Tiny Buddha

Tag: closure

  • The Closure in Accepting That They May Never Change

    The Closure in Accepting That They May Never Change

    “One of the hardest things I’ve had to understand is that closure comes from within. Especially difficult if you’ve been betrayed by someone you love because you feel like you gotta let them know the pain they caused, but the peace you seek can only be given to you by you.” ~Bruna Nessif

    Many years ago, I wrote a very personal post for Tiny Buddha titled Get Past It Instead of Getting Even: Revenge Isn’t Winning.

    The post described the challenges I experienced with my parents as an adult and, ultimately, my decision to cease all relations with them.

    Such a decision was by no means easy or hastily made.

    It required many years of guidance and counseling to accept that sometimes such a drastic decision is necessary for maintaining one’s mental health and the health of other meaningful relationships.

    Over the years, I have experienced sharp criticism for that decision to dissociate from my parents. I’ve been branded an awful son, self-centered, and even a hypocrite based on my writings when compared to the reality of my familial relationship.

    I understand the criticisms because I once was on the opposite side of where I am now, with a seemingly perfect family relationship that others envied.

    I was quick to judge those estranged from their families with some of the same criticisms now cast at me.

    I was simply unable to fully grasp how it was possible that a bloodline connection could ever be severed, and how life could go on without their presence.

    But what we see often differs from reality, and perfection is unsustainable and unattainable when it comes to family relations. 

    Before you know it, you have transformed from the harshest critic to the pitiable object, constantly wondering how lifelong relationships could quickly deteriorate with such hatred and anger.

    But the passage of time, combined with age and life’s unending volatilities, alters one’s perception and relaxes the emotions we once believed would extinguish our joy, sanity, and quality of life.

    This new perspective is an unanticipated sensation after such a tumultuous experience, and suddenly, the word “closure” is no longer foreign to one’s vocabulary.

    An Attempt at Reconciliation

    It was early December, and homeownership again handed me an unexpected repair project in my kitchen. It appeared easy enough at first but became much more complicated once I understood the problem.

    Pausing momentarily to decide how best to proceed, given that a clever solution was necessary if I did not want to incur a hefty repair cost, I immediately began thinking about my father.

    Growing up, my father and I were incredibly close.

    We spent a great deal of time in each other’s company, sharing long conversations with him mentoring me on the mechanical skills he was so adept with.

    Sitting on my kitchen floor, lost in a sea of nostalgia, I realized how invaluable those conversations and his mentoring were. How other invaluable life lessons often sprouted from those conversations. And how, regardless of all that had occurred, I considered myself grateful that he was my father.

    As tears began pooling in my eyes, I decided I had to reach out to him at that moment, sharing my nostalgia and gratitude while naively hoping this might be the impetus we needed to reconnect.

    Fearing my mother would intercept any hard-copy communication, I turned to social media and sent him a private message through his Facebook page.

    My message to my father was 436 words long.

    At the start, I acknowledged how the passage of time and age softens our perspectives, lessens the bitterness, and enables us to see and appreciate things we took for granted in the past.

    I acknowledged how we all played a role in our eventual separation, how conversations could have been handled differently and more beneficially, and how blame at this point was futile.

    I reminisced about our relationship, his teachings, our obsession with car care, and how, regardless of our separation, the memories we shared would live in my heart and mind forever.

    It was sincere and sentimental, filled with a hopeful optimism about reconnecting with a person I have missed greatly over the years.

    I am unashamed to admit that after writing those 436 words and reviewing them several times afterward, I cried, not necessarily for the loss that I still bore, but over my capacity to look beyond this unhappy part of my past and attempt to reconcile it. 

    Closure Comes from Within

    For two weeks, I checked my Facebook account constantly, excited over the prospect of renewing our relationship.

    I understood that even if things did not turn out as I hoped, I was glad he knew how I was feeling and what I was thinking.

    Then, after two weeks and one day, on a sunny, fifty-degree afternoon in early December, my inbox alerted me that I had a response to my private Facebook message.

    I probably waited ten minutes before finally opening the message, hopeful that the passage of time, combined with age and life’s unending volatilities, had altered his perception and relaxed his emotions.

    Sadly, it had not.

    My father’s response was thirty-seven words long and void of all sentimentality.

    Narcissistic tendencies, the catalyst for our eventual separation, were still painfully evident in his opening sentence: “You have no idea what has happened to us, and I am not going to tell you.”

    His overall indifference toward the content of my message was obvious when he said, “Don’t play up to me,” which revealed his doubtfulness over my sincerity.

    Though short, his words were incredibly telling, confirming what I had feared and why I was so skeptical about reaching out to my parents earlier.

    Author Mandy Hale says it best: “To get over the past, you first have to accept that the past is over. No matter how many times you revisit it, analyze it, regret it or sweat it… it’s over. It can hurt you no more.”

    Though a decade and a half has passed, the past is very much a part of my parents’ present.

    Unexpected misfortunes like my father referenced often have a redemptive effect on an individual’s long-standing resentments, but they appear to have only intensified theirs.

    There has been no personal growth, no self-admissions, and no remorse of any kind. Honestly, I am astonished by their incapability.

    While I know many hurtful exchanges transpired between my parents and me, I have not allowed them to define my past or clutter my present. I do not want to be a victim but rather a witness to a mishandled situation that belongs in the past.

    My parents, on the other hand, have branded themselves “the victims” for so long while manipulating the narrative to suit that claim that I am not even sure they know what the truth is any longer, and that is a very sad place to find oneself. 

    Several days after receiving my father’s short response, I thought I would be overcome with sadness and grief, immobilized by the realization that my family would never be whole again.

    But something unexpected occurred instead.

    I began to feel at peace.

    While not the ideal conclusion, the situation has now been resolved.

    I will no longer feel guilty about not trying to reconcile, no longer question if my father is missing our relationship or not, and no longer crave an outcome that I now understand is impossible.

    And so, I can finally and definitively assign closure to the unfortunate end of my familial relationship.

    Did I want my situation to turn out differently? Of course.

    But meaningful relationships cannot be sustained by living in a questionable past while refusing to acknowledge any failings that need to be remedied.

    Regardless of who is at fault, I encourage anyone in similar circumstances to reach out to those whose presence still lingers in their heart and minds.

    I do not encourage this solely as a possibility for reconciliation, but rather for the ability to find peace in the truth, whether good, bad, or indifferent.

    Closure often springs from the acceptance of that truth and the understanding that healing can still occur even if our efforts are not reciprocated.

  • Why I Don’t Regret That I Didn’t Walk Away from My Relationship Sooner

    Why I Don’t Regret That I Didn’t Walk Away from My Relationship Sooner

    “The butterfly does not look back at the caterpillar in shame, just as you should not look back at your past in shame. Your past was part of your own transformation.” ~Anthony Gucciardi 

    Before I finally grew the courage to walk away from my boyfriend, I contemplated walking away many times.

    There was the time that he had ghosted me for a week without communicating that he needed space. Then after promising me a timeline for telling his mom about me and our relationship, when the time came to do it, he made up another excuse. And there were many moments when he canceled our plans at the last minute.

    Every time I felt disappointed or disrespected, I would feel my body start to tremble from the inside and I felt my sense of self start to break away as I tried all of the things I thought would repair the relationship. I tried to be patient and understanding, and I communicated my needs while trying to see where he was coming from. But nothing changed.

    Sometimes I would feel a glimmer of hope as my partner took accountability and would try to be better. I gave him multiple chances to make things right, and yet he still went back to old patterns. I wasn’t expecting an overnight change, but I wanted more investment. Deep down, he just wasn’t on the same page.

    So why couldn’t I walk away from this person who was no longer treating me the way I deserved to be treated? Why did I still keep putting up with less and accepting the bare minimum?

    I didn’t know how to let go of someone I loved. I was scared of letting go of what I saw as the potential of this person and the relationship. And I was scared of letting myself down. 

    Relationships are complex, and people on the outside looking in make it seem easy for you to just leave at the first sign of turmoil or dissatisfaction. It’s normal to feel uncomfortable and unhappy in a relationship, yet still struggle to walk away.

    The truth is, I needed to go through these experiences to finally see that this relationship was no longer serving my highest good. And that’s not to say that I deserved any of it. But it would not have been as easy to walk away with the clarity, certainty, and purpose that I had at the moment that I had it.

    When the pain of staying was greater than the fear of leaving, I knew it was the right time to walk away. 

    If I had walked away sooner, I might have held onto hope of getting back together, fearing that I didn’t do enough or give it enough of a chance. I would likely be floundering with my internal need for closure, rather than knowing I received all the closure I needed by the time I walked away.

    Even though there were many times that my soul knew deep down that I would eventually have to walk away, my heart wasn’t there yet. And when it finally was, the courage grew inside of me like an ocean wave coming closer to shore.

    If you’re struggling to walk away from a person or feeling regret about not walking away sooner, here’s what helped me on my journey of making peace with it:

    1. Honor your lessons.

    Love is not enough. This was one of the hardest pills to swallow, but it was necessary.

    A couple days before we broke up, my ex and I had another hard conversation about our relationship. And at some point, I remember saying, “But we love each other,” attempting a plea to hold us together through some challenges.

    Healthy relationships require more than just the feeling of love. There needs to be commitment, action, integrity, communication, and trust. Feeling love for another person is nice, but you can feel love for a person and not be in a relationship with them. A relationship requires much more.

    At first, I felt sad and defeated when I reflected and realized that these values were not in alignment in our relationship. But now I honor this lesson and know that it will serve me well in my next relationship. I won’t waver on the importance of being aligned on values more than just a feeling of love.

    When you have core takeaways from a relationship that didn’t work out, it helps to create a deeper meaning from it. And it helps you focus your energy on yourself, rather than your ex-partner.

    2. Give yourself grace.

    We can be so hard on ourselves. And the times that you need grace the most are often when you’re least likely to give grace to yourself.

    In my relationship with my ex, I was quicker to give him grace than myself.

    After I walked away, this hit me like a truck. That’s when I started to give myself the grace and love that I pushed down in favor of trying to hold the relationship together. Did I do everything right? No, but that’s the point of grace.

