The cherry on top is that we often live in this state for so many years that it starts feeling normal and comfortable. We then crave drama and attract friends and partners that trigger us, only to go into a tailspin, which keeps us feeling emotionally charged.

    But there’s a way out. It takes effort and courage to rewire our mind and body to function optimally and to live a more fulfilling life, but it is possible.

    Everybody’s journey is unique, and we must all find out what works best for us. However, here are a few things that worked for me. I sincerely hope that they might be of help if you resonate with my experiences.

    1. Remind yourself that you can handle whatever happens.

    When we’re in survival mode, we create unhelpful stories in our heads and forecast the worst possible outcomes as a means to keep ourselves safe. The key to releasing our fear-based need to protect ourselves is accepting that we can’t control everything. No amount of worrying can ensure that nothing hurts us.

    All we can do is address what’s within our power and then consciously choose empowering thoughts. Remind yourself that even if things don’t work out as you planned, you can handle it, and you’ll be safe.

    2. Rewire your brain through awareness.

    Regularly ask yourself if your thoughts are creating your emotions or your emotions are creating your thoughts. You’ll be amazed to realize that our mind creates statements that cause us to feel a certain way.

    For example, if a friend doesn’t respond back to a text/call, you might make up stories about how maybe you said something to upset them or that something is wrong with them, and that elicits emotions in you accordingly. If you think they’re just busy, you’ll feel differently. So practice becoming aware of your stories so you don’t go into panic mode over thoughts that likely aren’t facts.

    3. Scan your body.

    Your body speaks in subtle ways. Always check in to know how you are really feeling. Is there tension somewhere? Is your heart beating faster? Is your jaw tight? When you’re curious about your physical sensations, you’ll start to recognize when you’re emotionally charged from reacting to a perceived threat. This enables you to proactively calm your nervous system—perhaps through deep breathing, petting your dog, or getting out in nature.

    4. Be compassionate toward yourself.

    It isn’t an easy journey, and you must be compassionate toward yourself. You’ve done your best to survive, and now it’s time to become conscious so you can thrive.