Tiny Buddha

Tag: anxiety

  • Emotionally Numb and Physically Disconnected? DDD May Be the Problem

    Emotionally Numb and Physically Disconnected? DDD May Be the Problem

    “Of all things, it would seem, make friends with depersonalization. Enemies within consciousness never work, and only escalate the problem. Befriend it, consider it part of life to work with it. We can’t expel it or cancel it. When we try, the pressure makes a volcano out of it. This is true of so many things, it must be true of DDD too.” ~David Hench

    Do you ever feel like you’re not feeling anything, although you know that you have feelings? That you’re operating on autopilot, more like a robot than a living person? That your self is hiding somewhere, and you are not yourself anymore?

    Your thoughts seem to come from your head, but somehow you don’t own them. It’s like driving on a countryside road after pouring rain—you see the world through a dirty windshield, and everything looks unclear.

    Your body doesn’t feel like your own, either. You might be observing yourself from outside, as if you were in a cinema watching a movie about your life. It’s a dreamlike world, and you feel disconnected from it and yourself—anxious, lost, overwhelmed, and trapped.

    And all you want is to feel like yourself.

    How do I know?

    A Figure in a Pop-Up Book

    As a kid, I loved my pop-up books. You opened one, and a magical world appeared in front of you. Look, here’s a princess in her puffy pink dress. She looks admiringly at her prince, who smiles back at her while holding a horse by the reins. Behind them, there’s a castle. Guards in helmets with plumes hold lances in their hands, ready to stop you and ask your name. Flags on towers flutter in the wind.

    It seems three-dimensional, except it’s not. Everything in this book is flat and unreal. That’s how I’ve been feeling for a huge part of my life—like a figure in a pop-up book.

    My first memory of dissociation comes from a very young age. I was still sleeping in my cradle.

    Mom left me alone in a bathtub; she was a restless soul, and patience wasn’t her strength. While reaching out for a toy, my bum slid, and I glided under the water, eyes wide open and body frozen.

    I lay there breathless, scared, and helpless, and that’s how Mom found me—at the bottom of a bathtub, looking at her through the water. What she couldn’t see was me looking down at us from above.

    Mom pulled me up, but she was cross. Couldn’t I just sit there quietly for a while without causing her any trouble?!

    And so the story went.

    Both my parents worked and studied at night. They had me at a very young age, and they both had ambitions to become civil engineers. But as in connected vessels, if water is removed from one, the level in the other one also changes. They had to make time for their studies, and I paid the price.

    I lived in kindergarten from Monday morning till Friday afternoon and saw my parents only on weekends. In summer, my kindergarten moved to the countryside, and I barely saw my parents for three months. No wonder I developed crippling separation anxiety. And there was no one to help me ease the pain.

    I wanted badly to become older and go to school so that I could live at home every day. Once I reached school age, it did help at some level, although my brain was already trained in a certain way.

    I worried all the time and was scared of speaking in front of the class, doing something wrong, or being criticized. I felt insecure around people. What if they discovered how uncool or “stupid” I was? I could freeze in front of a teacher or a classmate; my mind drifted away, and dissociation became my coping mechanism. I had panic attacks and out-of-body experiences that I kept to myself.

    My memories became a set of seemingly unconnected dots: an image here and a sound there, a smell or a tactile sensation, and lots of nothingness in between.

    I grew up anxious and uncertain, constantly doubting myself and allowing others to make decisions on my behalf. But most of all, I feared change and the unknown, and summers still were the worst—three-month-long school breaks in summer camps far away from home. I felt unreal for days upon leaving and returning home.

    In the beginning, it didn’t take long to get the feeling of reality back, but in time, returning to normality took longer and longer.

    Derealization became a permanent part of my life. I was missing out on the fun of being young and carefree.

    I learned about depersonalization–derealization disorder (DDD) while studying psychology and recognized its symptoms in myself, but it didn’t improve my condition. However, therapy has.

    When I started therapy, it was the first time in my life another person was attentive to me. He didn’t just listen to my thoughts and feelings but also validated them. He opened my eyes to what was happening to me, although the words “abuse” and “psychopath” sent a shiver of disbelief through my body. It couldn’t be my mom, so I defended her!

    My therapist was understanding and patient, and one sunny day in spring, magic happened. I was standing outside his office, and the barrier between me and the world was gone. All the filters fell; my senses, once again, became alive and tuned. Clear sounds and colors hit me unexpectedly. I had a feeling of belonging to this world, and I was ecstatic.

    For a few years, I was symptom-free, nearly forgetting about DDD. I was healed!

    But my mom, lost in grief after my dad’s death, proved me wrong. Exhausted after caring for him, lonely, and angry, she used me as a lightning rod for her overwhelming negativity. A few angry, hurtful words, and I sank into an emotional fog so deep that, twenty years later, I’m still there.

    After fighting my brain, feeling angry and scared, I had no choice but to learn to coexist with DDD without obsessing.

    Now I want to share with you how I did it.

    The Way Out of the Fog

    For most people, DDD is a temporary condition that will go away without treatment. But being anxious, worried, and obsessed with “getting rid of it” may only make it stay longer. Still, you can do things to ease the pain and prevent DDD from coming back in the future.

    1. Be present.

    When you space out, your self-awareness diminishes. Therefore, it’s essential to stay present by consciously focusing on what you do. And for that, mindfulness or grounding becomes handy.

    If you find it difficult to focus on the activity at hand, practice deep breathing and tune into your senses using the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Name five things you see around you, four things you can touch around you, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.

    2. Minimize anxiety.

    Anxiety is a normal part of being alive, and it can even be beneficial at times. Feeling anxious when challenged by the unknown helps you stay aroused and mobilized so you can solve problems. When this feeling becomes so intense that you can’t think and your productivity declines, you need to calm yourself to minimize episodes of derealization.

    There are many anti-anxiety techniques to choose from, like controlled breathing, physical activity, or preparing yourself for each challenge so you feel equipped to handle what’s coming. You can find additional tips to manage anxiety here.

    3. Accept DDD as a part of your current life.

    I know you don’t want to. It’s a painful condition, and your instinct tells you to get rid of it now. I get it. But fighting means constantly focusing on the issue, and obsession makes it all worse. You feel more anxious, and your DDD gets stronger. The cycle repeats itself.

    What is the alternative?

    4. Live a normal life.

    This condition is not life-threatening, just different and unpleasant. So, I’m asking you to live your life as if you didn’t have DDD. Get up in the morning and go through your usual routine. Make spending quality time with friends and family an important part of your day.

    More often than not, your DDD symptoms will disappear by themselves if you work on the steps I outlined above. And the faster you make peace with your symptoms, the faster they may go away.

    5. Work with a psychotherapist.

    If your anxiety and DDD symptoms persist for more than a few months, you may want to try therapy.

    An experienced therapist will help you figure out the cause of your symptoms. If you uncover trauma in your past, they will help you process the experience. You can also work with anxiety and depression that might be underlying issues in DDD.

    Your therapist will teach you stress management and coping strategies for dealing with dissociation. The opportunity to practice them in a safe environment will be a huge bonus.

    6. Consider medication.

    So far, there is no proof that medication is effective on DDD symptoms. There are no medications specifically approved to treat DDD. However, meds can be used to treat depression and anxiety if they are present, and that can help you heal from DDD.

    I tried medication, but it didn’t help my symptoms. I felt constantly tired and sleepy, unable to function normally in my everyday life. What was the point in taking them, then? So, I quit.

    Nevertheless, some people report that their symptoms decreased on a particular medication protocol, so you may want to explore this possibility for yourself. You will need to visit a psychiatrist for that.

    7.  Try neurofeedback.

    Neurofeedback is a technique to directly train certain brain functions and teach the brain to function more efficiently. How does it work?

    You sit in front of a screen with electrodes attached to your scalp and either watch a show or play a game. The person in charge of the treatment observes your brainwave activity from moment to moment. This information is also processed by a computer and shown back to you—an image on your screen can become smaller or bigger, brighter or darker, depending on your brain’s changing activity. The system rewards the brain for choosing more appropriate functional patterns by supporting desirable frequencies and diminishing undesirable ones.

    You can say that neurofeedback is training in self-regulation, and it helps to bring your central nervous system in balance, though it’s a slow learning process that takes months to accomplish. It’s usually provided by psychologists, therapists, counselors, or occupational therapists, like here in Germany.

    I started neurofeedback last year. Tomorrow will be my fifty-fifth session, and my symptoms haven’t changed so far, so I can’t offer a glowing personal recommendation. But from what I’ve read, it’s been helpful to many. As with all mental health treatments, what works for some might not work for others.

    Final words

    There is ongoing research about depersonalization and derealization, and one day new treatments for DDD will ease or eliminate the condition altogether. Until then, try what you’ve just learned, but don’t put your life on hold. Treat depersonalization–derealization as an old, overprotective friend who’s trying to help. They may be stubborn and even annoying, but they don’t mean you any harm.

    Live fully.

    Live now.

    And trust that if you put in the work, you will eventually feel more grounded in your own body and better able to experience and enjoy all the good things life has to offer.

  • What I Really Mean When I Say I’m Fine (Spoiler: I’m Not)

    What I Really Mean When I Say I’m Fine (Spoiler: I’m Not)

    “Tears are words that need to be written.” ~Paulo Coelho

    It was lovely to see you today. I haven’t seen you in such a long time. So much has happened since the last time we saw each other.

    You asked me how I was. I politely replied, “I’m fine” and forced a smile that I hoped would be believable. It must have worked. You smiled back and said, “I’m so glad to hear that. You look great.”

    But I’m not really fine. I haven’t been fine for a very long time, and I wonder if I will ever know what “fine” actually feels like again.

    Some days are good, some not so good. I’m doing my best to stay optimistic and to keep faith that tomorrow will be better. Sometimes it is, sometimes it’s worse. I’m never prepared for either outcome.

    I’m doing my best to pretend I’m fine.

    The mask I wear hides my pain very well. I’ve been wearing it for so long now that no one can see through it anymore. It’s my new face, and it smiles on demand.

    Some days I wish I didn’t have to pretend to smile. I long for the day when it will come naturally, sincerely, and genuinely.

    When I say I’m fine this is what I really mean…

    I’m sad. I’m really having a hard time right now. I wish I could tell you. I’d like to think that you might even care. And maybe you do truly care. But I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my troubles.

    My troubles are big and ugly. I can’t burden you with them. You are facing demons of your own. You don’t need to be exposed to mine. That would be so selfish of me. To think that your demons are not as important or debilitating as mine.

    So I just tell you I’m fine. I’m protecting you when I say I’m fine. Because I’m afraid my pain is just more toxicity.

    I want to tell you my troubles. I want you to take them away. I wish someone could fix everything that hurts, though I no one else can do that for me. Still, I wonder, does anyone have all the answers to these questions that are pounding in my head and causing me grief and anxiety?

    Anyone?

    There’s a tightness in my chest that won’t go away. There’s a darkness in the pit of my stomach that makes me nauseous. My shoulders feel weighted and my arms long for human touch. A body to wrap around tightly to comfort me and ensure me that everything will be okay.

    My troubles have completely consumed my life.

    Inside, I’m crying all the time. My soul is crushed, and my heart is full of holes that I’m desperately trying to patch up as best I can.

    I’m full of anxiety inside, and no matter how hard I try to find peace, it eludes me. I feel there are a million demons inside of me, and I don’t know which one needs my attention the most.

    So I ignore them all. It’s too much for me to bear most days.

    When I say I’m fine I really wish you could hear my inner voice screaming, “I’m not fine, and I need help. Please stay and talk to me, comfort me, help make this overwhelming pain stop.” I want to say this to you. But I open my mouth, and “I’m fine” comes out instead.

    I’m not really fine. I’m not sure how to handle today, and I fear what tomorrow may bring. It’s constant anxiety. I wish it would go away if only for a day.

    I want to be fine, honest I do.

    One day I would love to sincerely tell you how fine I am. That all my anxieties, worries, and fears are gone, or at least less overpowering. That I walk with a skip in my step and a song in my heart. I want to feel that. I may have felt this once before a long time ago, but I don’t really remember it.

    Every day I’m doing my best to smile and make the day better. I’m thinking positively, I’m taking big deep breaths when I need to. I’m reading inspirational blogs and quotes. I’m even listening to guided meditations.

    Today I went shopping and bought myself something nice. I know, a temporary fix. But it worked.

    It all works. For the moment. And then the moment is gone, and it all comes flooding back. All the turmoil, the anguish, the anxiety, the pain. I breathe deeply again. And I’m okay for a few more minutes.

    But for now, I’m doing my best. I know that everything in life is temporary. The good, the bad. Even life. It’s all temporary. If I can just get through today, I’ll be fine.

    I’m doing my best to see the bright side. I can see it some days. But it doesn’t take away the turmoil brewing inside of me. It only masks it with a Band-Aid. A temporary fix.

    Everything is just a temporary fix until I finally become brave enough to get to the bottom of my demons. I need to face them one at a time. I need to bring them to the surface, dust them off, address them, heal from them, and then let them go.

    This I know. But it’s such a daunting task. Just thinking about doing that is overwhelming and causes me a great deal of anxiety. I know it’s up to me to be able to say, “I’m fine” and really mean it.

    One day I will. When I feel strong enough to do so. Until then, I may say I’m fine when I’m really not. But I will try to find the courage to say, “Actually, I’m sad,” even though I know you don’t have a magic wand to take all my troubles away.

    Maybe just opening up and letting you support me will help. Maybe if I stop painting a smile on my face and telling you “I’m fine, really I am,” one day soon I will be.

  • The Relief of Letting Go and Living Fully Despite My Anxiety

    The Relief of Letting Go and Living Fully Despite My Anxiety

    “We only live once, Snoopy.” ~Charlie Brown

    “Wrong. We only die once. We live every day.” ~Snoopy

    I am an anxious person. I haven’t always been though. When I had my first child, fourteen years ago, it was the week after my father died. My son was born and went right to the NICU where he spent the first fourteen days of his life. In that moment, I changed. I’d already had one miscarriage. I couldn’t lose anyone else.

    Man, life is fragile. I spent the next decade making sure he played on the swings at the park, but not too high since he could fall and break his neck. We always took him to the river or the lake, but no swimming. There are amoebas in the water. (Funny and crazy, I know.)

    I now have two children who are fourteen and nine. Just a couple weeks ago, we went to the zoo. I had to talk about not leaning on the railings; you could fall in an enclosure. I am exhausted. The worry never ends.