    I poured so much love back into me and my life after the breakup. I gave myself grace to recognize that this relationship was not the right fit, and that it took me some time to really see that. Grace allowed me to forgive both myself and my ex, because it always creates a ripple effect.

    3. Letting go is a process, not a destination.

    Even though I walked away with clarity and purpose, I didn’t feel an immediate sense of relief right after we broke up. I knew it was the right decision, but my body went into a grieving process.

    When someone passes away, we go through stages of grief. The same thing happens after a breakup.

    As I wavered back and forth between anger and acceptance, it helped when I returned back to the core reasoning behind why I walked away when I did, and why that was necessary for my happiness and well-being. Each deliberate choice to return back to my core knowing, while giving myself grace, was a part of the process of letting go and healing my heart.

    Making peace with this relationship and breakup meant treating my healing as a process and not a final destination. I had to acknowledge every step along the way to rebuild and come back from it stronger than before.

    —-

    We don’t always make the best choices for our highest selves in every moment, but this is an impossible expectation. We are all human beings trying our best to learn from experiences and grow. And I don’t believe there should be any regret in that.

  • The Secret to Letting Go (And Why It’s Okay if You Can’t Right Now)

    The Secret to Letting Go (And Why It’s Okay if You Can’t Right Now)

    “It’s not a matter of letting go—you would if you could. Instead of ‘Let it go,’ we should probably say ‘Let it be.’” ~Jon Kabat-Zinn

    When I was in my twenties, I went to see an acupuncturist because I’d been through a bad breakup and felt uncertain about my life path and purpose. “Went” is a kind way of saying it; I was dragged. I didn’t want to go, but my family was going and thought it might be supportive with all that I was going through.

    I was dealing with a lot of rough emotions and felt like I was on a daily roller coaster of lows. The ride took me from anger, to sadness, back to regret, and to general disappointment in myself and life. I felt so angry that life had taken me down that path and that I hadn’t seen the breakup coming.

    I continued repeating this mental narrative for months, and my biggest trigger was thinking about the mistakes I’d made—starting with choosing a relationship that looked good on paper because I’d been hurt in the past when I’d followed my heart. 

    It was a whirlwind of an unhealthy relationship, and when I looked back, I wasn’t sure how it happened, but I knew that I was untrue to myself and to others.

    It felt like my boyfriend wanted me to change and didn’t accept me. When I started the relationship, I felt confident in myself and shared my opinions and ideas openly. Over time, I got quiet and began to take on his opinion of how I should be. Whether it was my style of clothing, weight, or even sense of humor, I felt so afraid that I would lose him that I tried to change myself to please him.

    I now realize that his controlling and manipulative behavior stemmed from his own insecurities and fears of losing me, but at the time I had no idea. I thought it was my fault and that there was something wrong with me.

    About a year later, when I went to the acupuncturist for the first time, I was surprised when she wanted to talk to me about letting go. I told her I didn’t know how, and she put a bottle she was holding in my hand and told me to let go. This, of course, led to the bottle dropping on the floor.

    I needed to let go of all the emotions and thoughts of the past and how things didn’t work out the way I wanted. I’ve realized that, contrary to what the acupuncturist suggested, letting go is easy to say and hard to do. Letting go isn’t a one-time thing. It takes time.

    Looking back, I see that there were many layers in letting go, including: seeing the situation from a different perspective (realizing we all want love, so it makes sense we sometimes stay in unhappy relationships), forgiving myself and others (because we’re all doing our best), taking space from the world and spending time alone, and directly working at releasing my feelings through movement.

    There were a lot of emotions to process, and it helped to talk about it with others, write unsent letters to say what I needed to say, and eventually, dream up a healthier future so I could experience a new present.  

    However, none of these actions provided instantaneous relief. It wasn’t the same as opening my hand and dropping the bottle. It was more like shedding layers and discovering new ones as the old ones disappeared. It was like seeing myself through new eyes and discovering more about my heart and soul.

    Letting go wasn’t about getting over it or feeling nothing at all. It was about learning more about myself and pulling at the seams, which took time. It wasn’t about not caring anymore because some pain never fully goes away, but it does evolve.

    I see now that this is true for many of life’s painful experiences and learnings. They often repeat themselves, and each time I get disappointed that I am in the same space or frustrated that I haven’t let go of something that hurt, I remind myself that evolution, growth, and expansion aren’t one-time things—they’re constant.

    If there’s something important for me to learn, it’s likely to take time and include many elements.

    If you, like me, have a hard time letting go and want to move forward, remember that many streams lead to the sea. And remove the thought that there’s an end point or that letting go is instantaneous so that you can embrace your learnings and move on from the past naturally, one tiny step at a time.

  • Congratulations to Everyone Who Moved On

    Congratulations to Everyone Who Moved On

  • 3 Key Benefits to Forgiving and Why I Thanked My Imperfect Parents

    3 Key Benefits to Forgiving and Why I Thanked My Imperfect Parents

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post mentions physical abuse and may be triggered to some people.

    “Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness.” ~Marianne Williamson

    The subject of forgiveness comes up often in conversation, but I find that when it comes to the details of what that truly entails, what that process feels like is not actually talked about.

    Over the years, I’ve heard the following statements most often from people when the subject of forgiving someone came up in discussions:

    1. “What they’ve done is just wrong! I can never forgive them for that.”

    2. “They haven’t earned my forgiveness. There’s no reason for me to forgive them.”

    3. “Oh, I already forgave them and let it go. I haven’t told them because we aren’t talking. Why should I be the one to reach out first?”

    In 2006, I attended a long weekend workshop with the late Dr. Lee Gibson, where he gifted us one of his brilliant Leeisms: “Forgiveness is erasing a debt you think someone owes you. That’s why forgiveness can feel like it’s costing you something.”

    I was blown away.

    Yes! I was beginning to understand why it was so hard for me to forgive my parents. I was stuck in the very same mentality of “Why should I?”, “They were clearly wrong!”, and “They haven’t earned it!”

    Late one night when I was nineteen, I was assaulted by my father, who lost his temper and self-control. I thought I was going to die that night, because it certainly felt like he was trying to kill me. My younger brother eventually pulled him off me and kept him away long enough for us all to calm down.

    I was terrified and didn’t sleep for three nights. I also told myself this was the last time I was going to allow this to happen. I started packing that night and moved out in three days. My parents and I didn’t have a relationship for the next ten years, as my mother stood by my father’s side.

    During Lee’s workshop, with a mere group of six attendees that long weekend, we dove into the subject of family dysfunctions and forgiveness. It immediately hit a pain point for me, right in the core.

    I fought with him for about forty minutes (I was told later by someone in the same class) in what felt to me like ten minutes—I was passionately immersed in that moment to prove my point and how wronged I was that time. I was at a standstill.

    I asked him what about fairness and justice, and why must I be the bigger person here when they are the parents? Lee calmly asked, “How does it feel for you to be the bigger person? Is that okay?” Well, I thought, I suppose it is, but why must I always be that person?

    Then he proposed an even more outlandish concept—thanking the people who had wronged us for all the things they’d done right.

    I was stirred up a little more, but for some reason was curious to hear more. I needed to understand why he thought it was a good idea, and how exactly it would help me be at peace.

    To be honest, I don’t remember all the deep wisdom he had shared as to why. All I remember is that it would create a shift within us if we were open and brave enough to try it, and he encouraged us to share our experience with him afterward.

    No way, I thought. Never. Not gonna happen. Forgiveness is one thing, but thanking them was way beyond what I was willing to consider.

    I was still stewing about all this a week after the workshop. But my adventurous heart wanted to know what it would feel like if I set aside all that my parents had done wrong and thanked them for all the things they had done right.

    I started making a list of some of the things I thought they did right, such as struggling through the hardships of being first-generation immigrants and working day and night to put food on the table and a roof over our heads.

    After much thought, with a racing heart and trembling voice, I did the unthinkable—I called my parents one night, out of the blue, to conduct this “social experiment.” I went down my list and thanked them for all the things they did right without mentioning anything that they’d done wrong. They reacted surprisingly well and acknowledged there was a lot they could have done better.

    I’ll admit, I tried not to have any expectations, but a part of me was hoping they’d apologize for what they’d done wrong, and they didn’t. I felt surprisingly okay about that after we hung up.

    I felt proud of myself for having done that. I felt bigger. I felt more grown up. I felt more empowered to be the bigger person. That was my first taste of offering compassion and gratitude from a place of empowerment rather than martyrdom.

    I definitely experienced a shift.

    It probably took another five years for me to fully understand and let go of the night of the assault and all the things I thought they could’ve done better. In hindsight, giving thanks was the first step to feeling more of an adult and less of a helpless child in their presence. Being able to give my own parents a pat on the back put me at the same level.

    I no longer feel the need to be hopeful that they will treat me a certain way, give me the attention I felt I needed, or make up for what they’d done wrong. I felt more in a position to see them as they are—other human beings also dealing with their own suffering.

    As each year goes by, I continue to get to know my parents as human beings and not just as my parents.

    I have gradually taken them out of the parental role, as I no longer need them to be, and treat them like any other adult. I have established boundaries with them and began to respect their boundaries too, once I got to know their limitations. And I disengage whenever I feel like our interactions start to redirect toward an unhealthy dynamic.

    I understood very well that, as an adult, it was my choice whether to have a relationship with my parents or not. And if I chose to, I would also be playing a part in what kind of relationship we would have. I wanted to have a good relationship with them, and the only way to do that was to forgive.

    At some point in my life, I realized forgiveness is truly for my own benefit. Here’s why:

    Good closure

    The best closure is always amicable. How many relationships have left us feeling abandoned, confused, heartbroken, and questioning our self-worth? We were often not given a choice in those types of endings. But what if we could actively choose a better way to end a relationship with someone? (Or, like with my parents, begin a new relationship with them.)

    While this is a two-way street, we have control over our side. This allows each of us to move on to better future relationships and the next chapter of our lives, without guilt or attachment. A bond with another formed by anger, guilt, or bitterness is an energetic constraint to our own heart and soul.

    Personal growth and transformation

    Whenever we hold onto the victim mentality, we keep ourselves small. When we refuse to forgive, we hold onto the fact that we have been wronged and that we are the victim in that scenario. It’s hard to grow beyond that mindset when we hold onto what hurts us and continue to hold that over those we feel have wronged us.