    I am a mom, a wife, a daughter, anxious, neurotic, controlling, and scared. I never meant to be that helicopter mom. I had great ideas about how I would parent my kids. My husband and I always talked about how we would raise teenagers and what their curfews would be, but being in the middle of it, I’m terrified. I live in a constant state of panic and fear.

    I constantly worry I’m having a heart attack or a stroke. I worry my kids will die. I worry I will die.

    During the early months of the Covid-19 lockdown, we completely shut off from the world. Guess what? We all got Covid-19, except my nine-year-old. My elderly mother (who lives with us) got it too. I even sanitized groceries. We have no clue how we got it. We are all fine. Thank goodness. I know not everyone is as lucky.

    Every pain or sniffle is a worst-case scenario. Have you ever seen the movie My Girl? I am totally Veda Sultenfuss.

    It took several years, trips to the emergency room, shaky relationships, and a whole lot of self-discovery to figure it out. My lack of confidence, yet another sad part of anxiety, made me think I wasn’t enough. It caused my divorce. Thankfully, we are remarried. He sees me, he sees the moments I am fun and carefree, and he helps me work through my anxiety. Old Bob Ross reruns help too.

    So, what is the lesson here? I am not in control of a single thing. (Mind blown, I know.) Life is full of terrible things, wonderful things, heartache, tears, laughter, death of parents, even children. It’s all those moments in between that make life worth living.

    If we hide because of fear, we miss out on those moments. We miss out on a chance to save a memory we could pull out of our little brain file when we’re seventy-three and watching the snowfall on Christmas morning when all our kids are grown up.

    It’s really scary, letting go. It’s like walking on a tightrope. You see what could happen, but you just walk, because you know you’re not fully living if you sit out, and at the end of that walk, you realize how fast it went by. Either way, it will go by. It’s up to you how you spend that walk. Frank Sinatra says it best, that’s life.

  • Why I Never Fit in Anywhere and the One Realization That’s Changed Everything

    Why I Never Fit in Anywhere and the One Realization That’s Changed Everything

    “Don’t force yourself to fit where you don’t belong.” ~Unknown

    When I was young, I was a real daddy’s girl. He was so proud of me and took me everywhere with him.

    When my parents got divorced and my dad moved away to start a new life with a new family, I didn’t understand why he left, as I was still a child. I thought that he didn’t love me anymore. I felt abandoned and rejected. Perhaps if I’d been better behaved, prettier, cleverer then he wouldn’t have left me?

    Until recently, I didn’t realize the impact that this has had on my adult relationships.

    Because I fear abandonment and rejection, I’ve struggled to fit in and make friends.

    I had a relationship with an older man who was very similar to my dad. I hoped that he would provide me with the love and affection that I didn’t get from my father and would heal my wounds. However, while things started off great and I thought I had found the one, since the relationship felt like home and was so familiar, he was actually emotionally unavailable, just like my dad, and unable to commit.

    When he started to pull away, this triggered my insecurity. This caused me to pursue him more, as I desperately wanted this relationship work.

    I tried to change myself into what I thought he wanted. I became clingy and jealous, which only drove him further away. When the relationship finally ended and he found someone else, I couldn’t understand why he could love her but not me. What was wrong with me? It confirmed my greatest fear, that I was unlovable and unwanted.

    This pattern continued to follow me in my relationships, which left me feeling more unloved and rejected.

    So I threw myself into my career. I had done well academically, however, I struggled to fit in and make friends there too.

    I was good at my job, but I didn’t feel valued or appreciated and I was often ignored, excluded, and ostracized by my fellow team members. My workplace became a toxic environment. I was bullied, which led to anxiety and depression, and I couldn’t face going into work. Eventually I was let go, as they said I could no longer do my job.

    Since my identity was tied up with being a successful career woman, when I no longer had a career, I didn’t know who I was. What was my purpose in life now? I was at the halfway stage of my life with no family of my own and no job. I took everything that other people had said and done to me very personally.

    I shut myself away at home. I didn’t go out or socialize. I was on medication for anxiety and depression, and I just wanted to stay in bed. What was the point of getting up? I was worthless, I had no value, no one wanted me, I didn’t fit in anywhere. I couldn’t love myself, as others didn’t love me. I had no self-esteem and no confidence to try to start again.

    I had therapy, read lots of self-help books and articles, and did guided meditations. Although I could relate to everything, I struggled to apply the things I had learned to myself.

    As I spent time alone, listening to relaxing music, I had a lightbulb moment. I couldn’t see straight before then because I was so emotional. However, I am naturally a very logical and analytical person, and good at solving problems, which is why I was good at my job.

    The idea came to me that if I took the emotions out of my issues, then I could see them in a logical and rational way and try to solve them like any other puzzle.

    And then I thought, what if I saw my whole life as a jigsaw puzzle? It’s a perfect analogy, really, since my lifelong struggle has been fitting in.

    Visualizing Our Lives as Jigsaw Puzzles

    Each of us start with just one piece—ourselves.

    When we start the puzzle at birth, it is easiest to join the first two pieces together—ourselves and our family.

    As we grow up, we try to find other pieces that fit—friends, romantic relationships, jobs. We may be lucky and find other pieces that fit perfectly straight away, but more often than not we struggle to find the right pieces, and in our frustration, we may even try to force two pieces together that don’t actually fit. However, if we do this, we find over time that none of the other pieces seem to work together.

    No matter how much time we have already invested in this ill-fitting piece—be it an unhealthy relationship or a job that doesn’t align with our purpose and values—we will eventually realize that we have to accept reality and remove the piece that we tried to force to work. This is the only way to make room for a new piece that will fit perfectly into place. A piece we won’t even try to find if we’re too attached to the one that doesn’t fit.

    This doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with us, or the other piece we tried to force to fit, which means we don’t need to blame ourselves or them. We simply need to recognize we don’t fit together, and then learn the lessons we need to learn to stop repeating the same patterns.

    This also doesn’t mean that we made a mistake with the ill-fitting piece. Every time we try to make the “wrong” things fit, we learn the value of taking our time to find the right piece.

    Sometimes we learn that we need to focus on another area of the puzzle first—if, for example, we realize we need to take a break from relationships so we can build up our self-esteem and learn to love ourselves first.

    And sometimes when we’re having difficulty with one section of the puzzle, like love, we recognize that we need to focus on a different area instead, where it might be easier to find the right pieces—like our career or social life, for example.

    When we connect with like-minded people who have similar hobbies or interests and enjoy our company, we feel better about ourselves and start to realize how great we truly are.

    If we change jobs to something we love, that shows off our strengths and enables us to succeed, this improves our confidence and helps us realize that we’re good enough and we do add value.

    Once we become happier with ourselves and other areas of our life, we’ll send out more positive vibes into the world and attract the right kind of people. And we’ll have enough self-worth to recognize people who are not right for us and not waste our time.

    If we don’t do these things, we may complete the puzzle, with all the elements of our life neatly in place and find that we have a piece left over. That piece is you or me, and it doesn’t fit because it was in the wrong box and never meant for this puzzle.

    That was why we struggled to fit in—we chose things in all areas of our lives that were never right for us. So the problem wasn’t us, it was where we trying to force ourselves to fit.

    It may feel daunting to start over, but when we find the right puzzle we belong to, everything stops feeling like a struggle because we slot easily into place. We will end up with a different picture than we originally imagined, but it will feel much better, because our piece will finally fit.

    Where Am I Now?

    After spending half my life struggling to fit in and complete my jigsaw puzzle, I have realized that I am the piece left over, and it’s now time to start again and find the right puzzle that I belong to. This time, I’m starting with the most foundational pieces first—self-love, self-confidence, self-worth.

    There was never anything wrong with me. I just needed to recognize my patterns so I could stop trying to force things that weren’t right. I know my pieces are out there. And so long as I let go of the wrong ones, I know, in time, I’ll find them.

  • How I Stopped Feeling Angry with Everything and Everyone (Including Myself)

    How I Stopped Feeling Angry with Everything and Everyone (Including Myself)

    “Tears of despair can be fuel. Thunders of anger can be light.” ~Maxime Lagacé

    Let’s talk about rockets.

    This is going somewhere, I promise.

    If you ever watch a rocket launch, you’ll see a large cylinder fall off once it gets to a certain height. Breaking earth’s gravity is not easy, so the cylinder is filled with a high-powered propellant that helps the rocket gain altitude.

    The thing is, once all the propellant is gone, the cylinder becomes dead weight, so it has to be jettisoned. Otherwise, the rocket would fall back to earth, and all of that work would have been for nothing.

    Now for an abrupt segue.

    I entered my twenties as a very angry young man. I was angry at the world for being difficult and not doing what I wanted it to do.

    I was angry with a lot of my close friends because they had the nerve to go on with their lives and do normal things like graduate college and have long-term relationships. They had even stopped drinking every day.

    I was angry with my family and people who cared about me because they were always pointing out all the things I was doing that were not going to turn out well.

    More than anything, though, I was angry with myself. My drinking and drug use were completely out of control, but I could not figure out what I needed to do about it.

    I was angry with myself because I had dropped out of high school and then been kicked out of college a few times, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I wouldn’t have had the skill set necessary to do what I wanted even if I had known what it was.

    There was this one James who wanted to do good things with his life and be responsible and all that good stuff. Then there was another James who always showed up and wrecked everything.

    Good James was fighting an uphill battle because not-so-good-James could torpedo months of work with one decision. He was an elite assassin: one shot, one kill, and he always had my life in his crosshairs.

    I couldn’t seem to get traction. I knew I was in a hole, but for some reason I kept digging. When I finally hit rock bottom, I decided it was time to get a jackhammer.

    Feeling Like a Loser

    There’s a particular frustration with being a loser that’s hard to explain to people who’ve never been one. People look at you a certain way, people treat you a certain way. You tend to treat yourself poorly because it feels like you’re going to waste any opportunity that comes your way.

    It’s frustrating and infuriating and debilitating all at once.

    We could dive into all the reasons for this and the psychology behind it, but the simple fact was that I had just turned twenty, and I felt like I had already made irreparable mistakes. The consequences felt insurmountable.

    After a few car wrecks and trips to jail, I moved to West Texas to try again. I was about to be a dad. I knew that things needed to be different, but I didn’t quite understand how to make that happen.

    I talked a little bit about how going to the library and getting into things like meditation made a huge difference in another post, but I’m not sure anything changed my life as much as becoming a father.

    Now, it shouldn’t be surprising for me to say that I was not the kind of guy you want caring for a baby. I was emotionally immature, entitled, self-destructive, and I had zero insight. And those might have been my better qualities.

    I didn’t think about what I did as anything I was actually doing. It was just the way things were. My self-absorption was near 100%, so seeing outside myself was near impossible.

    I remember holding my son for the first time and thinking, “I’m sorry, kid, but you got screwed in the dad lottery.” I’m not being self-deprecating here when I say that. He had gotten screwed in that lottery. But that thought was followed by another thought that I had never really had before: “What if I did something different”?

    I had definitely thought about doing something different many times, but I’d never taken it seriously. People like me didn’t change, so it was always one of those thoughts that floats through your brain that you don’t pay much attention to.

    I don’t know why, but this time was different.

    A weird thing happened at this point. All that anger from being a loser for so long stopped paralyzing me and became rocket fuel for me to do better (I told you the rocket thing was going somewhere).

    All those years of feeling like people were looking down on me and being told that I had potential that I wasn’t living up to, gave me focus and energy that I’d never had before.

    I quit drinking and using drugs and burned through a bachelor’s degree in a few years. I even quit smoking cigarettes, which ended up being a lot harder than I thought it would be compared to everything else.

    I worked as a social worker for a few years and then went back and got a master’s in sociology. It was great information but wasn’t a useful degree without a doctorate, so I went and got a master’s in counseling as well.

    Through all of that, my desire to show people that I wasn’t a loser, my desire for the people who had looked down on me to see success and know they were wrong, drove me.

    Crashing Back to Earth

    Anger was a great propellant until it wasn’t.

    Anger had driven me to make a lot of good decisions and invest in myself and do some things that were good for me, but all of these changes had also changed the world I lived in. I was now able to pass as a healthy person, so I was working and spending time in healthy environments.

    I didn’t need all of that anger to keep driving me forward, and much like the empty propellant tank, it began to drag me back down.

    I still saw most of the people around me as untrustworthy and threatening. I was militantly dedicated to protecting my time and making sure I took care of the things I needed to take care of.

    If I’m honest, there was a deep fear that if I stopped sprinting forward, I was going to start sliding backward, and I’d be a loser again before I knew it. That’s one of the tough things about being a loser—I’m not sure the feeling ever goes away completely.

    Looking back now, I can see where I alienated what would have been some good people in my life, and I was a more difficult employee than I needed to be. On top of this, other people could leverage my middle-finger attitude for their own good, and I made some decisions in my work that I regret now.

    I would have treated a few people differently and handled quite a few situations with more respect if I had recognized that anger could no longer be the driving force in my life sooner than I did.

    None of this is to say that anger is bad or that we should pathologize it or pretend like we don’t get angry. That being said, I don’t know that it’s ever the best option.

    Everything I accomplished was within my grasp the entire time. Anger just gave me the motivation to do it. I wonder what it would have been like to go through college and make all the changes I made without the anger.

    I would have had more friends, and I would not have pushed away some of the people who tried to help and mentor me. God forbid, I might have even enjoyed that time in my life.

    Anger Never Shows Up Alone

    The thing with anger is that it’s a secondary emotion. It never shows up on its own. I tell people that anger carpools, and it’s never the driver.

    Anger is usually our attempt to take a vulnerable emotion and transform it into something a little tougher and more actionable. Things like fear, disappointment, sadness, rejection, and all those other icky, vulnerable emotions leave us feeling helpless.

    Anger, while being destructive, can make us feel empowered and powerful.

    This is especially true for men since we’re not really allowed to experience emotions apart from anger in any real way. I think we’re allowed to laugh at things and people, and we get to cry a little when our dog dies or something, but most of the rest is out of bounds.

    There’s always something under anger. If you can see what emotion you’re actually experiencing, life opens up in a whole new way.

    Looking back, I can recognize that I was anxious and fearful all the time but being angry allowed me to skip over those things and believe I was still in charge of my own life. If I got rejected or felt disappointed, anger would let me blame the situation, not myself.

    I could get lost in complaining about all the things that should have been different or about why the other person sucked instead of allowing myself to feel those things, and maybe change the things about myself that led to them.