    It may not feel like it right now (I know I certainly struggled with it for a long time), but the first step to feeling empowered is recognizing that we are in the position to forgive, and that is big. Much like extending gratitude, extending forgiveness comes from a higher place. A place where we have the knowledge that we are in a leadership position to forgive and break through the cage we have built for ourselves.

    Soul freedom

    In a way, we’re helping their hearts and souls to move on. We’re here on earth for a short period of time. As cliché as it sounds, the only things that we’ll think of in our last hours are how much we gave, loved, and lived, and what will haunt us is how much we didn’t.

    I want to make sure I am free of such torment. And if I could free others of such torment in the process, then it would truly be a win-win, on a soul level.

    —

    Forgiveness not only frees us from being permanently tied to those we feel have wronged us; it also releases them from a debt we feel they owe us—a karmic tie I do not wish to adhere to. Only then will we all feel a deep sigh of relief with a freedom to move on to whatever awaits our souls next.

    I sent my father a care package last year with a card attached, letting him know that I wish him happiness and health and he is loved and he is forgiven. And now I am at peace.

    **I am not suggesting anyone else should thank their abuser. I personally found this helpful and healing, but everyone needs to make their own choice based on what’s best for them.

  • Healing from Abandonment Trauma: 3 Things I Learned from Being Cheated On

    Healing from Abandonment Trauma: 3 Things I Learned from Being Cheated On

    “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” ~Rumi

    I want to share an experience I went through that hurt like hell, but that helped me so much in the long run.

    The experience was being “cheated on,” though the woman wasn’t my girlfriend. Nevertheless, I was very attached and it felt awful.

    So, let me start with the backstory.

    I met Diana through mutual friends in late 2021. I thought she was cute, and a little anxious, which I seem to gravitate toward. That’s just my savior complex coming out, which is another story for another day.

    Eventually we hooked up after a holiday party and continued hooking up regularly. I began to have stronger feelings for Diana than I anticipated, though I tried to play it cool and not cause any awkwardness in the group.

    Things started deteriorating between us at one point, and it culminated in Diana going home with another guy basically in front of me.

    Needless to say, I was devastated.

    My friend who introduced me to Diana was there, and he asked me, “Are you catching feelings?” I was so angry that he would try to shame me into not feeling what I was feeling. I said, “Yes, I am” and left immediately.

    On the way home, I was screaming in my car, and I even punched my steering wheel, which I had never done before. I was so triggered and mad. There was a tornado of emotion ripping through my chest—anger, grief, worthlessness, desperation.

    The next day, I woke up and left the house to get a smoothie. I didn’t want to be by myself as I was going through this.

    Initially I didn’t feel so bad, but I knew that the wave was going to hit me sooner or later. I started rereading books on relationships that I had read before. Books like Fear of Intimacy by Robert Firestone and Facing Love Addiction by Pia Mellody. Luckily, I had these books to turn to for guidance.

    Over the next two weeks I cried multiple times on my way to work, or on the way home from running errands. I even pulled over a few times to bawl my eyes out and wail alone in my car before continuing.

    Over the next couple of months, I worked on processing the grief and pain. Occasionally I would dive deep and get a memory of childhood abandonment, the real source of the pain. I’d get a memory of my mom not being there for me…

    While I was growing up, my mom worked all the time to support our family. And we had such a big family that one-on-one time was basically nonexistent.

    That meant there were countless times when I felt lost, abandoned, and overlooked.

    Being deeply hurt by Diana gave me the opportunity to go right to the source of the pain, my original abandonment experiences. Daily meditation and journaling helped whittle away the pain.

    It was slow progress for a while. I even stopped writing for a few weeks because I was overwhelmed with emotion. But eventually I began to feel like myself again.

    The first two months were rough, the next two were a little better, and after six months I was finally out of the weeds. But more than that, I feel better than I did before I met Diana.

    I feel as if my baseline level of security and happiness is higher. The way I think about it is that my abandonment experiences were heavy boulders weighing down my soul. Not carrying them around feels so much lighter.

    I must have spent over 100 hours meditating to let go of these emotions, and I’ve learned a few things in the process…

    1. Present pain is compounded by pain from the past. If you want to be free, heal the original wound.

    2. We seek what is familiar in relationships, even at the expense of our safety and happiness. And what is familiar is the love we received from our parents. If we want to have better relationships, we need to heal our past or we will repeat what we know endlessly.

    3. We get what we need to heal in relationships. And I think that’s beautiful. While things might suck in the short-term, you’ll come to know that life has your best interests at heart. Now that this episode is over, I’m glad life gave me the experience I needed to heal.

    Now it’s time for a counterintuitive move that helped me close this chapter in my life.

    I used to think “being left by Diana like that hurt so bad and I wouldn’t want to experience it again, but I am glad that I was able to learn and grow from it.”

    But that thought reveals that there is more work for me. To get closure from this experience, I had to open myself up to going through it again (but trusting life to not be so cruel).

    It’s not what you would think would help, but when you run from an experience you are still controlled by it.

    And if your goal is genuine freedom, you need to open yourself up to it. Of course, I will still be cautious going forward, just not fearful.

    Once I opened myself up to experiencing that same pain and hurt, I became freer. I took off the armor I was wearing, and I know that life can be trusted to have my back.

    I’d rather live with an open heart and get hurt than live closed off. That’s the way of freedom.

    “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” ~Rumi

  • Dear Parent of an Estranged Adult: What Might Repair Your Relationship

    Dear Parent of an Estranged Adult: What Might Repair Your Relationship

    Dear estranged parent,

    I know it’s not easy to feel cut off from your child when you still feel love and maybe even remorse. I know you might feel confused about why your adult child is so upset, and you might even feel angry and wrongly accused.
    Perhaps there’s some truth to that. I don’t know why your child cut ties with you, but I can share a little of my own experience and then offer some tips that might help, regardless of your unique situation.

    So why did your son or daughter cut you out of their life?

    I can’t speak to the specifics of your situation, but I can offer you some insights from my own experience and I can talk about common themes expressed by my community of estranged adults.

    Before I go any further, I need to remind you that everyone remembers and experiences the same events differently. For example, you might remember the fun family trip to Disneyland where everyone was together and had a good time, but your son or daughter might remember getting yelled at or you and your spouse fighting.

    I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings but simply to remind you to be open to the possibility that your child may remember or may have experienced events differently.

    I tried to have a relationship with my parents for many years before I made the hard decision to cut them out of my life. I would seek validation for my academic accomplishments, but all they would notice were the mistakes I’d made, and they would repeatedly highlight them.

    I’m not saying I was perfect, but a little love and affirmation would have gone a long way. Each rejection left me feeling hurt. I questioned my self-worth and became depressed. Still, I tried to maintain a relationship with them, despite the fact that it took a toll on my health.

    I showed an interest in my mother’s life, and every time I came back to visit, I did my best to be helpful around the house and attend to their needs in any way I could.

    My parents would criticize me repeatedly, even in front of friends and family members, and I was left feeling smeared and demeaned. All of my actions were met with judgmental negativity.

    If I tried something new, my father would list all the reasons why he thought I was going to fail, while my mother would take sadistic joy in my failures. My parents never wanted anyone to see the good in me or even to allow me to see the good or the potential within myself. I was always a failure in their eyes—a common theme among estranged adults.

    My parents also repeatedly failed to respect my boundaries and at times would list off reasons why I could not have the ones I had set. They often guilted me for having boundaries or even basic needs.

    My parents never admitted the hurt they caused me. They never admitted the years of abuse and neglect. It was always somehow my fault. They were also unwilling to listen or allow me to have a productive conversation about my feelings. Again, I’m not saying I’m perfect, but I didn’t deserve to be treated in the manner I was during my formative years.

    Each time I would invite them to come visit me or take an interest in my life they gave me a list of reasons why they couldn’t come or why I was not good enough for them to bother caring.

    Each interaction cut me deeper, causing me to get depressed and shut down.

    When I got engaged, my father listed all the reasons why he thought my relationship would fail, and my mother expressed frustration at the thought of having to help me plan a wedding. I couldn’t force them to care, and the tremendous emotional effort I was making was taking a toll on me. I felt I had no choice but to accept that the relationship I so desperately wanted would never be and let go.

    For me, this was the right decision because it freed me from the bondage of hope that one day I might be good enough and it allowed me to live a meaningful and happy life.

    I must reiterate that there is a reason your son and daughter has cut you out of their life because no one would make this decision lightly.

    If you care about rebuilding a healthy relationship with your estranged child, these are some steps that you can take.

    Realize that people remember events differently and be open to seeing their perspective.

    Sometimes we remember things so differently that we’re inclined to deny the other person’s reality. Please don’t do this, as it will only create walls and cause them to recoil and pull away.

    If your child says they did not like it that you pushed them into doing sports and only cared about them winning games, don’t shut the conversation down by saying “You were good at sports.” If your child says that you always criticized them about their weight, don’t tell them that you were trying to help them lead a healthier lifestyle.

    Listen and try to understand their point of view. Simply allowing them space to share how they experienced their childhood can help them feel heard and respected.

    If it helps, keep communications in writing to start.

    Oftentimes, it’s hard to really hear what someone is saying when you feel attacked, accused, and emotional. If conversations are upsetting both parties, try communicating by e-mail so that you can read and reread what they have to say in order to digest the message being communicated. Try your best to understand their experiences and empathize with them whenever you can, and odds are they’ll be more willing to do the same for you.

    Avoid being critical.

    You may not agree with your child’s lifestyle or their actions, but repeatedly criticizing and voicing your disapproval will only cause them to pull away. Don’t call them names or make reference to their past failures. Work on being supportive and providing them with validation whenever possible.

    This might be hard to do if you feel they’re being critical of you. Criticism tends to shut people down—on both sides. But replacing criticism with validation can help heal old wounds.

    Be self-reflective.

    It can be hard for anyone to take a critical look at themselves and examine their actions in order to admit that they’ve harmed someone. This can be a painful process that forces you to see yourself in a new light. Sometimes, as painful as it is, it has to be done.

    This doesn’t mean that you are inherently bad. Most people parent as they were parented and repeat harmful patterns without realizing it.