    The ego fears change, and anger is a great way to keep us stuck where we are.

    Jettison the Unnecessary

    I don’t get angry a whole lot these days. Don’t get me wrong—it still arises, but I’m pretty good about identifying what’s actually going on and addressing that instead.

    I don’t try to pretend that I don’t have anger, and I definitely don’t suppress it, but I try to allow it to be present without taking over the world. It’s the difference between anger being in the audience and it being the keynote speaker.

    There are a few things that have been more difficult since I’ve started engaging things more honestly. Situations involving conflict or confrontation are a little scarier without my anger.

    It was all definitely easier when I lived in a castle made out of middle fingers, but I’m also able to engage these things in a more honest way and learn from them. A castle protects, but it also isolates.

    I don’t think that I experience more fear or anxiety than I used to, I’m just aware that that’s what I’m experiencing instead of being angry. This has made me a better friend, a better husband, a better father, a better son, and an all-around easier person to deal with.

    I even like myself a little bit these days as well, which is nice.

    Anything we are attached to can become a deadweight if we aren’t willing to cut it loose at the right time. Anger not only has the potential to drag us back down to the earth, but we’ll die in a fiery explosion as well.

    We have to let it go if we want to break the gravity of all the things trying to pull us back down.

  • How a Cancer Misdiagnosis Helped Me Face and Heal from Health Anxiety

    How a Cancer Misdiagnosis Helped Me Face and Heal from Health Anxiety

    “Trust yourself. You’ve survived a lot, and you’ll survive whatever is coming.” ~Robert Tew

    “I have bad news. I am sorry. You have cancer.”

    Sitting in the cold, clinical doctor’s office on a snowy, cloudy January day in Chicago, I was six months postpartum with my daughter, and I felt like I had woken up in a nightmare.

    My husband had gone to work that day when I was supposed to have my stitches removed after the laparoscopic surgery to remove a large cyst, so I was alone with my daughter.

    When Dr. Foley entered the room, I took one look at his face and knew something was wrong.

    “Are you sure,” I asked? My daughter was munching away on her Sophie Giraffe in her stroller next to me.

    “Yes, I am sure. I am so sorry.”

    I started to cry. The first thing I said was “I knew I didn’t deserve a good life.”

    “What did you say?”

    “Nothing, it doesn’t matter now.”

    He told me it was stage 1 ovarian cancer. That I would be okay. He told me I might need chemo and to have my ovaries removed, and I may not be able to have any more children. He then referred me to a gynecological specialist. I waited to see her for three weeks.

    My mom flew out to help me. My husband accompanied me to my appointment with the gynecologic oncologist. The office was bleak. The women in the sitting room showed me my future.

    When it was my turn for the appointment, the nurse came in with the doctor. They were pleasant and made chit chat. I could not tolerate their light-heartedness for very long as they asked me about my daughter and being a new parent. Finally, I said, “Can you tell me about my cancer please?!”

    They looked at me astonished and said, “You don’t have cancer! Didn’t Doctor Foley tell you? He called us and said, ‘I have a disaster here!’ We told him it was not a disaster. What you have is a borderline mucinous cyst, which is common for women your age.”

    I don’t think I have ever experienced more relief or gratitude than I felt then, not even after my children were born. What could be more profound than feeling like you were handed a death sentence and then be given a “get out of jail free card?”

    I went home and felt like I had been given a second chance at life. I opened the windows, I cleaned the house, I smiled again. However, that sweetness lasted only a short time before I began to ruminate and worry again.

    The relief never lasted because there was always another disaster around the corner.

    For the years following, I stayed diligent. I saw cancer everywhere. I felt lumps, I felt bumps, I saw weird looking dots on my body, rashes, twitches that would have me flying into a panic. I avoided school outings because I thought a mom had cancer (turns out she has alopecia!) To this day I still get high blood pressure in the doctor’s office even if I am just going in to have a splinter removed.

    I was living a traumatized person’s reality. On the surface, I was functioning, but underneath I was filled with pain and weariness. This diagnosis was one more trauma to now pile onto a lifetime of traumatic experiences.

    Before I got pregnant, I had made two visits to the emergency room because I thought I was experiencing a heart attack. I routinely felt like I could not swallow and that I was choking even when I had nothing in my mouth. I often felt like I could not breathe or get enough air.

    I had lots of visits to the doctor’s office, a heart ultrasound, tests for asthma, bloodwork, etc. They told me it was anxiety, but I could not believe that my mind would cause such strong symptoms.

    Recently, I spent some time doing a form of EMDR on myself, going into the feeling of terror that I feel with health anxiety. It brought up an old memory of me driving with my dad at about ten years old.

    He was drunk driving with my sister and me on the highway.

    I remember yelling at him, “Dad if you don’t stop driving this way I am going to drive!” I remember that moment like it was yesterday. I remembered that feeling of complete helplessness and being out of control.

    “Aha,” I thought to myself. That’s the first time I felt that feeling.”

    Of course, it makes sense I have health anxiety and that I obsess and try to avoid or control it.

    We all have formulated parts of ourselves that at one time served an important purpose—to keep us safe. My protector identity understands how overwhelmed I was and has worked my whole life to keep that feeling at bay. Health anxiety can be a manifestation of trauma.

    Healing took time and intention. It also happened not in a therapy chair but in a dance studio. It was in this space where I first slowed down and was able to feel safe in my body.

    I started salsa dancing and just doing the warm-up of a dancer. Moving each part of the body with intention and curiosity, helped me get acquainted with my body’s unique inner sensations so they felt more familiar and less scary.

    I also tend to have a more obsessive type brain, and finding a way to channel my anxiety into healthy challenges that I can control has been crucial in getting less reactive to health scares. That means dancing more as well as starting a business.

    My brain needs things to latch onto, and both of these give me what health anxiety was giving me (a place to channel overall anxiety) but in a way that feels healthier and within my control.

    Finally, working on my nervous system and getting into a parasympathetic state has been incredibly healing. When you are trained to be hypervigilant, relaxing feels scary! I have found doing practices like restorative or yin yoga help me feel deeper into my body within my window of tolerance.

    Slowly, with time and consistency, my life and outlook for my future started to change. The change was so profound that people saw me and asked what I was doing differently. I started to fully investigate the power of the body to influence the mind. It was at thirty-six years old I started to feel joy for the first time that I could remember.

    I saw recently on Facebook an acquaintance from high school, his wife, young and beautiful with two small children, died of colon cancer. I felt so much sadness and anger at the unfairness of this. I felt compassion. I see it as growth that I did not start researching statistics or going into a health fear spiral.

    Five years ago, I asked my sister what she felt when she heard the tragic news, and she told me she feels compassion.

    I said to her, “Is that what normal people feel?” I saw every tragedy as a warning to get more vigilant, more hardened in my body and my mind, and as a chance to numb out to not feel the range of human emotions.

    Some days, I do feel anxiety at the uncertainty of the world, and health anxiety can still pop up for me. Part of the healing process is changing the way we relate to something that we cannot change and finding healthy tools to help us a cope.

    If you struggle with health anxiety, like I did—obsessing over every ache, pain, or even minor discomfort, worrying about the potential for a serious diagnosis that could irreparably change your life—it might interfere with your ability to function from day to day.

    Maybe you spend hours googling your symptoms and diagnosing yourself, and regularly find yourself in doctor’s offices for the relief of hearing you’re okay—which is likely short-lived. On the flip side, your health anxiety may prevent you from taking good care of yourself, if you skip necessary medical appointments to avoid confirming your worst fears.

    The irony is you might end up creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. Excessive worry can create physical symptoms, like changes in heart rate and blood pressure, tightening in your chest, and difficulty breathing, which can further convince you that you have a terrible disease—and potentially cause health issues down the line.

    Maybe you’ve experienced trauma that made you feel helpless, like me, and that’s why you fear the unknown and being out of control. Maybe you lost someone you love to a serious illness, and you’re afraid it could also happen to you, if you’re not diligent. Or maybe you have a health condition, and you’re afraid of it advancing into something even more dangerous. Whatever the cause, it is possible to heal.

    The first step is recognizing the stories you’re creating in your head and how worry is interfering with your ability to enjoy the people and things you love.

    The next step is accepting that you need help—and then finding the courage to seek it.

    Perhaps, like me, you’ll find it beneficial to try EMDR to help you work through old traumas; and you may want to adopt a practice that calms your nervous system and gets you out of your head and into your body, like yoga or tai chi.

    Or you might need the guidance of a therapist who can help you learn to challenge your fear-based thoughts and beliefs, reduce the coping behaviors that only increase your anxiety, and sit with the discomfort of uncertainty when it arises instead of creating even more anxiety.

    In the end, that’s what it all comes down to: learning to accept that “bad” things may happen in life, but we can’t prevent them by staying hypervigilant and avoiding all activities that could potentially put us at risk. We may feel safer when we do these things, but we’re really just living half-alive in our attempts to protect our lives.

    I do not know the outcome of much of life. What will happen to me, my children, the people I love, the world? In moments of joy, I often feel a twinge of grief. I can now hold both at the same time. I understand sadness and grief in a new way, not something to be afraid of, to numb out or push away, but simply a feeling to let move through me so I can fully experience the range of human life.

  • One Question for Anyone Who’s Stuck in a Rut: What Do You Believe?

    One Question for Anyone Who’s Stuck in a Rut: What Do You Believe?

    “You become what you believe, not what you think or what you want.” ~Oprah Winfrey

    What do you believe? During the forced stillness of the pandemic environment we’re all living in, this is a question I’ve been faced with more intensely than ever. In particular, I’ve come to question what I believe about myself, and how that impacts every element of my life.

    Coming out of years of self-help for social and general anxiety, a long-standing eating disorder, and several dissatisfying personal relationships, I had to come to question what these external realities reflected back to me. For what you believe about not only your life, but more importantly, yourself, will show up again and again, and yes, again, until you’ve finally addressed the root of the problem.

    In my case, my lack of self-value resulted in many dysfunctions and setbacks in my personal and professional world.

    My deteriorating self-image led to my eating obsessions, a lack of confidence exacerbated anxieties, and the low value I placed on myself was most likely written all over me, judging by the way others showed disrespect toward me in personal relationships.

    Not only was I devaluing who I was, but I also operated from a place of being closed off to others, afraid that if I showed my true self I wouldn’t measure up to their expectations.

    This all came to a head when COVID-19 emerged and led to a global lockdown. Going off of numerous negative relationship experiences, I visited a doctor to discover I had a pelvic floor condition called vaginismus, which results in involuntary vaginal muscle tightening that makes sex and physical exams like pap smears either impossible or extremely painful.

    I spent the next four months going through physical therapy to heal my body from this condition, breaking off a new relationship to focus completely on my own journey. It amazed me how the mind and body go hand-in-hand; my muscle tightening felt like a total embodiment of years of being closed off to others and remaining safely isolated from sharing my true self.

    As I mentioned previously, prior to being diagnosed with vaginismus I’d spent years healing my mental health problems and gaining strength in my career experience.

    After high school, I was lost in my career path for a solid period of time, making lukewarm attempts at artistic endeavors such as acting and modeling, never fully prepared to take a leap and fully immerse myself in any one field.

    Again, this would require a bearing of my true self that would frighten me just to think about. Not only that, it would mean that I had the nerve to believe I was worthy of attempting a profession that’s reserved for an elite group of “special” people, a group I never considered myself to be a part of.

    I did muster up enough courage to move to Los Angeles, however, where I felt I could start a new identity. My Northern California roots felt outdated, and along with some family I sought to better myself with a fresh start.

    One of my first steps toward positive changes was a hostessing gig at a bowling alley, which forced me to get out of my shell and be more social for a change. I still felt very self-conscious, but the more I worked on interacting with customers and coworkers, the more I learned how much I loved people.

    This further developed when, following a chance Intro to Journalism course I took at Pasadena City College in Southern California, I found a new joy that I wasn’t expecting.

    I began to love writing, and not only that, my favorite element of this new career path was interviewing—something I never thought I’d be able to conquer with the severity of my social anxiety, which prevented me from going into grocery stores at its peak

    Deep down, I started to believe that something different could be possible for me. Maybe I could break out of my old mindset and turn into the person I’d always felt I was inside: someone who loved people, longed for and accomplished successful interpersonal relationships, and stood in her power, unapologetically.

    By January of 2020, I had gained a local job news writing in my home base of Burbank and felt optimistic about the future. After the pandemic hit, however, I went through a time of feeling down during isolation. This paired with the vaginismus diagnosis made me become initially quite frustrated.

    “Why is this happening to me?” I wondered. I had done a lot to overcome other personal issues, but now having to do months of diligent, and sometimes extremely painful, physical therapy felt like a punishment that I didn’t deserve.

    After a short bit of contemplation, however, I had a real and sudden shift in perspective. I simply thought, “I’ve been through more than this in the past. I’ll get through it.” I believed I could, and from that moment on dedicated myself to healing not only physically, but emotionally as well.

    Within four months I made enough progress to end in-person physical therapy appointments, I started blog writing and continued with news writing in Burbank, earned a journalism scholarship over the summer, which I contributed toward my studies, and now have just started my own independent journalism writing website.

    The more I believed that I could accomplish my goals, and the more I felt I was worthy of such things, the more I saw everything in the universe work for me, and not against me.

    Today I continue to improve my self-image, and I have a long way to go. But overall, I feel healed from where I once was.

    I’m pursuing my passions, now unashamed to show and share who I truly am.

    I demonstrate a great deal of self-respect in personal relationships, no longer tolerating poor treatment from others who don’t consider my worth.

    My diet and exercise habits are healthier, my vaginismus treatment is complete, and, although I still have to maintain physical therapy exercises, I feel grateful for where I’m at in that regard and in every aspect of my life.

    If you had asked me five years ago, prior to all of this self-improvement, what I believed about myself and my life, I probably would have said I had a promising future ahead, although my actions and interactions continuously showed otherwise.

    This is why I feel I’m at a much more positive place in life at this moment.

    Not only do I propose that I believe positive things about myself, but I now show it through my actions.

    I no longer want respect, I demand it.

    I no longer want to pursue my goals wholeheartedly, I now do it as much as I can every day.

    And not only do I dream of expressing the truth of who I am, I embody it.

    So, if you too feel like you’re stuck in a rut in your life, if you feel that the world isn’t treating you fairly, and if you don’t like what the universe is showing you, then I urge you to ask yourself:

    What do you believe? About yourself? Your worth? Your life? Your potential?