    It takes tremendous courage to examine yourself and admit that you caused pain. Remember you don’t need to do this alone. Seeing a trained counselor or psychologist can help you understand yourself better.

    Take responsibility for your actions.

    Many estranged adults, myself included, never felt we got the apology we longed for. If you have wronged your adult child, even if you feel you were a good parent on the whole, own up to your mistakes and apologize. This simple act will go a long way toward rebuilding the relationship.

    Respect boundaries.

    It can be tough to honor a firm boundary when you feel an urget need to talk things out. But you can’t force someone to hear you until they’re ready. If your son or daughter has said that they don’t want to see you for the next month, don’t show up at their door. This will only leave them feeling intimidated and disrespected and cause them to pull away.

    Be willing to change your behavior.

    If your son or daughter has described behaviors of yours that bother them, make a conscious effort to change. Show them that you are capable of taking their constructive criticism and applying it. Listing off ways that you think you have changed isn’t enough. Your actions need to speak for themselves.

    This is, of course, a two-way street. Adult children are also capable of doing things that upset their parents. And in a perfect world, they’d hear you and make changes too, if necessary. But you can’t control their behavior—only your own.

    Understand that distance isn’t always permanent.

    Sometimes we need to take a break from family and friends in order to heal from childhood trauma and focus on our own health and well-being. This is a natural part of the healing process. If you have been asked to give your son or daughter space, honor their request.

    Never use guilt.

    As harsh as this might sound, your adult child doesn’t owe you anything. By inflicting guilt on them—telling them they should have a relationship with you because you’ve done and sacrificed so much—you invalidate their feelings and exert power and control that could cause them to pull away even further. It’s far better to create a new relationship from a foundation of mutual understanding than try to force one on a foundation of guilt and shame.

    Don’t try to buy them back.

    If your child asks you not to send gifts or give them money, don’t. You might think the gifts are a way to repair the relationship, but this never works and only breeds resentment. Estranged children can also see gifts as a means of exerting power and controlling, forcing us to feel obligated to have a relationship we do not feel comfortable having. Relationships can never be bought.

    Offer to go to therapy.

    This can feel intimidating at times, but your willingness to go will send a strong message that you’re open to rebuilding a healthy relationship. Many times it can be easier to talk about sensitive subjects in front of a trained neutral third party that can help us work through our emotions and misunderstandings. If your child declines your invitation to go to therapy, see a therapist on your own.

    Allow for growth and change.

    Some of the healthiest relationships we will ever have grow and change as we do. Don’t expect your child to like the same things or act the same way as they did before; this is simply not realistic. You must adapt and grow as they do and be open to the fact that the relationship may change.

    If all else fails, work on accepting the situation.

    Not every story has a happy Hollywood ending. Sometimes all we can do is accept the choices other people have made, let go, learn from the experience, and move on with our lives. If your child insists that they cannot have a relationship with you, respect their choices, as painful as this may be. Don’t contact them repeatedly. Remember that nothing in life can be forced, not even relationships.

    I’m not saying that parents are solely responsible for healing broken relationships with their children. We have to do our part too, but often we’ve tried for years only to feel invalidated, disrespected, and rejected.

    Had my own parents done any of these things it might have been possible to reconcile with them and work together to heal.

  • 10 Signs You’re in a Toxic, Unhealthy Relationship and How to Help Yourself

    10 Signs You’re in a Toxic, Unhealthy Relationship and How to Help Yourself

    “Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly…the lover alone possesses his gift of love.” ~Toni Morrison

    Not all relationships are created equal. Some rage in like a storm and leave you far weaker than you were before. As you try to process the wreck that is now your reality, you wonder, how did I end up here?

    I found myself in a toxic and addicting relationship in my mid-late twenties. Now that some time has passed and allowed for reflection, I want to pass on some signs from my previous relationship that I should have paid more attention to, in hopes that this may help others who are in a similar situation.

    Signs a Relationship Has Become Unhealthy and Toxic

    1. You are putting in most of the effort, and your needs aren’t being met.

    Emotionally, I felt drained and exhausted. This frequently happened when I tried to communicate my wants and needs to my former partner. Most of the time, it felt like my efforts were in vain.

    2. You constantly feel like you are walking on eggshells.

    I never knew when I would say something that would be too much for my former partner to talk about and he would shut down emotionally. It made me nervous to bring up my concerns about the relationship, as I felt like he had a wall built around him that I just couldn’t knock down.

    3. You hang on because you think that’s what you are supposed to do when you love somebody.

    Blame it on Disney, romantic comedies, or countless love songs, but how many of us stay in unhealthy relationships because we feel like we owe it to that person to be there for them? But what do we owe ourselves?

    Looking back on my past relationship, I stayed in it for far too long because I thought that’s what you do when you love somebody. You stick with them when they are hurting. But what if it’s one-sided and it’s hurting you most of the time? Is that really love, or is it an unhealthy attachment to that person?

    4. You get addicted to the highs of the relationship.

    When things are bad, they are bad. But when they are good, you forget about the bad. The on-and-off-again pattern makes it passionate and addicting, almost like a game. It also makes it incredibly unstable. I felt like I was taking one step forward and two steps backward, constantly preparing for the next big crash.

    5. You are always giving in the relationship.

    I gave most of my time and energy to my previous relationship because I didn’t think I deserved to be on the receiving end of love. Now I know how wrong I was.

    6. You’re trying to solve problems that aren’t yours to solve.

    I tried too hard to solve my ex’s problems and didn’t focus on myself. I was overwhelmed by huge life transitions like moving and starting a new career, so it seemed easier to try to help him even though he didn’t ask me for help.

    This also allowed me to avoid admitting our relationship was deteriorating. It hurt too much to accept that our relationship was over and that I’d given 100% to someone who no longer cared about my feelings or well-being. After all, to admit is to acknowledge, and who wants to become aware that their relationship has become incredibly unhealthy?

    7. You get stonewalled.

    When I would be vulnerable and try to communicate how I felt, my former partner would go silent on me for long periods of time. This was pure mental torture. It was one of the most excruciating things I had ever experienced emotionally.

    Stonewalling was also incredibly confusing and traumatic. I would feel ignored, helpless, abandoned, and disrespected. This in turn would make me want to try to communicate more. Eventually we would start to talk again, and we got into an unhealthy cycle of me becoming anxious and him being avoidant.

    8. You lose a sense of who you are.

    At the end of the relationship, I felt broken and like a doormat that got stomped on incessantly. The person that I’d been before our relationship was no more, and all I was left with was a deep sense of shame for losing myself.

    I felt like I had fallen like Humpty Dumpty. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t put all my pieces back together.

    It was hard to admit that I’d enabled my ex to treat me disrespectfully over and over again. I’d worried so much about him that I stopped focusing on myself and became entwined in trying to save a relationship that had fallen apart long ago. I didn’t want to accept that after all the years we were together this was the way that it would end.

    9. You feel like you are in limbo and things are out of your control.

    When my ex stonewalled me, I felt like I was waiting on someone else for my future to start. Everything got placed on pause. I gave him all of the power in the relationship, and I felt like I was waiting for answers that I’d likely never receive.

    10. You feel disrespected.

    My former partner stopped caring about my feelings the moment the stonewalling started. I felt so hurt, shocked, and betrayed. I think part of me stayed in the relationship so long because I couldn’t admit that this person who cared about me in the beginning had stopped showing concern for me and treated me without any kind of dignity.

    That loss of love, communication, and affection was really hard to face. His apathy and lack of compassion made me feel like I was a piece of garbage that he threw out. I felt invisible, degraded, and unheard.

    To get a clearer sense of how an unhealthy relationship is impacting you, ask yourself these questions: 

    • Why am I staying in this relationship? Am I staying because I am scared to be alone and deal with my own problems?
    • How much of the time do I initiate communicating? Am I the one putting in all the effort in the relationship?
    • Am I enabling the toxicity in the relationship by continuing to allow this person to treat me in a disrespectful way? Are there boundaries in the relationship for disrespectful and inappropriate behavior?
    • Am I trying to save my partner? Am I constantly worrying more about them than myself?
    • Why do I want to fix things in the relationship so badly? Do I feel like a failure for having the relationship end?
    • Am I trying to control something that has run its course? Do we both want different things?
    • Am I co-dependent? Am I staying in a one-sided relationship to help care for this person even when my needs are not being met?
    • Am I living the life I want to live? Does this relationship make me feel loved and fulfilled?

    Ending and walking away from a relationship that is unhealthy and toxic may be one of the hardest things that you ever do. Know that you are not alone and that you are worthy of being in a loving and healthy relationship. You deserve a relationship full of mutual respect, love, and healthy boundaries.

    Some activities and resources that have helped me on my journey to self-empowerment and growth have been:

    1. Express yourself; find your voice.

    Holding in all of the hurt from a toxic relationship isn’t going to make it go away. Talk openly to trusted loved ones or friends about what you’ve experienced. It may surprise you to hear that others have similar stories. Talking to a counselor, who can give you tools, strategies, and resources to help you navigate this difficult time, may also be helpful.

    Write in a journal or compose a mock letter to the person who hurt you, or to your past or future self. I wrote a letter to myself ten years into the future in hopes of where I wanted my life to be and found it to be inspiring and motivating.

    2. Educate yourself on codependency.

    I was familiar with the term codependency, but I didn’t truly understand what it was until I heard a podcaster mention the book Codependent No More by Melody Beattie. This book put words to everything that I felt during this turbulent relationship.

    It made me realize that I put all of my energy into a relationship that wasn’t mutual or healthy and lost myself on that journey. The book helped reinforce the notion that we only have control over our actions and not others. It motivated me to always be the driver of my life.

    3. Spend time alone.

    After things ended, I didn’t realize how addicted to the relationship I was and how challenging it would be to not reach out to my ex. It felt like I was going through withdrawal. It was intense and frustrating because, rationally, I knew it was for the best, but when I stopped contact, it was a visceral experience.

    I forgot how important it was to be alone, which is also the hardest and scariest thing. The healing truly began when I was able to sit with myself and all of my thoughts. Meditating and participating in yin yoga helped me recenter and decrease my anxiety while also decreasing built-up stress and tension in my body.