    What do you believe about what you deserve, in relationships and in your career, and what you can accomplish if you try?

    How do those beliefs affect how you show up in the world—the decisions you make, the chances you take, the things you tolerate, and the habits you follow each day?

    What would you do differently if you challenged your beliefs and recognized they’re not facts?

    And what can you do differently today to create a different outcome for tomorrow?

    These are the questions that shape our lives because our beliefs drive our choices, which ultimately determine who we become.

  • 10 Things to Do When You Feel Sad, Hopeless, and Defeated

    10 Things to Do When You Feel Sad, Hopeless, and Defeated

    “Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.” ~J.K. Rowling

    I’m no stranger to feeling hopeless and defeated. After many failed relationships, physical, sexual and emotional abuse my entire life, two bankruptcies, and the recent loss of my online business (October 2020), you could say I’ve been through enough to last two lifetimes.

    I’ll admit, there were many times I wanted it all to end. There were many days I just didn’t know how much more I could handle. My recent loss has devastated me beyond words. Everything I’ve worked so hard for in the last three years has completely been obliterated. I’m numb and feel defeated almost every day.

    At fifty-eight years old, starting over doesn’t interest me, but I have no choice. I know what to expect. I’ve been here before. It’s ugly, messy, frustrating, stressful, and exhausting. Every day I wake up I don’t really feel like getting to the computer to work.

    I don’t really feel like doing anything, to be honest, but lay in bed and cry. I go through serious waves of anxiety throughout the day. They hit me fast, hard, and without warning. I want to throw up. I want to curl up in a ball and die. I want someone to tell me this is all a bad dream and tomorrow things will be back to normal.

    None of that happens. And I force myself to get to work and start a new day.

    Your Struggles and Pain Are Real

    Pain is pain, chaos is chaos. No matter what it looks like to you. Never let anyone tell you your feelings are ridiculous. Don’t ever think that you’re overreacting. What your feeling is real, and you need to honor your emotions, feel all the feels. Just don’t stay there. The longer you stay down, the harder it is to get back up.

    Here are ten things to do when you are feeling defeated, hopeless, helpless, and sad—all things that have helped me, that I hope help you too.

    1. Cry your eyes out.

    Too many of us hold back our tears because we think it’s a sign of weakness. It is absolutely not, and it’s almost mandatory to get those tears out. Go back to the last time you had a good cry fest and try to remember how you felt afterward. I’m guessing you felt like a ton of bricks was just lifted off your shoulders.

    Crying is very therapeutic. Do it. As often as you have to. Scream and cry into a pillow if you have to but get those tears out.

    2. Call a friend.

    While this almost sounds too simple, most don’t even think about doing this either because they don’t want to burden their friends, or because they’re too stuck on their problems to consider talking about something else.

    Pick one person you absolutely love talking to and just chat your cute little face off. You can talk about your problem if you think it will help, or you can use this as an opportunity to get your mind off of things. Just talk!! About anything, everything, silly things and nothing.

    I remember the day my business crashed, and I was so angry and upset but also embarrassed because I didn’t want anyone to know what happened to me and that my business was gone. After a week I decided to call one of my dear friends, and not only was he great at comforting me but also reassuring me that things were going to be okay. It was such a huge relief to get this confirmation from a friend.

    Sometimes we need to hear comforting words!

    3. Volunteer.

    I tell everyone this. If you’re sad, go volunteer. Like right now. You can’t even imagine the power behind helping someone or something (aka furry critters) in need. Your heart fills up and then explodes, you cry happy tears, and it honestly just gives you so much joy.

    Find an organization that resonates with you and call them. Go spend an hour a week there. This will soon become your happy place and something you will look forward to every week.

    4. Write yourself a love letter.

    I’ll be honest, I haven’t written one in a while, but I think it’s time.

    A love letter to yourself is so powerful and therapeutic. In this letter you tell yourself all the amazing and awesome things about yourself. You list all the reasons you shouldn’t feel like a loser. You tell yourself to brush off your bum and pick yourself back up again.

    You can go on and on about how wonderfully amazing you are. Write out all the things you love about yourself and all your radiant and redeeming qualities.

    Now before you say, “Oh, I don’t love anything about myself,” stop right there.

    Go look in the mirror right now. I bet you have the most beautiful eyes and the most sweet smile ever. Or maybe you are a feisty, determined person. Or maybe you have a heart of gold! I bet there are a million awesome things about you. Find them and write about them.

    5. Put on some loud music and sing and dance.

    Oh yeah. Choose the loudest, thrashiest music you have (and love) and crank up the stereo. Or maybe you love country or jazz or whatever! Turn it up and rip off the knob. Dance, sing, jump around your house like a silly fool.

    Sometimes when I’m feeling down, I put on the saddest music with the hardest hitting lyrics, sing loud, cry my heart out, and remarkably afterward I feel a million times better!!

    Let loose and lose all your cares and woes in your favorite music. You’re gonna feel amazing, you’ll even get a little workout in, and your adrenaline will be pumped up a wee bit, so you’ll maybe even feel unstoppable! Go you!

    6. Go for a walk.

    Another simple thing to do that we often overlook. For many of us, when we’re feeling really sad, we don’t want to get dressed and go out. We want to stay inside and cry and eat junk food (more on that later), but you can’t stay there forever.

    You have to get yourself out of your dark place. You have to take action steps (pardon the pun) to move forward and be happy again.

    Get your shoes on and get outside. You never know who you’re going to run into or what kind of super cool things can happen to you. Be open to surprises and chance meetings. Or maybe you’ll just find and see little things that bring a smile to your face.

    7. Watch funny movies and eat junk food.

    Yes, I said it. Eat junk food, aka comfort food. They call it comfort food for a reason. Because that’s exactly what it does. And yes, I get that we may have a teeny sore belly in the morning, all depending on how much comfort food you consumed the night before, but really, chocolate and chips and donuts and cake really do the soul good.

    A small word of warning here, though: Only do this if you can let yourself enjoy eating and aren’t mindlessly binging to numb your feelings, and please don’t make this a daily habit. We all know eating junk food is bad for us. It’s a nice quick fix on a really sad day but not something you should do all the time. Remember, life is all about balance too. That includes your eating habits.

    So find your fave movies—I usually opt for funny ones or super action thrillers—and lose yourself in it. Forget your cares and woes even if only for two hours or so and let yourself indulge a little.

    8. Write a truth letter.

    Yes, I love writing letters. It’s the best therapy out there, I swear! Much like a love letter to yourself, a truth letter is a letter you will write to someone or something that is causing you grief and sorrow.

    This is where you get to write out all your anger, all your hurt; every damn emotion you feel about this person/thing, get it all out! I know some people who have written truth letters that were thirty pages long. You write until you can’t write anymore!

    This is something you can do every time you have hateful or angry thoughts about this person or thing. Eventually the thoughts won’t show up so often.

    9. Set a timer.

    We already know we can’t stay in this sad dark place for too long, or it will consume us. After a few weeks of feeling like this set a timer for fifteen minutes, twice a day. In this time slot, feel angry, sad, cry, scream, or do whatever else you have to do, but when the timer is up try to compose yourself and shift your attention elsewhere—on your work, a hobby, helping a friend, anything other than your own problems.

    Negative thoughts will arise outside of your time slot. But remember, you can choose whether or not to engage with them. You always have a choice to let your thoughts pass without getting caught up in your mental stories. That’s up to you to do.

    Yes, this is hard to do, but the benefit is that you are allowing yourself time to grieve without allowing your grief to totally consume you and dominate your days.

    10. Have a ‘me’ day.

    Even if you can’t take the whole day, try to take at least a few hours to pamper yourself. Get a manicure or pedicure or do one for yourself at home. Get your hair done, take yourself out on a date. Do something you enjoy, something that gets you into a state of flow.

    Whatever it is that you do, do it in honor of yourself and how amazing you are. Take this time to love yourself, as hard as that may be, and just be present with you and only you.

    —

    As I go through my difficult time, I keep telling myself that this is temporary, I’m gonna be okay, and to keep the faith. I believe everything always works out in the end, exactly the way it’s supposed to, whether we understand it or not, and this brings me comfort.

    But don’t deny your emotions.

    I think the most important thing to remember is that you must honor and feel your feelings, but you can’t stay there. It’s important to take steps to get back to your ‘normal,’ whatever that looks like for you, or to accept that it’s time to create a new normal.

    Baby steps are better than no steps at all. Do one or two little things every day and before you know it, you’ll be smiling and feeling better about yourself and life again.

    You got this, babe!

  • How I Overcame the Stress of Perfectionism by Learning to Play Again

    How I Overcame the Stress of Perfectionism by Learning to Play Again

    “What, then, is the right way of living? Life must be lived as play…” ~Plato

    I am a recovering perfectionist, and learning to play again saved me.

    Like many children, I remember playing a lot when I was younger and being filled with a sense of openness, curiosity, and joy toward life.

    I was fortunate to grow up in Oregon with a large extended family with a lot of cousins with whom I got to play regularly. We spent hours, playing hide-and-seek, climbing trees, drawing, and building forts.

    I also attended a wonderful public school that encouraged play. We had regular recess, and had all sorts of fun equipment like stilts, unicycles, monkey bars, and roller skates to play with. In class, our teachers did a lot of imaginative and artistic activities with us that connected academics with a sense of playfulness.

    I viewed every day as an exciting opportunity and remember thinking, “You just never know what is going to happen.” My natural state was to be present with myself, enjoying the process of play

    Unfortunately, my attitude began shifting from playfulness to perfectionism early on. Instead of being present and enjoying process, I started focusing on performance (mainly impressing people) and product (doing everything right). The more I did this, the less open, curious, and joyful I was.

    Instead, I grew anxious, critical, and discouraged.

    I first remember developing perfectionist tendencies when I was in elementary school and taking piano lessons. For some reason, I got the idea that I had to perform songs perfectly, or else I was a failure.

    Eventually I became so anxious, I would freeze up while playing in recitals. I started hating piano, which I once had loved, and eventually quit.

    My perfectionism spread into other areas of my life, too. In school, I pushed myself to get straight A’s, and if I earned anything less, I felt like a failure. I often missed out on the joy of learning because I was so worried about getting things right.

    My perfectionism also negatively impacted my relationship with myself. I believed I had to look perfect all the time. As a result, I often hated the way I looked, rather than learning to appreciate my own unique appearance and beauty. I also remembering turning play into exercise at this time of my life and using it to pursue the “perfect” body.

    Movement, which I loved when I was a child, began to feel exhausting and punishing.

    Perfectionism also hurt my relationships with other people. I felt like I had to be smooth and put together and that I always had to put everyone else’s needs above my own. Not surprisingly, I often felt unconfident, anxious, and exhausted around other people.

    At this time in my life, I believed that if I tried and worked hard enough, I could do everything right, look perfect, and make everyone happy.

    My perfectionism increased in young adulthood until eventually it became unsustainable. In my early thirties, I became the principal of a small, private middle school where I had taught for eight years. I loved the school and was devoted to it.

    In many ways, I was the ideal person to do the job. But I was also young and inexperienced, and I made some big mistakes early on. I also made some decisions that were good and reasonable decisions that, for various reasons, angered a lot of people.

    To complicate matters, the year I became middle school principal, the school underwent a massive change in our school’s overall leadership, and we suffered a tragic death in the community. I worked as hard as I could to help my school through this difficult time, but things felt apart.

    My school, which had largely been a happy and joyful place, suddenly became filled with fighting, suspicion, and stress. These events were largely beyond my control and were not the fault of any one person, but I blamed myself. For someone who had believed her whole life that if she worked hard enough, she could avoid making mistakes and could make people happy, my job stress felt devastating.

    I felt like my life was spinning out of control and that all the rules that once worked no longer applied. I crashed emotionally, and I remember telling my husband at this time, “I will never be happy again.”

    That was one of the darkest times of my life.

    It took me several years to find happiness again. One of the major things that helped me to do so was recovering a sense of playfulness.

    After my emotional crash, I decided I was done with perfectionism. I understood clearly that focusing so much on avoiding mistakes and pleasing-people was the source of much of my suffering. 

    I realized I needed a different way to approach life.

    About this time, my friend Amy and I started taking fencing lessons together. I was quite bad at it, but it didn’t matter. Because I had given up perfectionism, I didn’t care anymore about impressing people at fencing class or performing perfect fencing moves.

    Instead, I cared about being present with myself in the process and staying open and curious, and focusing on joy.

    I had a blast. I felt free and alive, and something flickered to life inside me that had felt dormant for many years. I felt playful again. And I realized that I had been missing playfulness for many years, and that it was part of what had caused me to become so perfectionistic.

    Playfulness is the attitude we take toward life when we focus on presence and process with attitudes of openness, curiosity, and joy. Perfectionism, on the other hand, makes us focus on performance and product and encourages anxiety, criticalness, and discouragement.

    Fencing helped me rediscover play and leave perfectionism behind.

    I fully embraced my newfound playful attitude. It touched every area of my life, and I hungered for new adventures. I began reconnecting with dreams I had put on hold for a while. Eventually I decided to leave my job as a middle school principal and return to graduate school to earn my PhD in philosophy, a goal I’d had since seventh grade.

    Earning a PhD in philosophy may not seem like a very playful thing to do, but it was for me. For six years, I immersed myself in the ideas of great thinkers like Plato, Aristotle, Kant, Hegel, Rousseau, Herbert Marcuse, and Paulo Freire.

    It felt like I was playing on a big, philosophical playground. But I also faced some significant challenges.

    I was thirty-seven when I returned to grad school and was a good ten to fifteen years older than most of my colleagues. Most of them had a B.A. and even an M.A. in philosophy, while I had only taken one philosophy course in college. I had a lot of catching up to do, and I faced some major challenges.

    One of the biggest challenges I faced early on was our program’s comprehensive exams. We had two major exams over thousands of pages of some of the hardest philosophical works ever written. The exams were so difficult that at one point, they had over a fifty percent fail rate. If students didn’t pass them by the third time, the graduate school kicked them out of the program.

    I was determined to pass these comps and spent all my Christmas and summer breaks studying for them for the first several years of graduate school. But I still failed both exams the first time I took them, and I failed my second exam twice.

    It isn’t surprising I failed them, given the high fail rate for the exams and the fact that I was still learning philosophy. But it was painful. I had worked so hard, and I was afraid of getting kicked out of the program.

    I was tempted to revert to my old perfectionist habits because they had once given me a sense of control. But I knew that would lead me down a dead-end road. So, I began applying all the lessons I had learned about playfulness to the comprehensive exams.  

    Rather than focusing on performance and the product, I focused on presence and process. I also focused on practicing habits of openness, curiosity, and joy. Mentally, I compared the comps to shooting an arrow into the bull’s eye of a target. Every test, even if I failed it, was a chance to check my progress, readjust, and get closer to the bull’s eye.

    This turned the comprehensive exams into a game, and it lessened the pain of failing them. It helped me accept failure as a normal part of the process and to congratulate myself every time I made progress, no matter how small it was. This attitude also helped me focus on proactive, constructive steps I could take to do better, like meeting with faculty members or getting tutoring in areas I found especially challenging. (Aristotle’s metaphysics, anyone?)

    I also taught myself to juggle during this time. Juggling not only relieved stress, it was also a playful bodily reminder to me that progress takes time. Nobody juggles perfectly the first time they try. Juggling takes time and patience, and the more we focus on openness, curiosity, and the joy of juggling, the more juggling practice feels like a fun game. 

    I began thinking of passing my comps like juggling, and it helped me be more patient with the process. I eventually mastered the material and passed both my comps.

    Studying for the comps taught me to bring playfulness into all my work in graduate school.

    Whenever I felt stressed out in my program, I reminded myself that perfectionism was a dead-end road, and that playfulness was a much better approach. Doing this helped me relax, be kind to myself, accept failures as part of the learning process, and to take small consistent steps to improve.

    This playful attitude kept me sane and helped me make it to the finish line.

    Playfulness was so helpful for me in graduate school that I have tried to adopt this spirit of playfulness in all areas of my life, including the college classrooms in which I teach. I have noticed that whenever I help students switch from perfectionism to playfulness, they immediately relax, are kinder to themselves, and increase their ability to ask for help.

    I am dedicated now to practicing playfulness every day of my life and to help others do the same. Playfulness isn’t something we must leave behind in childhood. It is an attitude we can bring with us our whole life. When we do so, life becomes an adventure, even during difficult times, and there is always something more to learn, explore, and savor.

  • Free 7-Day Sleep Challenge: Meditations, Tips, and Tools for a Restful Night

    Free 7-Day Sleep Challenge: Meditations, Tips, and Tools for a Restful Night

    Does stress cause sleepless nights, or does a lack of sleep cause stress?

    Both have been true for me, especially since becoming a parent, and I’m guessing for you too.

    When life gets challenging, it’s hard to shut your brain off at night.

    You know it’s important to get a good night’s sleep. You know you feel better in the day when you’re well-rested. But it’s hard to relax, physically and mentally, when you have a lot on your mind. It’s like there’s a tornado inside your head, and all the sheep-counting in the world couldn’t pull you out.

    And when you haven’t gotten adequate rest, it’s hard to function and deal with, well, anything. You feel on edge, easily irritated, and perhaps both foggy and jittery—like you can’t think clearly, and yet you can’t stop thinking… because you have a lot to do and figure out, and you can’t afford to stop just because you’re tired.

    If you’ve experienced your share of restless nights and exhausted days, and you’d like to improve your sleep routine, I highly recommend the 7-Day Sleep Challenge, from Mindfulness.com.

    This challenge was designed to help you make good sleep a lasting habit so you can become a healthier, happier you.

    Led by mindfulness teacher and international speaker Cory Muscara, the challenge provides daily emails with practical advice to quickly improve your sleep, nightly audio coaching sessions, and a corresponding meditation for each, to guide your mind and body toward better rest.

    This FREE 7-Day Sleep Challenge is for you if:

    • You can’t go to sleep at night, and you wake up tired
    • You wake up in the middle of the night and lie there for hours trying to get back to sleep
    • You feel reactive throughout the day and small things set you off
    • You don’t have the energy to do the things you enjoy
    • You frequently complain about lack of focus and poor memory
    • You are ready to make good sleep a habit

    Benefits of Better Sleep

    When we get the recommended seven-plus hours of sleep, we enjoy a wide range of benefits:

    • Increased focus and productivity
    • Strengthened immune system
    • Lower risk of heart disease and stroke
    • Decreased risk of diabetes
    • Improved memory
    • Decreased stress, anxiety, and depression
    • Balances excessive weight fluctuations
    • Decreased risk of chronic diseases

    Life is just plain better when you’re well-rested.

    You feel calmer, more energized, and better able to focus and enjoy your day, and you’re far less likely to say and do things you’ll  later regret. Which means good sleep not only boosts your physical and mental health, it can also improve your relationships.

    And odds are you’ll also feel better about yourself when you’re showing up as the person you want to be—not an easily irritated zombie who can’t wait to collapse into bed (only to toss, turn, and stress about how few hours you have left to sleep before another draining day).

    Ready to sleep your way to a healthier, happier you? Click here to take the FREE 7-Day Sleep Challenge and get the tools you need to wind down and fall asleep more easily and get the restorative rest you need to be your best!

  • Shoutout to Those with Anxiety and Trust Issues

    Shoutout to Those with Anxiety and Trust Issues

  • Easing Anxiety: How Painting Helps Me Stop Worrying

    Easing Anxiety: How Painting Helps Me Stop Worrying

    “Our anxiety does not come from thinking about the future, but from wanting to control it.” ~Kahlil Gibran

    Anxiety has followed me around like a lost dog looking for a bone for years now.

    I feel it the most acutely when I’m worried about my health or my daughter’s health. I notice a strange rash or feel an unusual sensation and all of a sudden: panic!

    My worries are not limited to health concerns though, and my ruminations go in the direction of dread about the future of the world, worries about my finances, and fears that I’m not good enough.

    Is my anxiety warranted? My mind tells me it is.

    “Remember how you had that bad reaction to a medication? It could happen again!”

    “You know how your daughter had that febrile seizure two years ago? You never know what could happen next!”

    “Think back to that time you and your family had a slow winter and were extremely worried about money. That could be just around the corner!”

    And on and on my mind goes. I know I shouldn’t believe what it tells me, but sometimes I get sucked under and can’t help it.

    I don’t think I was anxious like this when I was a kid. I think these underpinnings of nervousness started when I was older, probably my late twenties. I suppose by then I’d lived enough life to know that things can and do go wrong.

    I don’t like feeling anxious. I don’t like the way my body feels jangly and my mind races. I don’t like it when I can’t focus on the thing I’m supposed to be doing.

    But this is not a sad story, it’s a story of tiny improvements and little steps forward. It’s a journey of finding peace in the middle of a storm.

    For me that peace began with painting.

    Let me go back a few decades, back to when anxiety wasn’t part of my life. When I was a child, I loved art. I drew, I colored, I took extra art classes on the weekends because that’s what I enjoyed.

    I went to college to become an art teacher, switching to a graphic design track later. When I finished school in May of 2001, I had a part-time design job, and after the events of September 2001, I knew I needed to travel, to get out of the safe life I was living in my hometown.

    That’s when my creative practices fell by the wayside. I would never give up those years of travel and camping and working random jobs, but when I look back, I see this is where I stopped making art.

    Luckily, after the birth of my daughter in 2014, the desire to create came roaring back. At first, I was using a tiny corner of a bedroom in our small mountaintop rental house to paint. Eventually we bought a house, and I had the space to spread out, to keep my supplies on top of my desk, ready to paint whenever the urge struck.

    That’s when I started noticing something important: Painting stilled me in a way that nothing else did. It eased my fears and anxieties in a way other practices (deep breathing, meditating) did not, at least not as consistently.

    Painting is my peaceful place. Painting brings me directly into the moment, quickly and easily. You know how you’re supposed to stay mindful and present? That’s what painting does for me, no tips or tricks or timers or mantras needed.

    Yes, I use other methods to quell my anxiety, but painting is my absolute favorite. I get to bring forth something new. I get to flow with wherever the brush takes me. I get to be still inside while the rest of the world drops away, all while allowing something beautiful to emerge.

    When anxious thoughts start to swirl, I know what to do. I head into my studio, grab some materials, and start creating. Soon enough, the spiraling worries are gone and instead my mind is quiet.

    Even if you aren’t artistic, even if you don’t have a creative bone in your body, I still think you can achieve the stillness I achieve when painting. You might not have a brush in your hand, though!

    First things first: If you struggle with anxiety, you should seek the help of a licensed professional. As helpful as painting is, I also see a counselor, and the tools she’s given me are absolutely priceless.

    Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, here are the other ways I think stillness and peace can be found, even if you’re not meditating or breathing deeply while counting to ten.

    Think back to what brought you joy and the feeling of flow when you were a child. Maybe for you it was playing sports or a musical instrument; writing your own sketches or training your dog to roll over. Whatever it was, look for ways to add more of it back into your life now.

    Start paying attention to your life as an adult and what activities make you forget about the time. When are you fully immersed? When do you fully let go? Maybe it’s during a yoga or meditation class, but maybe it’s when you’re preparing a meal for your family or writing up a budget for work.

    Still your mind any time you remember. I do this now, especially when I’m not painting. I know that a still mind releases my anxiety, and I also know I can’t paint all hours of the day. Simply noticing the feeling of my body on the chair below me or listening to the sounds in the room around me helps my mind to quiet.

    I think the reason painting is so helpful for my anxiety is that, in order for me to be anxious, I have to be worrying about the future and what it holds. When I’m doing an activity that requires my full concentration, I have to be in the moment; there is no other choice.

    All of the practices that we can use to find calm, whether it’s changing our thoughts, following our breath, repeating a prayer or mantra, they all rely on the same thing: bringing our presence to the now.

    What activity brings you into the now? What makes you feel fully alive and entwined with the moment? It doesn’t matter if you’re artistic. It doesn’t matter if you like making things. The only thing that matters is finding a way to be here, in the now, instead of in the unknowable future.

    **Artwork by the author, Jen Picicci

  • 10 Quotes You Need to Read If You Struggle with Anxiety

    10 Quotes You Need to Read If You Struggle with Anxiety

    Have you ever received well-intentioned advice while facing intense anxiety, only to feel judged, misunderstood, or condescended?

    Like, “Calm down!” Or “Just be positive!” Or “Don’t worry so much!”

    The people who try to help generally want to do just that, but it’s always easier to advise someone when you’re not feeling what they’re feeling, because you have the benefit of rational thought—which goes out the window when fight-or-flight mode takes over.

    And if you’ve never felt the depth of anxiety some of us experience—perhaps because you weren’t conditioned that way through trauma, or you’ve learned to block or resist your emotions—it’s hard to truly understand what it’s like or what it takes to get through it.

    This is why I have appreciated reading stories and advice from people who’ve been there and truly get what it’s like. People who are intimately familiar with anxiety’s blood-pumping, heart-racing, mind-spiraling madness, and have both empathy and insight to offer.

    Reading about their experiences and what’s been helpful to them always makes me feel a little less alone and a lot better equipped to handle the tornados in my head and my heart.

    With this in mind, I decided to amass a collection of powerful quotes from anxiety posts through the years. I hope something here provides you with the same peace and comfort these thoughts have offered me!

    10 Quotes You Need to Read If You Struggle with Anxiety

    1. “Without a doubt, the most important thing to remember is that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed and stressed out. It’s okay to feel lost and unsure. It’s alright to have no idea how you’re going to hold it together sometimes. We put so much pressure on ourselves to be happy all the time. It’s okay to acknowledge when times are tough. It’s alright to feel anxious, even if it’s uncomfortable.” ~Ilene S. Cohen (from When You Feel Bad About Feeling Sad and Anxious)

     2.”When you observe your thoughts, you’re able to choose which to believe and which to let pass. You can choose not to believe that someone else meant to hurt you, that you did something wrong, or you deserve to be judged. You can see these thoughts as nothing more than knee-jerk reactions to a perceived offense, and not reflections of reality or ideas you need to let influence your state of mind.” ~Kimberly Diaz-Rosso (from How to Stop Dwelling: A Simple Practice to Let Go of Anxious Thoughts)

    3. “When you feel like running or fleeing, it’s time to face your fear with courage. Although our automatic response is often to run away, numb our feelings, or somehow distract ourselves, escaping only temporarily relieves anxiety. Fear will return, possibly in a different form, until you choose to confront it with kindness.” ~Carly Hamilton-Jones (from How to Tackle Fear and Anxiety, Cognitively, Behaviorally, and Spiritually)

    4. “No matter how close to home anxiety hits, there is always a lie hiding in it somewhere. Maybe it’s based on a false belief. Maybe the problem doesn’t have to be dealt with as immediately as it feels. Maybe there are options we haven’t considered. But anxiety always—always—contains a lie. It might be big and in-our-face, or it could be small, tricky, and subtle. Look hard enough and we will uncover it… Finding the lie takes the teeth out of the anxiety.” ~Jason Large (from 4 Life-Changing Lessons for People Who Struggle with Anxiety)

    5. “Instead of stuffing down your depression, anxiety, shame, loneliness—or whatever emotion you’re tempted to resist—ask yourself: What message is it trying to send to me? What would I do differently in my life if I listened to this emotion instead of suppressing it?” ~Kelly Martin (from How Embracing and Loving My “Negative Emotions” Helped Me Heal)

    6. “‘I need to be doing something right now.’ This is an incredibly subtle belief that most of us don’t even realize we are holding onto. It stems from our obsession with productivity and achievement, and it manifests as a constant, itching discontent. Though our ego tricks us into believing we need this feeling to get things done, when we can let it go, we see a lot of our anxiety dissolves and our relaxation deepens. We’re also much more likely to enjoy what we need to do without the constant internal pressure of feeling that what we’re doing in this moment is never enough.” ~Benjamin Fishel (from 9 Beliefs You Have to Let Go if You Want to Find Inner Peace)

    7. “When we draw conclusions about a situation without checking the facts first, we can escalate it into a full-blown crisis in our minds. In other words, our negative thinking can spiral out of control, rapidly increasing our anxiety, unnecessarily. That’s called globalizing. How we think about our circumstances can make all the difference in the level of stress we feel.” ~Paula Jones (from To Reduce Stress, Stop Globalizing and Put Things in Perspective)

    8.“Eventually, it passes. It always does. We are left feeling drained or numb or depressed or ashamed. I tend to get angry… We recover, though, and that’s exactly why people who have panic attacks are warriors. We fight battles every day. We know the nature of The Beast. We don’t always know when he’ll strike, but we know that we will survive whatever he throws at us. We’ve faced death in our own way, and it hasn’t beaten us yet. We survived the last panic attack, and we’ll survive the next one. We have no choice.” ~Haley West (from Inside a Panic Attack: What It’s Like When Anxiety Strikes)

     9. “Our primal brain is wired to seek pleasure and avoid pain; and anxiety is often caused by worrying about the potential pain that we might feel in the future. Sometimes we’re so afraid of emotional pain and loss that we forget that they can’t physically harm us. And this is where the saying ‘make peace with discomfort’ will serve you very well, because your ability to be uncomfortable is directly related to your ability to be a relaxed person. Sometimes we assume that we need to be comfortable in order to be relaxed. But sometimes being relaxed simply means feeling uncomfortable and being okay with that. The more discomfort you’re able to tolerate, the less you’ll worry about preventing it from happening.” ~Kari Dahlgren (from 3 Ways to Stop Worrying and Feel Less Anxious)

    10. “In the middle of uncertainty-induced anxiety, our vision narrows, literally and metaphorically. Fight-or-flight takes over and our vision literally focuses sharply while our brain diverts resources to survival, leaving no energy for creative problem-solving. So, relax. Know that this is what is happening and remind yourself that there are options that you can’t possibly see right now. Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Acknowledge that there is a whole lot that you don’t know that you don’t know—and that some of those unknown, currently unforeseeable options will make you very, very happy.” ~Dr. Amy Johnson (from How to Feel Less Stressed About the Uncertain Future)

    —

    Which of these quotes resonated most strongly with you? And are there other quotes you’ve found particularly comforting or helpful?