    4. Take responsibility for your part.

    I wasn’t just a victim in the relationship; I was also an enabler. I stayed in something that became incredibly unhealthy and allowed my ex to treat me in an inconsiderate and unkind way. I enabled this pattern to continue, which was the hardest thing to admit to myself.

    5. Be gentle with yourself.

    We are all human and are learning. Be patient and kind with yourself.

    When this relationship was finally over, I wanted to rush through all of my grief and uncertainty in order to move on because it hurt too much. It was too real.

    I knew deep down that this would take time to heal, and I wanted to fast-forward through that phase. Give yourself time and grace. Some days will be worse than others. Just know that eventually you will have many more good days than bad days.

    6. Forgive yourself.

    Initially, I wanted to forgive my ex and felt an urgency to do so because I thought it would stop the pain. However, the person that I was most upset with was myself. How did it take me so long to realize this relationship was unhealthy? Why did I allow someone to treat me so poorly emotionally?

    The person that I really needed to forgive was myself for allowing someone to walk all over my feelings for such a long amount of time. Once that process starts, everything gets easier. You may never get closure from your former partner after things end, but you can find it on your own.

    7. Use this experience as a lesson.

    Every relationship is a lesson. Even if it was a difficult time, learn what worked and what didn’t work. What you want and don’t want. Decide what are acceptable and unacceptable boundaries in a relationship so that the cycle doesn’t get repeated in the future.

    8. Take control of your life and be the author of your own story.

    Don’t wait for someone to change to start living your life. Hit the play button and start focusing on your goals and dreams and where you want to be in the future. You may not be able to put all of your broken pieces together in the same way they were before the relationship, but take time to figure out what person you want to become and rebuild yourself.

    9. Love and believe in yourself.

    Take good care of yourself because if you don’t, nobody will. Have high standards for what you deserve in a relationship and don’t accept less. Practice positive affirmations about your worth. How you perceive yourself will impact how others perceive you.

    —

    We might not have control over others’ actions, but we do have control over our own. It’s time to empower ourselves to live the life we want to live.

    If we take time to truly understand why a relationship was unhealthy and toxic, we can vow to break the pattern and not allow it to happen again. We can love in a secure and healthy way and in turn attract partners who do the same. After all, we deserve to be in a healthy, fulfilling, and happy relationship, with ourselves and with others.

  • When You Strongly Disagree with Someone: How to Find Common Ground

    When You Strongly Disagree with Someone: How to Find Common Ground

    “The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.” ~Pema Chodron

    I was recently having dinner with a group of friends, and I casually mentioned that I’ve been making more effort in my life to help prevent climate change.

    Across the table, someone looked straight at me and said, “You know human-induced climate change isn’t real, right?”

    I was shocked because I’ve known this person for years, and we’ve always agreed on important topics in the past. I immediately shot back with, “Umm, yes it is!” and proceeded to tell him exactly why he was so wrong.

    I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say the rest of the conversation didn’t go well. It gradually got more and more heated until we were the only two people talking (read: yelling) at each other across the table.

    In the end, someone shut the argument down by saying, “You’ll just have to agree to disagree.” We both took the hint, retreated into our corners, and glared at each other for the rest of the evening.

    A few days later, I was relating the incident to another friend. In all honesty, I was looking for an ally who would help stoke my righteous indignation. But instead of nodding and agreeing with me, she said, “It sounds a lot like you were trying to force your beliefs on him and got mad when he wouldn’t back down.”

    This comment stuck with me, and over time I was forced to admit she was correct. I was so caught up in being right that I had refused to accept anyone could believe differently. Even worse, emotion had completely taken over, and I’d made no effort to find common ground or try and see things from a different perspective.

    In hindsight, I’ve realized I was missing the larger truth that we all believe we are seeing the world as it should be. Our entrenched beliefs become part of our identity because they help us make sense of the chaotic world we live in. And when someone holds a radically different view to our own, it shakes the foundation of our own beliefs and makes us feel off balance and insecure.

    But the good news is, no matter how differently you see the world from someone else, there’s always a way to find some common ground. Here are six tips I’ve learned to help have productive, respectful conversations and open your mind to different perspectives.

    1. Focus on the outcome.

    When you get bogged down arguing about specifics, take the argument up as many levels as you need until you find common ground.

    For example, in the case of climate change, we could have both easily agreed that the environment is important and we want to leave the world a better place for our kids. We just have different views on how to get there. This is a great way to reset the conversation because you’re focused on discussing the outcome rather than winning the argument.

    2. Understand their perspective.

    Learning the underlying reason why someone believes something can help you see a different side of the issue. It might not change your mind, but it will help you treat the other person with more empathy and give you fresh ideas to discuss.

    For example, someone’s refusal to accept climate change might be caused by concern about the negative effects it will have on their life. Maybe transitioning to renewable energy means they will lose their job or be forced to change their lifestyle in ways they don’t want to accept.

    If you can understand these underlying concerns, you’ll be much more likely to find common ground and have a productive discussion.

    3. Separate emotion from logic.

    A stressful argument can hijack the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for critical thinking and decision-making. When this happens, you go into “fight or flight” mode and become more likely to react emotionally, think less creatively, and say things without thinking them through.

    The next time you find yourself getting angry or defensive in an argument, take a step back and try to de-escalate your emotions by acknowledging them. Once you’re feeling more logical and calm, you can start to look for common ground again.

    4. Practice active listening.

    Active listening is a communication technique that involves hearing, paraphrasing, and responding to what the other person is saying. It’s an essential skill for finding common ground because it shows that you’re genuinely interested in understanding their perspective.

    The next time you’re in an argument, try repeating back what the other person has said in different words to make sure you’ve understood them correctly. Then, add your perspective to what they’ve said. For example, “I can see why you feel that way, but I also think…”

    5. Be mindful of your own biases.

    We all have biases—it’s part of being human. We want to win arguments, be right, and be liked, so it’s easy to fall into the trap of only listening to information that supports our point of view.

    In this case, I was forced to admit that I haven’t actually read any of the climate change research myself. My beliefs are almost entirely based on existing in a bubble with other like-minded people who reinforce those beliefs.

    Exposing yourself to different perspectives—even if you don’t agree with them—can help you think more critically about your own beliefs. It might even help you find common ground where you thought there was none.

    6. Remember that differing views are important.

    If everyone agreed on everything, the world would be a pretty boring place. But even more importantly, differing ideas help to push society forward. They challenge us to think critically about our own beliefs and come up with new solutions to problems.

    So the next time you find yourself in an argument with someone, try to see it as an opportunity to learn and grow rather than a chance to prove your point. You might just be surprised at how much common ground you can find.

  • Dear Everyone Who Tells Me I Should Reconcile with My Parents

    Dear Everyone Who Tells Me I Should Reconcile with My Parents

    “You are allowed to terminate your relationship with toxic family members. You are allowed to walk away from people who hurt you. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself.” ~Unknown

    You might think I’m a monster because I don’t have a relationship with my parents. I don’t spend holidays with them; I don’t call them and reminisce; they don’t know pertinent details about my life, my friends, my family, my work, or even the person I have become. Do these facts shock you?

    It is possible that you have only known loving, supportive parents. Parents who were open to discussing and negotiating your relationship, respecting your boundaries, and truly being a part of your life. That’s probably why you can’t understand how I don’t feel the same way about my parents.

    When you learn that I don’t have a relationship with my parents your instinct is to deny my reality. You try to tell me that my parents love me unconditionally, that my mother still cares about me, and that my parents acted out of love for me. You assert that I should try and reconcile with my family, and tell me over and over that I will regret it if I don’t.

    I don’t agree that they love me unconditionally, that they still care about me, that their actions are based on good intentions, or that they abused me in order to make me a better person. I am sorry if this upsets you or challenges your understanding of what a family looks like.

    You become aggressive telling me that I should try harder, that I should adapt and be accommodating and compassionate toward my parents. You tell me that I should forgive them for the things I claim they have done to me and tell me over and over that forgiveness will lead to peace and healing.

    But you don’t get it; I have already healed by not having them in my life, by accepting my painful reality.

    You think that I should call my parents and have a reasonable conversation that would magically lead to a Hollywood ending filled with apologies, validation, love, and reconciliation. You believe that if I do this, I will have the family I have always wanted, and our relationship will be stronger, healthier, and more supportive.

    I need to stop you and be firm. Your lack of understanding about my situation is re-traumatizing me. I cannot contact my parents and reconcile with them. Do you think I didn’t try to have the conversations that you’re suggesting? Don’t you realize that I tried so hard to adapt, to do what they wanted, to apologize and accommodate my parents, yet nothing ever changed? I was never enough!

    Each interaction affirmed how much they despised me, how little they thought of me, and how reluctant they were to listen to me, get to know me more, or even to take the time to understand where I am coming from. Over and over, I tried harder and harder, my heart breaking each time. The picture of the perfect family shattering off the wall and the reality of my family becoming clearer and clearer.

    These were not parents who loved me unconditionally the way parents should love their child. These were parents that might love me if I was better at school, did more for them around the house, and accomplished something they could brag about to elevate their own social position.

    These were not parents who could be bothered to get to know the person I had become, because they believed they knew the flawed, evil monster they had conjured up in their minds. Yet I was not the evil monster; I was an adult child desperate to have a healthy relationship with my parents. I was a teenager who made a few mistakes, and finally I was an adult who saw and understood the family dynamics clearly and accurately.

    Cutting contact with my parents was one of the hardest choices I have ever had to make in my life. Contrary to what you may think, I did not wake up one morning and decide that I did not want to have a family anymore. Rather, I woke up one morning and realized that if I didn’t end the relationship, I would continue to get hurt by my parents for the rest of my life.

    Cutting contact with my parents, formally known as estrangement, allowed me to accept the reality of my situation and build a life that led to self-validation and healing.

    This path has been painful, and there are times when I question whether I did the right thing. However, there are also times when I realize how much better my life is without my parents’ lack of compassion, respect for my boundaries, or willingness to work with me to have a healthy relationship.

    Each time you cling to the Hollywood notion of reconciliation, you traumatize me. I know that I can’t have a relationship with my parents because this relationship will never be healthy. Yet each time you suggest I reconcile you cause me to question myself.