  • What Happened When I Stopped Drinking Alcohol Every Night

    What Happened When I Stopped Drinking Alcohol Every Night

    “First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.” ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

    I love Sophia Loren. There’s a picture of her in my home looking eternally youthful and refreshed. From what I’ve been told, it’s due to her nine to ten hours of sleep each night.

    When I look at this picture, I see someone who revels in the delights of life. Food, laughter, sex, work, motherhood, and self-care. Not long ago I stared at that picture thinking, “How could I admire someone so much and live my life in such a different way from hers?”

    Have you heard of the halo effect? It’s when you do the things you know are right for your body, mind, and spirit, and in doing so you begin to exude this powerfully beautiful and enticing energy others can’t get enough of. I now realize my relationship with the daily habit of alcohol was actually diminishing the glow of my halo. It was essentially stealing my joy, time, money, looks, well-being, and especially my slumber.

    Who knew that for so long my beauty sleep was being hijacked by alcohol!

    Puffy face, dark circles, dry mouth, red eyes, weight gain, and not to mention the headache, elevated heartbeat, anxiety… these are just a few of the lovely side effects I experienced with overindulging in the bottle.

    In trying to reduce overwhelm, I inadvertently was fueling it through interrupted sleep and the fuzzy feeling the following day. 

    Do I think alcohol is bad or that drinking is off-limits? No.

    I do know for myself that the daily two, sometimes three, glasses of wine took a toll. It stole any type of focus and motivation the next day to follow through on all the things I said I would accomplish the night before, basking in the embrace of my main squeeze, Mr. P (Pinot Noir, that is.)

    My relationship with alcohol was stealing my ability to step into the life I claimed to desire.

    I wanted to release weight.

    I wanted to make more money.

    I wanted to write my book.

    Until I released the hold Mr. P had on me, I knew deep down I would never come close to achieving any of those dreams.

    Every morning I wake up and ask myself three things:

    1. How do I want to feel today?
    2. What is one thing I can do to love myself today?
    3. What can I give to others today?

    My answer to #2 was often…

    “Drink more water.”

    “Start weight training.”

    “Let go of gluten.”

    The truth was the one true voice within was quietly and patiently saying day after day, “Take a break from alcohol.”

    I just wasn’t ready to listen.

    A phone call eventually prompted an experiment in courage.

    For ninety days I promised a friend I would join her on an alcohol reset. After I hung up that fateful Sunday, I went to the calendar to mark the ninetieth day. Immediately fear crept in with thoughts like “You’ve tried this before, and it didn’t work” and “You won’t even make it through tonight.”

    Fortunately, in that moment, something other than myself took over. It was as if I was whisked into something beyond my own comprehension, because the next 120 days flew by. In fact, after day twenty-one I stopped counting. I no longer was ticking off the calendar to when I could finally have a drink. Why? Probably because I knew in my heart the steady drip of wine each night was simply not serving me, my purpose, my body, or my pocketbook.

    Why was this time different? Because I looked at it as something I “got” to do rather than “had” to do. I viewed it as a gift rather than a cleanse.

    What is on the other side of a toxic relationship with alcohol? More than I could imagine. Every morning I wake up and think, “I am so lucky.” It’s as though I’ve captured more time in my day, and each moment holds a sense of sacredness.

    I’ve seen sunrises by candlelight, baked banana bread before bed, and gotten more done by 8am than I ever did after 5pm.

    I’ve finished a Netflix show without falling asleep… and actually remembered what I watched.

    I’ve released twenty pounds.

    I wake up hydrated.

    My skin seems to have reversed in time a la Benjamin Button.

    The list goes on and on.

    The other day my mother gave me a compliment that made me cry… in a good way.

    She said, “You know, it’s like your skin, your hair… you look like you used to look when you were younger.”

    For so long I was using wine to push down the unwanted feelings of anxiety and overwhelm. While I thought I was “taking the edge off,” I was actually making myself edgy!

    These days, I plan my fun based on how I want to feel the next morning. What I’ve discovered is that taking a break from happy hour can literally transform not only the other twenty-four hours of your day but your life as well.

    When you have enough energy and vitality to embrace the day, you start to find little miracles everywhere in the form of simple pleasures, a pleasant conversation with a friend, or a moment that might have sent you into a tailspin… but now you breathe through it with patience and grace.

    People often ask me, “Do you ever have a glass of wine… ever?”

    Probably every two weeks or so if I am being social (and socially distancing) with family or friends. Do I enjoy it? Yes and no. In fact, the few times I have had a glass or two, it no longer held any energy for me. It’s now a “take it or leave it” kind of thing.

    In fact, it’s as if moderation moves you toward abstinence.

    Why? Because I am no longer willing to sacrifice how good I feel the next morning for alcohol.

    I also revel in the reduction of anxiety! Why would I want to go back to something that was creating the exact experience that was causing me to emotionally suffer?

    Yes, there are people who can drink daily and function fine, and there are those who can’t drink at all. And then there are people like me who know alcohol isn’t the kind of friend they want to hang out with every day but perhaps in very small doses every so often.

    Drinking is marketed as sexy, elegant, and unifying.

    Is slurring your words sexy? Is stumbling out of a restaurant elegant? Is not remembering the conversation you had with a friend unifying?

    The reality for me was alcohol made me feel drained, grumpy, and even a wee bit nauseous. How you feel is creating your day and, in essence, your life. So, if you feel cluttered and haphazard waking up, you are creating a cluttered and haphazard day. 

    I used to wake up and run to the kitchen. Waiting for me was the one thing that would decide if I needed to beat myself up or pat myself on the back. Like the scale, the opened bottle of wine oftentimes determined if I was “good” or “bad” the previous day.

    Only one-fourth of the bottle left? Bad girl!

    Three-quarters left? Good girl!

    So much time, energy, and thinking put into the act of drinking!

    In the end, bedtime is the best of all.

    Four hours of alcohol-free sleep is WAY more rejuvenating than nine hours of alcohol-infused sleep. Waking up feeling your body buzzing (in a good way!) is the best high of all.

    If your inner voice is asking for a break, maybe it’s time to listen.

    Sweet dreams.

  • How to Make Everything Easier by Accepting the Present Moment

    How to Make Everything Easier by Accepting the Present Moment

    “The power of now can only be realized now. It requires no time and effort. Effort means you’re trying hard to get somewhere and so you are not present, welcoming this moment as it is.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    Eight years ago, I was very depressed. I wanted nothing more than to stop feeling this way and dreamed of escaping my body. I had struggled with depression for many years, and I was terrified that I might feel that way forever.

    Someone recommended I do a mindfulness-based course. This turned out to be the one of the most helpful parts of my journey. The therapist suggested I needed to learn to sit with my feelings instead of resisting them, but this terrified me. I was afraid of my feelings, and I thought that accepting them meant accepting they would be there forever.

    But as I practiced the skills of mindfulness and distress tolerance, I noticed that when I accepted my emotions they often shifted more easily. Or at least I didn’t make them worse by worrying about them. I realized that I had been making the depression and anxiety worse by resisting my feelings.

    Connect to the Present Moment

    I’m guessing this is a common struggle, and the solution can feel counter-intuitive. Many people fear that if they let themselves feel their emotions they will be taken over by them. However, when I make space for my emotions without acting on them, sometimes there is pain and I might cry, but it is a clean pain rather than a mental anguish, and it doesn’t last as long.

    I also find that connecting to the present moment helps me create a little space in my mind when my thoughts start stressing me out.

    It’s easy to get caught up thinking about the past, worrying about the future, or wishing the future would hurry up and arrive. When I notice this happening now, I ground myself in the present moment by listening to the sounds around me, noticing my feet touching the ground and my breath flowing in and out, and I feel calmer.

    Observe Your Thoughts and Emotions

    I’ve learned to observe my thoughts instead of attaching a story to them. Emotions can’t last forever on their own. I heard that the natural lifespan of an emotion is about ninety seconds. But we can keep them alive for longer by thinking about them, being afraid of them, and resisting them. Emotions, like everything else in life, come and go.

    Once I had the ability to create distance from my thoughts and not be consumed by my emotions, I was able to take action to make my life better, even when I didn’t feel like it. I did my best to embrace life as it was instead of focusing on how I would like it to be.

    This doesn’t mean I didn’t still struggle at times, but embracing the present moment helps me get through these times more constructively. I don’t think my relationship with my partner would have worked if I hadn’t already started learning these skills before we met.

    Stop Resisting the Present

    Fast forward a few years and I am in Colombia, South America, where my partner is from. I was visiting his family when Covid-19 hit.

    Like many people, I no longer had the freedom and independence that I was used to. Instead of living in the city like we had expected, we were staying in his parents’ town, and my partner was working from home. I didn’t have the option to join a Spanish class or get a job like I had planned, and at times I felt lost. After six months of this I was getting desperate, but I couldn’t travel home to Australia even if I wanted to.

    During a tearful conversation, my partner suggested that maybe I was resisting the situation too much. There was nothing we could do about it, and I was just making it worse for myself by resisting reality.

    The next day my sister suggested I read The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle. It totally changed my perspective. I was reminded that in the present moment in front of me everything was actually okay. It was when I thought about the future that I got into a dark place.

    Stop the Mental Time Traveling

    Just like when I was depressed, I thought, “I can’t take this anymore! How long is this going to go on?” And just like then, when I accepted the current situation it didn’t seem as bad. I started to enjoy the free time and relish my time there knowing that nothing lasts forever, good or bad.

    I read books, did yoga, lay in the hammock, and studied Spanish. These were all the things that I was doing before, but it felt different. I wasn’t resisting being in Colombia anymore, I was just there. I stopped wishing to be back home or worrying how long it would be. And that allowed me to enjoy the beautiful, unique things about that season.

    I slowed down and let myself stare up at the trees and listen to the birds. I enjoyed the chance to get to know my in-laws and my fiancé’s culture. Sometimes now, when I stop and listen to the silence, I feel a deep sense of peace and joy.

    Take Action When You Can

    Now, if there had been something that I could have done to change things, of course I would have done it. I’m not advocating for passive submission or fatalism. Sometimes we need to take action, set boundaries, and be proactive. In fact, when you stop resisting the present it allows you to see things as they truly are. This can empower you to focus on the actions you can take right now rather than focusing on the future.

    But when there is nothing we can do, accepting this present moment is often more powerful than worrying about all the moments to come. You’ll know what to do when the time to act arrives.

    Surrendering Saves Energy

    If you are struggling with a situation that you can’t control, can you come back to your body and what is around you here and now? Can you make space for any emotions that are present and allow them to move through you? Focus on the one breath you are taking right now. What can you feel, see, smell, taste, and hear?

    Surrendering to the present is like floating on your back instead of thrashing around in the water trying to get out. Trust that eventually you will drift safely to shore. This not only saves energy, it allows you to enjoy any positives in your current situation, because just like the difficult things the good things won’t last forever either. The present moment is all we have, and in a way it’s all that is real.

    It’s a Practice

    I’m not naive enough to think that I won’t have any more bad days. That’s part of being human, especially when we’re tired, hormonal, or stressed. I may forget this lesson and need to learn it again in a new context. I suspect it’s something I will be practicing for the rest of my life, and that’s okay. But I hope that next time I will be able to catch myself a little sooner when I am resisting instead of simply being in the present moment—where I inevitably find peace.

  • How to Make Sense of the Anxiety That Comes with Being a Parent

    How to Make Sense of the Anxiety That Comes with Being a Parent

    “You must first teach a child he is loved. Only then is he ready to learn everything else.” ~Amanda Morgan

    If I had a nickel for every parent who asked me, “So, if we do (…insert a strategy they have been given…), can we know for sure that he won’t have to deal with (…insert list of problems here …) when he grows up?”

    Sadly, there are no nickels for hearing the question, nor guarantees to offer anxious parent. In fact, parental anxiety exists largely because life has no guarantees.

    Nevertheless, the question in itself is worth considering.

    So let’s look at it. Essentially, every parent wants to know “What should we be doing to guarantee that our child is a ‘successful’ adult who won’t have to experience avoidable pain and suffering?”

    Let that sink in.

    Of course, we want to have this reassurance.

    Of course, we want our children to never have to experience the pain and suffering that we know are possible in life.

    And, of course, we want to do what we can, proactively, to help them avoid the pitfalls.

    But can we?

    It’s September 2020 and as I write this, I am highly aware that my only child was born twenty-five years ago tomorrow. I’m a bit melancholic.

    Twenty-five years ago today, I was preparing for my maternity leave from a workplace I thoroughly enjoyed, providing mental health care to children, teens, and their families. I put in extra hours when it was needed, not out of a sense of obligation, but because it was truly inspiring, meaningful work and I felt blessed for having the opportunity to do it.

    And I had a plan! I would take the maximum six months paid maternity leave, but after that, I would be returning to this wonderfully demanding job. I would find quality childcare. All would be well.

    But that plan changed when I met her.

    Due to complications, I was not conscious for her birth and so, when I met her, two hours later, she was asleep. I couldn’t have been more dumbfounded if I had woken up to a pink, polka dotted dancing elephants in my hospital room.

    She was in an incubator at the foot of my bed, wrapped all in pink with a little pink knitted hat on her tiny head. It was a girl! And I was in awe. And completely in love.

    In that moment, though I didn’t quite know it yet, my plans were going to change. 

    My doctor stopped by on her rounds the next morning.

    “Any baby blues?” she asked.

    “Does crying during the Freedom 55 commercial count? You know the one where they show you that little girl being born, grow up, and then she’s bringing her children to visit her mother?”

    She laughed. “You’ve got more than a few years before you’re worrying about that, Judith!”

    “Ah. Then, no. We’re good,” I muttered.

    But was I?

    In those earliest of days, as I waited for us to be discharged from hospital, my whole experience of who I was and what mattered to me inexorably changed. My only priority was to care for her. And, so long as I was conscious, I could put my arms around her and meet her every need!

    In the end, I took an eleven-month maternity leave and then quit my much loved, but demanding job. I negotiated part-time contract work that was financially and practically workable and did not require “extra” time.  And that was that.

    By the time she was starting pre-school, I turned my career back to working with children because, beyond enjoying working with children, I could learn strategies for “how to be a better parent” through my work. And my experience as a parent contributed to improving the quality of my work with the children and their families.  This was a win-win.

    What came to matter most was making sure my daughter was protected, safe, and had everything she ever needed to be a happy, successful, competent, confident, independent, compassionate, kind, loved adult. My efforts in all other areas of my life were guided by this intention.

    If I took time for meditating, it was to be able to be more present with her.

    If I continued with my music lessons, it was to be an example to her of how leisure and learning are lifelong pursuits and part of a balanced life.

    I read self-help books to help me navigate my role as a parent in the most responsible way.

    I did some things well. Really well! At other times, I messed up and then apologized and made things right.

    I know I will continue to do well sometimes. And not so well at other times. I will continue to be a fallible human mother in a relationship with her fallible human child.

    And now she’s twenty-five years old. She has finished her post-secondary program. She has loving friends and family. She has skills and talents. She has my full support when she wants or needs it.

    And despite everything I know, have learned, and done, I still cannot guarantee that she won’t experience pain and suffering in her life.  

    At this point, like her peers, she is trying to launch into an adult life during a global pandemic.  And it’s hard.  But, as hard as it is for her, it is equally hard for me to witness.  While I can still put my arms around her, I can no longer meet her every need.  And no matter what either or us do, there are no guarantees.

    So, my answer to that golden question is:  No. There are no guarantees that any of the strategies we use will give our children lives free of struggles, challenges, pain, and strife.

    At the end of the day, there is only one thing that will really matter. It’s whether or not we’ve had a healthy relationship with them in which they have felt truly safe and loved.

    A relationship in which they know they can choose to turn to us for love and support during those inevitably painful times in life, knowing we will be there. Holding a safe space. Arms open wide ready to hold them.

    And when we’re no longer able to be in this life with them, that they can have the deep imprint of love through the lived experience of the secure, safe, honest relationship they had with us.

    How do we do this?

    By showing up.

    By getting things right.

    By getting things wrong.

    By making apologies and making amends.

    By creating a relationship in which they feel seen, heard, understood and loved. For who they are. Not for who we expect them to be.

    When I think of my daughter and her upcoming birthday, I immediately see a little bundle wrapped in pink. And I smile. She’ll be okay.

  • How Marijuana Was Great for My Anxiety and Why I Stopped Using It

    How Marijuana Was Great for My Anxiety and Why I Stopped Using It

    “When solving problems, dig at the root instead of just hacking at the leaves.” ~Anthony J. D’Angelo

    This is an account of my experience using marijuana as a device to help my anxiety, why I’m glad I had it, and why I no longer need it.

    This story isn’t an advocation for or against smoking pot. It’s a story to shed some insight into how and why it helped certain ailments and my journey to lasting change without it.

    How Smoking Pot Helped My Anxiety

    For most of my life I was a closet anxiety sufferer.

    That’s mostly because I didn’t have a label for how I felt until I was thirty.

    My anxiety brought insomnia, tension headaches, stomach problems, and social anxiety in addition to the swirl of bees that lived in my chest.

    One symptom that drove me nuts was incessant queasiness. In my twenties I dated a guy who smoked pot, so I gave it a try to see if it would help my stomach. And it helped. A lot.

    Then I noticed it helped me fall asleep.

    It helped with my ADD by letting me focus on my work when I was coding (nerd alert!) or doing something creative.

    It helped my social anxiety by loosening my worry and fear over other people’s judgments.

    When I felt anxious, upset, sad, or angry, it dulled the negative emotions down and helped take the edge off, which sometimes was enough to give me the space to get some perspective.

    It eased my tension headaches.

    It gave me something to do on boring days.

    It made doing chores less laborious.

    I came to rely on it. If we were running low, I would start to get anxious. If I ran out, I would have anxiety attacks. I felt like I needed it to get through the day.

    I went from occasionally smoking to smoking morning, noon, and night (and in the middle of the night when I couldn’t get back to sleep).

    I told myself that this was perfectly acceptable. It was my medicine. I needed it. It was a way of life. That it wasn’t like I was smoking cigarettes, so it was totally fine.

    Pot helped.

    But only in the moment.

    Why Smoking Pot Didn’t Really Help My Anxiety

    What pot didn’t do for me was fix my anxiety. It didn’t make it go away; it just eased it a bit temporarily. It wasn’t helping me get to the root of my problem, and that’s why I needed to keep going back to it.

    It was helping the symptoms of anxiety, not the cause.

    Anxiety caused stomach problems and tension headaches. Pot helped with that.

    Anxiety made my mind jump all over the place when I tried to sleep or focus. Pot helped slow the erratic surge of thoughts.

    Anxiety made me nervous around other people. Pot took the edge off.

    I didn’t like how any negative emotions felt in my body, so I jumped to numb the feeling in the quickest and easiest way I knew how. Smoking pot.

    It became such a habit that the idea of not having this crutch at my immediate disposal caused me stress.

    Day after day, year after year, the anxiety was still there. So I kept needing my crutch.

    That is, until I decided I wanted to walk on my own. I reached the realization that I wanted to solve this problem, not manage it.

    That meant I needed to get to the bottom of it.

    Why Did I Have Anxiety in the First Place?

    I didn’t know I had anxiety for most of my life. It was just how I felt. I figured some people were either lucky that they were happy and carefree, or they were faking it.

    It just didn’t seem like it was in the cards for me. I felt like this was just how I was born.

    I grew up in a “suck it up” kind of family, so we didn’t talk about our emotions. I never really saw my parents showing me a healthy way to share feelings, so I didn’t have something to model after.

    What I did see were people being made fun of for being emotionally vulnerable. I thought it was weak to show people that you are hurting.

    But through a lot of inner work, I was able to start breaking down what was causing my anxiety.

    My social anxiety and fear of being found out as a fraud at work (aka imposter syndrome) stemmed from a long-held belief of not being good enough.

    Doing some reflection on my past, the “suck it up” environment I grew up in led to being made fun of a lot as the youngest kid. I internalized this and turned it into a belief that I held onto for decades.

    This limiting belief came out as fear. Fear of disappointing others. Fear of failure. Fear of not being liked. Fear of making a wrong decision.

    This accounted for a lot of my anxieties.

    The stress response—aka the fight or flight response—has two sides. Flight = fear. Fight = anger. So I held a lot of anger too. I was so quick to anger and judgment. And I held onto it for a long time whether it was being cut off in traffic, or when my mother left when I was fourteen.

    Anger is a defense mechanism. It’s triggered when you feel threatened in some way. And I always felt threatened.

    Years of anxiety will plague the body. Constantly triggering one’s stress response wreaks havoc on the immune system, digestive system, your heart, mind and whole body.

    So that explained all my symptoms.

    Smoking pot helped the symptoms. It didn’t help me overcome my long-held belief that I wasn’t good enough.

    How I Overcame Anxiety Once and for All

    What I really needed was to change my relationship with my thoughts. To do that, I first had to learn the important lesson that you are not your thoughts.

    This is a core concept in meditation, which is one of the biggest tools that helped me relate differently to my thoughts.

    When I first came across this concept, I didn’t get it. “If I’m not my thoughts, then what am I?” I came to learn that thoughts are just ideas, just sentences floating through the brain like clouds in the sky. They come. They go. They change shape.

    I, me, myself—that is who gets to choose which thoughts to hold onto, which ones to believe. There is a me beyond the thoughts.

    Once this idea started to ring true, that’s when change began. When I was fearful of what other people thought of me, I needed to dive into why.

    Instead of allowing these fearful thoughts to run through my head on autopilot, believing the things they said to be true, I was able to stop, step back, and challenge them.

    So instead of catastrophizing every situation, I could take the time to ask and honestly answer questions like “What’s the worst that could happen?” And to that, I could follow up with “How will I cope with that worst-case scenario if it actually happened?”

    I learned I was much more capable of dealing with adversity than I had ever given myself credit for.

    Stopping Wasn’t Easy

    Marijuana may not be chemically addicting like many drugs. But it can be very psychologically and habitually addicting.

    Years of anxiety meant that I’d developed a lot of unconscious triggers to feeling anxious. That meant sometimes the symptoms of anxiety would come up without me knowing exactly why.

    Anytime I felt a little queasy, or even too full. Seeing smoke or even hearing the word. Getting home from work. Feeling any amount of stress or afflictive emotions. Boredom. Going to any social gathering. Celebrations.

    Whenever I was triggered physically—like feeling my heart racing or tightness in my chest—I would freak out and jump to ease the discomfort as quickly as possible.

    Part of my work to overcome anxiety was paradoxically to allow myself to feel it without fighting it.

    Just like the Buddhist story of the two arrows. Getting hit with an arrow hurts, of course. But in life, things happen and sometimes hurt.

    Lamenting it, saying how this should never have happened, wallowing in how much I hate that this happened and how much I want it to end—that’s like getting hit with a second arrow.

    Fighting against reality causes unnecessary suffering. Like trying to pull your fingers out of a Chinese finger trap—you get stuck even more. I found that peacefully recognizing the discomfort, saying hello, allowing it to pass through was all much more effective than taking a hit off my bowl.

    And over time, these feelings of anxiety from unknown sources became less and less, and getting through them became easier and easier.

    I’m glad I had pot as a device to help with my anxiety for the time that I had it. It gave me relief. It let me experience moments of peace. For me it was a stepping-stone on a journey I didn’t realize I was on.

    But once I recognized that my anxiety wasn’t improving, that I needed to put in some work to take my life to the next level, that’s when I knew it was time to take the leap into the unknown without my crutch.

    I stumbled for a hot minute, then got up on my own two feet. I now look back at my life in phases—the “old” me and the “new” me.

    The “old” me would have been a nervous wreck to admit any of this story to the world. She would have written it while high. She would have freaked out when she ran out of her stash.

    The “new” me writes this with the confidence that I know my message will land with some people, while others may not like it or even care to read this far, but I don’t worry about what people think anymore. I’ve tackled my “not good enough” inner bully. She still makes a peep here or there, but I now know how to listen without judgement and then go about my day.

    For full transparency and honesty, I still dabble occasionally from time to time. But not because I need it and not because I’m anxious and running away from my feelings, rather, it’s like enjoying a nice glass of wine.

  • 3 Ways My Anxiety Has Helped Me Love Better

    3 Ways My Anxiety Has Helped Me Love Better

    “Quiet people have the loudest minds.” ~Dr. Stephen Hawking

    I have wonderful family and friends and have always hoped that I would pass along a helpful legacy. Lessons for them to remember, memories to smile about, and love to lean into during hard times. For years, though, it seemed like the biggest thing I was passing down to my exhausted wife, flustered and at times terrified kids, and friends was my struggles with anxiety.

    As my anxiety grew and the panic attacks came, I grew apart from those I needed the most. Hard for a son and wife to connect to a dad that acts like a bear coming out of hibernation. Grumpy and pissed off. Looking for a fight. Friends being ignored because the alcohol was effortless and it made no demands.

    My home was not what it should have been, but unfortunately it was what I made it. Expecting the teen to be an adult just like my parents expected of me. Home to a wife who feels she can barely hold the family together and walks on eggshells when she really needs comfort. Friends cut out because they refused to be an on-call counselor.

    But things changed. As I healed myself through intense counseling and self-care practices, I started to close that gap in family relationships and build a bridge. A bridge built on self-care and self-love. I started to reconnect with friends and be a better listener. I learned that I could give love only after I loved myself.

    The struggles with alcohol and bullying that I once cursed became a blessing. I discovered they gave me plenty to share and a potentially wonderful legacy of strength and love. My struggles made me a better dad, a better husband, and ultimately a better friend and person.

    These three reasons are why I am grateful for my anxiety.

    More coping skills to share

    Like a master carpenter passes along his woodworking tools, I now have lots of self-care skills to pass along to my son for his anxious times or my wife for her high-stress job. I can teach them how to meditate or suggest daily journaling. I can instill a love of Mother Nature.

    Perhaps the biggest thing I can now show those I care about is how to ask for help. I was terrible at this and often used alcohol to try and avoid the feelings of being totally overwhelmed and dull the anger. Through my journey, I have learned to ask for help, with the first step being going to a counselor.

    Share your skills and experiences with your family and friends. You did not go through this anxiety-driven hell to not make a difference.

    Greater awareness of stressful triggers

    Many of my youngest son’s triggers are like mine. Neither one of us are big on schedule changes and get overwhelmed when things get extremely busy. Because I see these triggers in me, I can now see them in him.

    I can offer my wife a proactive hug or a warm “love you” before the tears and dig into the self-care toolbox that we have created. I am there for her more than ever because I am now more aware. Growing up, no one saw my struggles and I wish they had.

    My anxiety brought me in greater attunement with the emotions of my family and friends. Pay attention and be there when they need you and the triggers are there.

    Greater compassion

    Growing up my parents constantly told me to “just relax.” This advice makes me sick to my stomach because it simplified something they did not understand. A token phrase unattainable in the midst of the emotional storm.

    I know my wife and kids and just about everyone would love to be stress-free. But “just relax” is a meaningless phrase when our bodies are trembling. Understanding anxiety is a runaway locomotive, I can be more compassionate and understanding.