    Questioning myself is something I have grown good at over the years because society does not affirm my choice as socially acceptable, nor does it condone the reasons I chose to cut contact in the first place.

    Questioning myself and my own self-worth is something my parents helped me to become very good at over the years. You see, I couldn’t be doing what was best for me because to them, I was wrong, I was a bad person, and I never remembered situations and events accurately.

    Maybe you don’t mean to cause me to question myself, but each time you bring up reconciliation and the notion that the relationship with my family could be fixed it takes me back into that space. I’m forced to remind myself of all the reasons why I had to cut contact. I’m forced to relive the painful conversations and the intense, overwhelming longing for apologies, validation, and love I know I will never get from my parents.

    Before you tell me I need to see things differently and that most relationships can be fixed, I’m going to stop you. I’m going to remind you that it is hard for people to change. It is much easier for people to say that they have changed in order to save face or absolve themselves of any feelings of guilt and anguish.

    People don’t change for others; they change for themselves because they realize that there are benefits to adjusting their behavior. An uncaring, disconnected parent is not likely to change for a child they never really could love.

    I know that my choices make you feel uncomfortable. I took your family picture and I broke it into a million pieces, pieces that can never be put back together. I challenged your notions of the loving, supportive, forgiving family because that is not my reality, although for your sake, I am glad if that is yours.

    Don’t tell me that time can heal all wounds or that time fixes relationships. Time has taught me that I made the right choice.

    Incredible longing still washes over me when I see some of you interacting with your parents. You have support, love, and mentorship from your family that I will never know. Instead, I will look through the window at the seemingly perfect family, at your family, longing to know what it feels like to be loved and supported the way that you are.

    I will always feel the pain of not having that picture as my own. Part of me will always question why I was not worthy enough to have it in the first place. A piece of my heart will ache with pangs of longing, longing I have learned and accepted is a natural part of life when you don’t have parents who are loving and supportive.

    Don’t downplay my pain or deny my lived experiences. Don’t tell me that how I feel now will not be the same way I feel six months or six years from now. I don’t mean to be harsh, but you have not lived my life or walked in my shoes, and I am relieved for you.

    Don’t remind me that my siblings have a great relationship with my parents, so therefore, I might be able to improve my relationship with them.

    Let me remind you that in families like mine, not all children are treated the same way

    Some children are the golden children, showered with love and support, while others are the neglected children who are barely noticed yet continue to maintain contact in the hopes that one day the relationship will improve. Other children within the toxic family system are scapegoats. Scapegoats are not really loved, and are blamed for things beyond their control.

    In adulthood, some children in these families choose to deny the reality of the dysfunction because society teaches us that everyone needs a family. They choose to hang on and stay in touch with uncaring parents because the alternative choice is so stigmatizing and painful.

    Stop! Don’t remind me of the way my mother acted when you were over at my house growing up. Don’t tell me that she treated you well over the years and was very interested/invested in your life. Please don’t tell me she asks about me every time she sees you or that she has no idea why I cut contact with her.

    I don’t want to hear about how kind my father was. I don’t want to relive backyard barbecues where my parents acted kind and hospitable. You see, they acted.

    Toxic parents can often be kind, compassionate, and caring to everyone else except for their own children. Behind closed doors, when you and the rest of the world were not watching, they were very different people.

    You may have seen them treating me with kindness or pretending that they cared. This was all an act. I don’t want to show you who they really were behind closed doors because I doubt that you will believe me. I know this makes it harder to understand my perspective, but I don’t want to live in the pain of the past. I want to dwell in the present and look to the future with an open heart and an optimistic mind.

    Let me reiterate this: the choice not to have family is both stigmatizing and painful. The pain and stigma flow from not being understood. From assumptions that there must be something wrong with me for cutting contact, that I must be inherently bad or have done something catastrophic to deserve to be cast out of the family.

    Let me shatter that picture again. The only thing I did wrong is challenge your understanding of a loving supportive family.

    Let me ask you something: If your friend criticized and judged everything you did and did not accept you as a person, would you stay friends with that person?

    What if I told you that after interactions with that friend you were anxious, your entire body hurt, you felt like you did something wrong, you couldn’t sleep, and you questioned your judgment? You replayed the interaction over and over in your head each time, remembering more of the abusive comments, the judgmental actions, and the dismissive words you had endured during your visit.

    Could you really stay friends with that person? No, you couldn’t. So why are you encouraging me to reconcile and stay in contact with my parents given that this is how they make me feel? Is it so hard for you to grasp that an unhealthy relationship can occur between family members?

    Hold on tight to your family picture, but don’t ask me to repair mine. Instead, understand and accept my shattered picture.

    Don’t ask me to cut myself with the shards of glass through forgiveness, reconciliation, and false hopes of unconditional love and acceptance. I’m sorry if what I’ve said makes you feel uncomfortable. Society makes me feel uncomfortable each time I am asked to deny my reality, pick up a piece of glass, and expose my family wound that you could easily help me heal by accepting it.

  • How I Healed My Mother Wound and My Daughters Are Healing Theirs

    How I Healed My Mother Wound and My Daughters Are Healing Theirs

    “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself… You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow…” ~Kahlil Gibran

    Now that my daughters are in therapy trying to heal their relationship with me, I have more compassion than ever for my mom. I haven’t felt angry at her in years. But when I was a teen, I earnestly desired to kill her more than once.

    I was in my forties when my mom died. Afterward, I had frequent dreams about her chasing me around, telling me I wasn’t good enough. The dreams lasted nightly for about six months and occurred for a few more years when I felt stressed. The last one I remember, she was chasing me under the covers of the bed, screaming my worst fears—that I was unlovable and unworthy—reinforcing my wounded child.

    About twelve years after she died, I was able to come to a place of comfort with her. While in deep meditation I saw a vision of her spirit bathed with light and love. Freed from her mental and physical sufferings, I saw her as I had seen her when I was a child—my universe.

    Unfortunately, she couldn’t see herself as I did in those days. I knew that she was beautiful. I remember thinking about it as a young child, and when she was dying. How often I’d searched her face, looking for her to see me.

    Like my dad, I have prominent facial features. I wished I had her cute small nose and her pretty lips that always looked beautiful in her Berry Berry Avon lipstick. She had blue eyes, which I rarely saw straight on. She was uncomfortable with her looks. I don’t remember any direct eye contact with her unless she was angry, though I realized there must have been.

    She was born with a crossed eye. Her story was that her parents were accused of having a sexually transmitted disease that caused it, which brought great shame. My mom was also dyslexic. Sometimes at school, she had to wear a dunce cap and stand in the corner or hall because she couldn’t spell. These challenges shaped her self-worth from a young age.

    I loved looking at pictures of her in her twenties with long dark wavy hair, stylish glasses, and a beautiful smile.

    When she died, I didn’t cry. I proclaimed that her reign of terror had ended, and I held on to my anger for twelve more years. That day in meditation, when I was able to break through the veil of outrage that kept me in my darkness, I saw her as a bright light in my life. 

    I had known for years that some of my healing depended on letting go of the story of my time with my mom—one of mental health issues, abuse, and unhappiness. I needed to take time to process our relationship and see her beyond her earthly life. When I was finally able to, I felt better than I expected.

    Through my experience and my work with other women, I’ve learned that the mother wound—our unresolved anger at the flawed woman who birthed or raised us—is two or threefold.

    Our first challenge is processing the actual events that happened as we were growing up.

    The second is letting go of our reluctance to be fully responsible for our mental and physical health as adults.

    And, if we have children, the third is not wounding ourselves—realizing that there was never a scenario where we could be the perfect parent we had hoped to be, no matter how self-sacrificing we were.

    Processing Our Childhood

    Our work as adults is to make a conscious effort to process the hurt, anger, and betrayal that we endured from the female authority figure that raised us (or the figure who was our primary caregiver).

    Even if we resolve that our mother did her best, we are still left to sort through our shame over not feeling loveable or good enough, and the feeling that we missed out on the experience we should have had growing up. Processing and healing could mean seeing a therapist, journaling, or even stopping all contact with our mother.

    I moved far away from my mom, which minimized my contact and gave me space to process. But I kept the past alive in my thoughts. Now when I look back, I see that holding on to my anger well into adulthood added to the years of feeling like I was missing out on a normal life. In the end, I was responsible for my own healing, and it didn’t happen overnight.

    Now, at this place in my life journey, I see the hard parts of my life as the foundation for my life’s purpose, and I don’t feel like I’m missing out.

    I’ve met enough people to know that even those who had the perfect parents—like we all wanted—also have challenges as adults. My work to heal has led me to a deep understanding of the human condition and fueled my passion to love and to help uplift the suffering of all.

    How Our Commitment to Self-Care Helps Heal Our Mother Wound

    We looked to our mother to provide emotional and physical nourishment. Her inability to do this (or do it consistently) created our feeling that we were wronged by our mother. Now, as adults, we need to let go of thinking our mother will take care of us and do our own nurturing work for ourselves. That might seem like a harsh statement, but it enables us to move on.

    The second part of healing my mother wound was letting go of the part of me that doesn’t take care of myself. That little voice in my head that apathetically whispers, “I don’t care” about little things that would improve my health, help me sleep better, or feel successful.

    That little voice doesn’t have as much power over me anymore. So instead of overeating in the evening, which would affect my ability to sleep well, I can override it—most days. I’m also able to notice that when I don’t take care of myself, I open myself up to being the wounded child again.

    We didn’t have a choice when we were young, but now the choice is ours. We need to decide when and how we take up the torch.

    When Our Mother Wound Becomes a Mothering Wound

    My mother wound turned into a mothering wound when I didn’t live up to my hopes of being a perfect parent. Of course, I had intended to be the loving, nurturing, protecting mother, who produced adults without any challenges, but alas, I was not. How could this happen? I tried so hard. 

    I was able to find alternatives to the punitive, violent punishments, shaming, and blaming tactics that my mother used, but as a young parent, I was still challenged with low self-worth issues and an eating disorder.

    Although some of the things that occurred during the three marriages and two divorces that my daughters and I experienced together were horrific, we were luckily able to process a lot of them in real time with therapy and tears.