    I learned to just listen instead of freaking out hell bent on firing off nasty emails. I don’t have the answers to fix everything that goes wrong for those I love, but I have the love to support them in everything they do. I discovered I may not be able to solve the issue, but I can stop myself from adding to the emotional turmoil with threats and gaslighting moments.

    —

    I never wished to be nearly incapable of functioning at times because of anxiety, but it happened. I always wanted to be the best husband and family man possible. The one who didn’t make the angry Grinch seem like Mother Theresa on the holidays. I ruined many a festive occasion with my lashing out.

    Now I believe my legacy is of change. Change not in the ability to love but to show love. Thankfully, my family and friends never stopped showing theirs.

  • Why It’s Okay Not to Have Everything Under Control

    Why It’s Okay Not to Have Everything Under Control

    “Relax. Nothing is under control.” ~Adi Da Samraj

    This has been an incredibly difficult, stressful, and uncertain year for me, as it has been for most people.

    If I was told a year ago that in 2020, my work hours as a healthcare professional would be reduced, I would be quarantined for months in a small one-bedroom apartment with my boyfriend of seven months, I’d gain fifteen pounds in a few months, and I wouldn’t be able to travel to other countries, I would have rolled my eyes, laughed in disbelief, and thought to myself whoever is delivering this information had eaten one too many Cocoa Puffs.

    The truth is these past nine months, starting from before the pandemic, have been some of the most challenging times, both emotionally and mentally, that I have ever experienced.

    A little backstory: Prior to early November, I was working two part-time jobs. After some thought and deliberation, I decided that I was going to quit one job (of course the one that provided my health insurance) because I couldn’t keep working eleven-hour shifts while commuting an additional two hours in Chicago traffic to be at this clinic.

    Working these two jobs had drained me, and I’d stopped taking care of myself. So, I took a leap and decided to quit one of them in early November. At least I had until the end of the month to figure out what to do about health insurance. And honestly, how much could really happen in a month?

    I devised a plan to slowly increase my hours at my other job. Come the end of November, I ended up having a surprise “change in my health status.” This really shocked me and threw a curve ball since I would lose my group medical insurance at the end of November. Since I didn’t want to pay $700 a month in COBRA insurance, I decided to pay out-of-pocket so I could keep seeing my healthcare provider in December to address my change in health status.

    What are the chances that this would happen? How unlucky could this timing be? Why now?

    Then in December, my health status changed again. Lucky for me, I did not need to worry about continuing to pay to see my healthcare provider again. However, I did have a nice bill from those December visits with my primary care provider.

    I thought to myself, well this can only get better… right?

    Then in February, I got in a car accident while I was driving to work. My car got totaled. Fortunately, both the other diver and I were fine. But we’ll just say these past few months were off to a rough start.

    So, once the Coronavirus started to accelerate in March and my work hours were reduced, I didn’t even know what to think. With the pandemic, all this uncertainty really came full force. I remember staying up into the wee hours of the morning the week of March 16th with a heavy knot in my stomach reading all the articles I could about Coronavirus to try to make sense of what was happening.

    Instead of it making sense, panic started to fill me. I couldn’t stop texting friends every new article I could find about how the Coronavirus was continuing to affect others and spread. My friends in turn would text me similar articles, which only perpetuated the fear.

    This apprehension and restlessness wouldn’t stop. It grew and grew until it was the only thing in the room with me. It was all I could think about.

    I worried about my family and friends. Every article I read seemed to contradict the previous one. I worried about finances. I didn’t know what to believe. I worried about my job. Even now with the pandemic continuing, it’s still so confusing.

    These past nine months have really reinforced why it is okay not to have everything under control.

    The valuable lessons I’ve learned about control (or lack thereof) are helping to decrease my anxiety levels when I become overwhelmed and stressed. I hope this might help others who may feel similarly in these uncertain times.

    1. Life is full of uncertainties, and that’s okay.

    It’s human nature to want to have control and explanations for pretty much everything. It helps us stay at ease and somewhat sane. However, life really is a series of uncertain events.

    Yes, we have control over some things—like our actions. But when it comes down to it, we don’t have control over many things—like a pandemic, other people, the weather, accidents…

    It’s about being comfortable navigating through uncertainty. The more I am okay with not knowing everything, the more at peace I feel.

    2. Focus on the journey, not the destination.

    During times of stress this year, such as with my car accident, change in health status, or the pandemic, my mind would always go into fast-forward mode. Suddenly in my head I would skip to five years into the future.

    How am I going to buy a house with all this money that I am paying toward bills? With the pandemic, will my loved ones and I be okay? Will I have a stable job?

    This thinking pattern helped me realize that all anyone can really do is stay in the present moment. Especially in a case like the Coronavirus, going too far into the future with my fears and uncertainties will only add unnecessary stress to my life, since I have no idea what’s coming, or when.

    Yes, we can take precautions. However, it is also important to also realize that worrying constantly solves nothing in the long run. It only creates more problems to fixate on and takes us away from life and all the precious moments that are unfolding around us in the present.

    3. Make changes in your life that may be scary.

    Since I am doing contract work, I am now on a private individual insurance plan (which is not cheap). However, because my work caseload has been cut in half, I decided to go out of my comfort zone and take a job halfway across the country for a year because it offers healthcare benefits and the chance to grow professionally.

    I feel like this is taking a big leap traveling across the country with my boyfriend during a pandemic. However, I also believe life is short, and now is the time to continue to make changes to keep evolving.

    4. There are lessons every day.

    Let me tell you, I have not always had the best emergency fund prepared. It’s been in the back of my mind but not a priority until everything hit the fan for me in November. If this isn’t the universe sending some kind of strong message, I am not sure what it is.

    I have learned to start putting money into an emergency fund, and to use it more wisely. To not take my health for granted. To really appreciate and enjoy quality time with family and friends. This year has also taught me that nothing is guaranteed, and in an instant, everything can be taken away.

    5. The only constant in life is inner joy.

    I used to believe the quote that the only constant in life was change. This was before I traveled to Thailand and stayed at a yoga retreat two years ago. One day when my friend and I were taking a meditation class, our teacher, Ulf, told us that the only constant in life is inner joy. The more I think about this statement, the more I agree.

    Nobody can take your inner joy away. No matter how hard life gets, it’s important to find joy. So even though it can be quite challenging at times, that is what I have been trying to do more consciously.

    Taking a walk and finding joy in the sunshine. Talking to a friend on the phone that I haven’t reached out to in over a year. Eating a meal made from scratch. Cuddling with my boyfriend. Joy can be found even in hard and dark times because it comes from within. Nobody can take joy away except for ourselves.

    —

    For all of you out there who are having a difficult time with all this uncertainty, here’s to being okay with not knowing and finding inner joy when everything seems to be unraveling and out of our control. Here’s to dealing with life and all of its uncertainties with openness and awe. Here’s to living.

  • What I Now Know About Rejection and How It’s Set Me Free

    What I Now Know About Rejection and How It’s Set Me Free

    “If someone does not want me, it is not the end of the world. But if I do not want me, the world is nothing but endings.” ~Nayyirah Waheed

    Rejection means a lot of things to a lot of different people. To healthcare professionals, it may mean immunological incompatibility, a body not accepting a transplanted tissue or organ. To a couple that wants to adopt, a rejection letter can be discouraging and devastating news. To a writer, rejection can come in the form of submitting your precious work that you slaved over to a publisher and being told it didn’t quite make the cut.

    I struggle with rejection, and I am no stranger to it. I’ve been rejected for numerous jobs, I’ve lost out on scholarships, I’ve had friends dump me, and boys tell me they don’t like me. It’s impossible to be a human in this world and not experience rejection.

    The hardest form of rejection for me is social rejection. It hurts much more than any other form of rejection because it feels like definitive proof that there is something undeniably wrong with me. Something is wrong with me, and that has just been confirmed by someone else. All of the doubts and shame that have been floating around in my brain finally become real.

    They only invited you to the party because they felt sorry for you. You aren’t cool enough to date that person. Your friends only tolerate you. Who do you think you are? They were bound to find out eventually.

    This fear of rejection has caused more consequences for me than the actual act of rejection itself. This often happens in life, the fear of something being more potent and powerful than the thing we are actually afraid of.

    It’s the anxiety of going to the dentist resulting in sleepless nights and panic attacks. Then when you get there, you realize that it takes thirty minutes and all you need is a routine clean.

    It’s lying in bed at night going over potential disastrous scenarios of your public speech or work presentation, creating a spiral of panic and dread.

    It’s avoiding going to parties, dates, and events because you’d rather avoid any sort of risk, even if it means missing out on the rewards.

    It’s common knowledge that being thirteen years old is one of the worst stages of life for most of us. You feel awkward in your body, your self-esteem is at an all-time low, and you feel misunderstood by the world, especially your parents.

    When I was thirteen, my family decided to move up north to a small beach town, and I started a new school. It was a Christian school that had a shining reputation. I naturally expected it to be filled with loving and kind Christian kids who would accept me with open arms. This was not the case.

    Thirteen-year-old boys are cruel. They immediately heard my Canadian accent and constantly mocked me for it. Growing up, girls are told that when boys are mean to you it’s because they like you. With that mentality, it’s not that surprising that so many women choose to stay with men who treat them like garbage. I’m not sure if these boys had crushes on me, or they just saw an awkward ginger girl who was very out of place and decided to pounce.

    The girls, on the other hand, already had established friendship groups and were not looking to expand, especially to a girl who didn’t fit their cookie cutter Christian image.

    Apart from my very obvious physical differences, I also had very different views to the kids and teachers at the school. I was brought up in a Christian family, but I was still allowed to make up my own mind about issues in the world.

    Being a lost thirteen-year-old who felt very disconnected and dislocated, I gravitated toward the world of feminism and social justice. Sexism and misogyny enraged me, and I found an online community of other women who weren’t afraid to speak their truth and challenge the status quo. It became my whole world, because I had nothing else to subscribe to.

    I was outspoken about my beliefs. I was a proud feminist, I was pro-choice, and I supported LGBT rights. All of these things were completely taboo and blasphemous at the school I went to. I was immediately considered to be the “bad egg,” further ostracizing me from the rest of the school.

    My only friend was Emma, my one shining light in a sea of hostility and judgment. We were kindred spirits, and we felt like it was us against the world. Due to our closeness, rumors started that we were lesbians (the worst sin you could commit at a Christian school, clearly). I remember one kid refusing to share his food with me because I was gay, and another kid spitting on me during P.E class.

    This was the first time in my life I had experienced full on social rejection, loud and clear. Of course, I had experienced exclusion and rejection before that, but never to such an extreme, and none with the clear message of “You are wrong. You do not belong here.”

    And at that vulnerable age, when I was already deeply struggling with self-esteem and teenage angst and disorientation, it had a devastating effect on me.

    I dreaded going to school, I spent lunches sitting alone in a bathroom stall, and I was constantly on the verge of tears. I didn’t even feel like the teachers accepted me or even “saw” me. Even the school counselors felt unsafe; I knew they had ulterior motives and would never truly understand what I was experiencing.

    I only lasted a year and half at that awful school, finally gaining the courage and motivation to leave after some very valuable counseling sessions from an outside source. I moved schools to a public high school, which on paper sounded rougher around the edges, but I truly thrived there.

    My grades soared, I became involved with extracurriculars, I became a prefect, I won awards and scholarships. I found lifelong friends who accepted me, and teachers who became mentors and saw the value and potential in me. I graduated feeling joyous and triumphant.

    Though I had such an awful experience at the Christian school, I had made a change and things got better. It was a confirmation that life could be good, and it wasn’t all loss and rejection.

    The thing is, even though we may feel we’ve moved on from painful experiences, they can still be triggered in our everyday lives and interactions. We can instantly be transported back to those vulnerable and lowest points of our life, and our behaviors and thoughts can still be products of that time.

    Though my schooling experience had a happy ending, I now realize that I am deeply afraid of rejection. I still have this fear inside of me that there is something inherently wrong with me, and once people find that out, they will leave me. This is only made more salient due to this clearly false belief that my suffering and my pain is unique and everyone else in the world seems to have it figured out.

    Though I know this to be logically false, because I am in my own mind, it feels so much more believable and real. Social media, especially Instagram, is known to do this. People can project any image they want out into the world. They show the highlight reel of their lives, the best of the best. They show how much fun they are having, how many friends they have, and how happy they are. How can you not be fooled by that?

    I know that we are all imperfect. We all have insecurities, anxieties, and shame. Brené Brown says “everyone has a story that will break your heart. And, if you’re really paying attention, most people have a story that will bring you to your knees.” When I am at my lowest, I am so preoccupied with my own all-encompassing suffering that I disconnect from the rest of the world.

    I forget that our pain and suffering is actually a connective tissue between us all. Fear of rejection is not a unique phenomenon that I have just discovered. It is an age-old problem that plagues so many of us. It stops us from taking risks, from being vulnerable, and from pursuing our creative passions.

    I notice this fear of rejection creeping up into so many areas of my life. I became more of an “idea” of a person than a real person. I put up barriers so that people won’t get to see the real me. I notice myself embellishing the cool aspects of my life and personality when I’m on a first date, and though we all do that naturally on a first date, I know it stems from a fear of rejection.

    If someone takes longer to reply to me than normal, or their tone changes when texting me, I interpret it as a sign that they are no longer interested or that they hate me. We all see memes about this circulating on Instagram, no doubt a coping mechanism, but it can be truly debilitating.

    The sign of a resilient person, someone whose self-esteem comes from within rather than external validation, is even when you are rejected, it doesn’t break you. You have enough self-worth to know that rejection doesn’t define you, if anything it makes you stronger. If you don’t get invited to a party, if your friends decide to not invite you out, if your Tinder date ghosts you, you are still you.

    My favorite actress/comedian Jenny Slate said in an interview, on constantly drawing and redrawing the picture of who you want to be, “You have to be limber. Every shape that you will be bent into, whether you do it to yourself or you are blown by the wind or someone comes in there and breaks you in half, is still you. No version of myself is permanent, but sometimes those bad parts are trying to fool me into thinking they are permanent.”

    I will never be able to control my life and what people think of me. There will be people who write me off before they even bother to get to know me. There will be people who treat me like sh*t simply because they can. There will be many moments that I could perceive as evidence that there is something wrong with me. But now I know that it’s not true.

    I will always be me, and I can decide if I want to treat rejection as a death sentence or a form of new life.