    Now, with their adult awareness, my daughters are processing their childhood, including my addictions, insecurities, and mistakes. It is almost torture to watch them do that, even though I know they must. And they are so busy with their lives now—as they should be. I miss them.

    To weather this time of my life and continue to grow, I need to employ my practices of understanding, compassion, and detachment, and take deep care of myself. Continuing to love my daughters deeply, to be on call whenever they need me, and at the same time be detached from needing them, has called me to deeper depths of my character.

    We all deserve to be treated respectfully and kindly. As daughters and mothers, we can role model compassion—empathy in action—and boundaries with our mother and our children. We can strive to create relationships that mutually nourish loving-kindness.

    We can focus on healing our past and taking care of our future. We all need to communicate this clearly to our mothers, partners, and children. And, although we can’t walk away from our underage children, we can set boundaries that facilitate healthy relationships now.

    We can be clear—our children don’t need their lives or their mother to be perfect. They need to know that they are loved, and they need to see us love ourselves. Holding on to this love for them and for ourselves when our children are troubled, distant, or even estranged is one of our biggest tests as parents. My heart goes out to any mother dealing with these challenges, especially if you are dealing with them alone.

    I never stopped wanting my mom to be happy. She is now at peace, maybe even joyful. I strive to let myself be at peace. I let myself live in this place of deep tenderness for her—and now for me. I understand that my experience is universal. I needn’t feel alone.

    I realized that this confident and peaceful version of me is the best I can do for my daughters as they heal their mother wounds and take care of themselves, as I am doing for myself.

    To heal our mother wound is to remember that it is ultimately a spiritual journey. Not only are we trying to figure out the depths of our own purpose, but we are bound to the journeys of our kin.

    As with all spiritual journeys, there will be rough passages that tear our heart open and ask us to become more. The journey of the mother is the journey of love. We need to remember, no matter what rough journey is behind us, we are the designers of the path ahead.

  • My Mother’s Abuse and the Two Things That Have Helped Me Heal

    My Mother’s Abuse and the Two Things That Have Helped Me Heal

    “I love when people that have been through hell walk out of the flames carrying buckets of water for those still consumed by the fire.” ~Stephanie Sparkles

    I have a tattoo on my back of Charles Bukowski’s quote “What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” It spoke to me as I had been walking, often crawling, through a fire for much of my life.

    At times, I took different paths, skipping through fields of flowers, but eventually I would find my way back to what I knew, which gave me a strange sense of comfort—the fire whose roots had begun in childhood, with my abusive mother.

    I used to be consumed by this fire. I have another tattoo on my foot that reads “Breathe.” For years I lived with a very dysregulated nervous system, constantly alerting me to the threats of the flames forming around me, and breath was something that eluded me.

    How could I breathe when at any moment she could walk up the stairs and find something to lash out at me over?

    How could I breathe when no one wanted to hear how I felt, and my emotions were something I did not understand, nor know how to handle?

    How could I breathe when everything was so frightening?

    How could I breathe when no one ever showed me how?

    Those entrusted to my care were in their own fires that they had never learned to come out of. So of course, as I grew, I felt unsafe and uneasy. And I learned to ignore my breath, ignore that others were able to feel it move through their body, and learned to see only flames everywhere. 

    I grew up in a traditional home as a child of immigrants who had come to the USA for work and to give their children a better life. I went to Catholic school, where I threw myself into academics as a way to be seen, and excelled. My parents were excellent cooks and displayed their love for us through the kitchen table. I had all of my physical and academic needs met.

    I spent my early childhood playing with my brother, who I latched onto as a support system. My mother’s inability to soothe us as babies and toddlers created very sensitive, shy children, deeply afraid of the world around us and deeply connected to each other.

    Unfortunately, my brother and I began to distance during our preteen years. We had created different survival strategies to navigate my parents, and he began to view me as the problem, as my mother was teaching him. I then began to view myself through the same lens.

    I was ridiculed, abandoned emotionally, shamed, and made to believe the dysfunction of the family lay entirely on me. There was a period of physical abuse as well, but during these situations, I at least felt seen.

    I was gaslit to question everything I believed to be true and found myself in imposed isolation in my childhood and teen years, later self-imposed. The world felt too frightening to face. As I grew older, I rebelled against the isolation by looking to others to help soothe me, especially romantic relationships.

    If they didn’t soothe me as I wanted, I grew angry and hurt, isolating myself more and more, or lashing out internally or externally.

    I looked to ease the suffering inside with external gratifications, shopping, traveling, and sex. Unfortunately, nothing could soothe the pain I was feeling.

    In my early twenties I went to a therapist and could do nothing but cry. After a few months of not being able to communicate, she insisted I take benzodiazepines or we would be unable to continue working together.

    My symptoms worsened both emotionally and physically, and I now needed “saving” from both. The helplessness I learned early on continued, as did my need to have others make me feel safe. Both my body and brain became impossible to withstand, and proved to me that I was a victim of life and no one cared about me.

    I found relationships to validate this idea, with addicts, narcissists, and codependents who all eventually grew tired of my need to be loved and soothed out of my pain.

    I was attracting the familiar in these people, who could not show me the love and safety I needed. In other words, I was attaching myself to others to regulate, but they too were stuck in a cycle of dysregulation.

    I found various ways to hurt myself, overspending, starving myself, overexercising, and on more than one occasion taking too many medications to calm myself down, and finding myself in an emergency room. The familiar was living in my nervous system and demanded to be entertained.

    After decades of chronic health issues due to emotional and physical trauma, they finally hit a peak when I was forty-seven and no longer able to work, the one area of my life I’d had some control of. I had to learn to breathe or be completely extinguished by the flames. During this time, I began to learn how to put out the fires.

    I worked hard on retraining my nervous system out of the fight-or-flight state it had entered when I was not soothed as a baby, and rewiring thoughts and behavior patterns created as an extension of that state. In this process, I found the authentic part of myself, the inner child, which brought a deep peace, the peace of integration.

    An integral part of my healing came from practices of forgiveness and compassion. As I rewired old patterns living in my nervous system, I learned about how the brain works, how trauma is stored there, and how our realities are shaped by early experiences.

    Each day in my practices I discovered new associations, when new thoughts and behaviors had started, and had to look at these strategies and their results with self-compassion and forgiveness.

    At first, this was difficult, as it was new to my brain, but as I practiced it became easier, and I started feeling self-compassion and self-love for the first time.

    As I worked with my own toxic personality in these practices, I experienced deep grief for the past and what I was not able to enjoy as a result. Anger was holding on, and I knew it was time to let go. So, I began a practice of curious empathy for the woman who had started my fires, my mother. Awareness of my own dysfunction, self-compassion, and now self-forgiveness allowed me to do the same for others, including her.

    In this case, curious empathy meant becoming aware of her patterns and where they came from by connecting to my own experiences and empathy.

    I had observed her throughout my life to learn about what I was experiencing and how to navigate her, as well as others in the world. I also read tons of self-help books about personality disorders and toxic people, but cognitive knowledge wasn’t enough to understand my mother.

    I watched, listened, and heard stories from my father about my mother’s childhood. I drew upon my own strategies and where they originated. I opened myself up to curiously knowing her, at first from a distance (during this time of healing), and then I incrementally exposed my healing nervous system to her with empathy.

    When I felt balanced and regulated enough, I rejoined our relationship, but with strict boundaries—for both of us. And I found a somewhat different human in front of me, one who had softened in her old age but still retained old behaviors when “triggered.”

    I began to identify her triggers and remained strong when she reacted. I now knew no other way; my nervous system and heart had been retrained into compassion.

    I came to understand that she had created toxic survival strategies because of an inability to communicate and soothe emotions and needs in an effective way. She had been stuck in a fight-or-flight state that prevented her from seeing the world as it was, and seeing the motivations of others clearly.

    And I had learned (and now unlearned) similar methods of interacting with the world.

    I often pictured her as a child or a teen and connected with this version of her through my own inner child. In the moment, I was able to change the hurt and anger I felt to compassion for the way she was trying to get what she needed. This was followed by an inner forgiveness and releasing of the negative emotions.

    I made it clearly known what I would accept, and often joked with her about the way she was acting. She responded with smiling or laughter.

    It became clear that she reacted when she felt vulnerable, and I understood that throughout her childhood, vulnerability was not acceptable, and she was shamed in it. 

    In identifying her methods of showing love, I felt loved and seen, and it was easier to react to her with forgiveness and compassion. It became natural to me to speak as the “parent” (adult) when her old armor of defense came up.

    In daily forgiveness and compassion practices, I find enormous love for the woman still stuck in a fight-or-flight state created in her childhood. There are times I pull away to reinforce that her behavior is unacceptable, but these times are not as prevalent as before.

    As I changed my behavior toward her, she began to change hers toward me. As I regulated my nervous system into safety, it seemed to soothe hers, and she inched closer to the idea of vulnerability with me.  As I let go and replaced the anger with compassion, she felt safe. It is with this safety that she is able to chip away a tiny piece of her armor in our interactions.

    I cannot ever change her, and she will pass with the trauma state she is in as her identity. But, for my own well-being, I chose forgiveness and compassion, to bring her a small drop of water each time I see her. Remaining in the fire with her, by being angry, was not an option any longer. 

    I found my way out of a fire that had nearly taken my life and hope to continue sharing my experience of healing. These days I find myself skipping through fields of flowers on a regular basis, and feel it is a blessing to share it with those who have not yet gotten there—and those who may never.

    **I am not suggesting that anyone should keep people in their lives that they feel are “toxic.” We all need to do what we feel is best for us based on our own unique experience.

  • The Surprising Lesson I Learned About Why People Leave Us

    The Surprising Lesson I Learned About Why People Leave Us

    “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” ~Lao Tzu

    While this Lao Tzu quote may sound familiar, I recently learned there is a second portion of that quote that often gets omitted.

    “When the student is truly ready…the teacher will disappear.”

    The first part of this quote was a healing anchor for me as I went through what I call a thirteen, or a divine storm.

    In one year’s time, I went through a devastating divorce, was robbed, got in two car accidents, and lost a dear friend to a heart attack. I felt like I was watching everything in my life burn to ash, including my deepest desire of having a family, and found myself on my knees doing something I had never done before: asking for help.

    I realized the way I had been living my life wasn’t working anymore and I needed to learn, so I became the student and opened my palms to the sky asking for guidance.

    So many teachers came. I found a therapist who helped me heal from my divorce, I found spiritual guidance after being lost, I met other divorcees, and found meditation, which was a loving balm to my broken heart. I was ready, so the teachers appeared.

    Each teacher that came forward instilled in me the importance and effectiveness of the right support, and as I faced all the challenges of building a new life, I continued to seek help. What I learned allowed me to find my life partner, one who desired creating a family as much as I did.

    As my life transformed and I opened my heart to love again, I thought the first part of this quote was the full lesson.

    Until recently, when I encountered the second part on a quote website.

    Staring at the words on my screen, my whole body stopped. Tears fell down my face as I realized all these years I’ve spoken about the teachers that arrived in the face of my divorce, but hadn’t really spoken about the teachers that left.

    Specifically, the biggest teacher, my ex. For the purpose of this post, we will call him Jon.

    When Jon dropped the bomb on Thanksgiving Day of 2012, and said he didn’t love me anymore, I honestly thought I could stop it. I thought I could save the marriage. But nothing worked. Not couple’s counseling, not locking myself in the bedroom and refusing to eat, or crawling under the hide-a-bed he was sleeping on in the living room, pleading for him to stay.

    Jon’s refusal to work on the marriage left me with something I hadn’t spent real time with in my thirty-seven years. His refusal left me with myself.

    And the truth was, I had been lying to everyone around me for years. I had been in an on and off again affair and swayed violently between immense shame for my actions and complete confusion as to why I kept going back to a man I didn’t really love.

    I didn’t understand what I was doing or why.

    I would cover up the shame and confusion with overdrinking, lots of TV, and listening to constant music. I would cry in the shower, so afraid I would be found out. I was convinced my friends and family would all stop loving me.

    But something had been alive for a long time. In fact, it was alive when Jon and I were engaged in college.

    I was a musical theater major, and in my last year of school, when I was planning my wedding, I threw myself at two men I was in shows with. Nothing happened with the first guy, but with the second, we kissed, and I immediately felt ashamed and appalled. What was I doing?

    So I told Jon, and he asked me a powerful question, “Do you want to postpone the wedding?” I told him no. I told him I loved him. I apologized and promised this would never happen again.

    So the wedding went forward, except a week before I walked down the aisle, I felt scared again and asked my mom if this was a good idea. She thought it was just nerves and talked me back into getting married.

    Our first year of marriage was both exciting and tumultuous. We were both actors, and very passionate, and many times would have escalating fights filling our small Queens apartment with our voices. My parents came to visit, and my mother pulled me aside, concerned about how we were speaking to each other.

    I told her this was what actual communication was like, not just staying silent like she did with my father.

    So the yelling continued, as did all the excitement of our careers, and we spent a lot of time apart as we worked at different theaters. Even though I thought we were on the same page about having a family eventually, the years went on and on.

    Until my thirty-sixth birthday, when I finally got off the pill. I was terrified. I never thought I would wait this long to have a family, and as the months went on and my period continued to come, I heard again and again how scared Jon was too. Nothing I said would make any difference, and the fights were getting uglier and uglier.

    I felt so alone.

    And a panic was rising in me. A panic that he didn’t want to have a family. That I was married to a man who didn’t want to be a father.

    Then he kneeled in front of me a year later and confirmed my panic. Turns out, everything I felt was actually true.

    “When the student is truly ready…the teacher disappears.”

    Jon was my teacher for nineteen years. I met him when I was eighteen, wide eyed and madly in love. But now it was time. Time for me to learn what it looked and felt like to be with a partner who shared my deepest desire.

    Time to learn what a healthy relationship is, and what healthy and loving communication sounds like.

    Time to learn how to honor my instincts and process strong emotions, and especially my anger at being in my late thirties with no children.

    He didn’t need to be there anymore, because I was finally waking up and ready to learn the lesson he was in my life to teach me.

    He could leave, and actually had to leave in order for me to grow.

    Lao Tzu was speaking to one of the most profound teachings we have, that change is constant. People come in and out of our lives for different purposes, and our deepest suffering arises when we try to control every outcome. We try to control our relationships, our friendships, and the people we believe have to always be there.

    But what if each teacher is here for the time needed, and when they leave, it’s actually a reflection of what you are ready for?

    What if people leaving, relationships ending, is actually a reflection of your readiness for transformation?

    What if your heartbreak of any kind, romantic or personal, is a moment of sacred alchemy?

    Take a moment today to honor the teachers who have left. Perhaps write in your journal around this question: What did you learn when they were gone?

    For me, I sat down on the floor and cried. I felt a great wave of relief recognizing Jon left because I was ready.

    And I would not have known otherwise.

    You are so much stronger than you know, and your greatest learning comes when you claim the wisdom of those teachers who have left.

  • How I’m Coping with Grief by Finding Meaning in My Father’s Death

    How I’m Coping with Grief by Finding Meaning in My Father’s Death

    “Life has to end, love doesn’t.” ~Mitch Albom

    Before we dive into the dark subject of death, let me assure you, this is a happy read. It is not about how losing a loved one is a blessing but how it can be a catalyst to you unlocking big lessons in your life.

    Or maybe it is—you decide.

    To me, this is just about a perspective, a coping mechanism, and a process that I am personally employing to get over the loss of a loved one.

    My dad and I were best buds till I became a teenager. Then my hormones and “cool life” became a barrier between our relationship. I became busy and distant, and so did he. It continued until recently.

    My dad’s health went downhill fast in a couple of months.

    I could see him waning away, losing himself, losing this incessant war against so many diseases all alone. We (my family and friends) were there for him, trying to support him with whatever means possible.

    But maybe it was his time

    The last time I saw my father he was in a hospital bed, plugged into different machines, unable to breathe, very weak. It felt like I was in a movie—one of the ones with tragic endings. And the ending was indeed tragic.

    I clearly remember every single detail of the day my dad passed away. I remember how he looked, what the doctor said, who was around me, how my family was, and how fast it all happened.

    It shattered me. Losing a parent is something you can never prepare yourself for, ever.

    I was broken. I had people around holding me together, but I could only feel either of the two feelings: anger or sadness.

    Where did he go? How fragile are we humans? Did he want to say something to me that day? Was he in pain? Was there something I could have done for him? Why is death so bizarre? Why do people we love die and leave this huge vacuum in our lives?

    It’s been four months since he passed away. And now, I think I see why.

    I have come to the realization—due to the support of my therapist, my family, my partner, and my friends—that death is meaningless until you give it a meaning.

    Let me explain that.

    Usually, after experiencing the loss of a loved one, we go through a phase of grief. How we deal with death and experience grief is a very personal and subjective experience.

    I cannot outline tips for all; maybe your therapist or a mental health professional can guide you better on this.

    But, in my experience, grieving and dealing with death come with a bag full of opportunities. I don’t mean to give death a happy twist. To set the record straight, I believe death sucks.

    Losing a loved one feels like losing a part of yourself. It is a difficult, painful, deeply shaking experience that no one can prepare you for.

    However, in my experience, grieving is a process with many paths. A few common paths are:

    • I experienced losing a loved one, so I will now respect life even more.
    • I experienced losing a loved one, and it was awful, everything is awful, and I wish I was dead too.
    • I experienced losing a loved one, and I don’t know how to feel about this yet.

    I was on the third path.

    I constantly felt the need to be sad, to grieve, to lie in bed and cry all day

    But interestingly, there were also days when I felt that I needed to forget what had happened, live my life, and enjoy it as much as I could, because #YOLO (You Only Live Once).

    I felt the pressure to behave and act a certain way. Now that my dad was no more, I needed to act serious, mature, responsible. Now that my dad was no more, I needed to stop focusing on going out, partying, and taking trips with friends and instead save money, settle down, and take better care of my family’s health.

    I did not know how I was supposed to feel or to grieve.

    Then one night, the realization hit me. (Of course, all deep realizations happen during nighttime, you know it.)

    Maybe death is meaningless until I provide it a meaning—a meaning that serves me to cope, to grow, and to let go.

    After reading several books, sharing this with loved ones, talking to my therapist, and journaling about this realization for several days, I realized another significant thing.

    The process of finding meaning in death is like any other endeavor—you try several things until one works out.

    So, I laid out all possible meanings that seemed logically or emotionally sound to me.

    And here came the third great realization: Our loved ones want nothing but the best for us. Honoring yourself, investing in yourself, making yourself a better version of yourself is the best way to honor your lost loved ones.

    No matter how complicated our relationships with them were, people who genuinely loved and cared about us would want us to love and take care of ourselves.

    My dad cannot say it to prove me right on this, but I am pretty sure all he wanted was to see his family happy. See me working on myself, getting better at taking care of myself, and growing into a better human being.

    So, after this perspective shift, things became simpler.

    Now, death is no longer meaningless to me.

    My dad’s death brought me the golden realization that it’s time to upgrade myself, make myself better, and maybe implement some of his best values into my value system.

    I have reflected upon this for weeks. I have started working on this too.

    On a micro level, I am aware and conscious of how sucky death is. I saw it pretty close, but I now grasp the value of life. I am grateful for this newfound respect for life, however cliched that might sound. And on a macro level, I also know that even my death can also serve a purpose to someone’s life; it could help them ponder, reflect, and probably set things right for themselves.

    The moral of the story is that death is dark and sad but can also be beautiful. It is just a matter of perspective.

    It can be the storm that rocks your boat and makes you drown, but it can also be the light that guides you back to your purpose.

    This last section is for people who are grieving right now. I am aware that I cannot fathom what you are going through; losing a loved one is personal and subjective. But I wish to help you out in whatever little capacity I can.

    Here’s a quick list of things that are helping me. If you do decide to give these things a try, please share your experience in the comments.

    Write everything down—your memories, your frustrations, your feelings.

    Every time you think of that person, pull that thought out of your mind and put it onto the paper, even if it is just in one line. When faced with a loss, we often shut down and avoid our feelings instead of acknowledging how the trauma of losing a loved one is affecting us. Putting your feelings onto paper will help you work through them so you’re better prepared to handle the next set of challenges life has in store for you.

    Seek professional help in whatever form you can.

    Why? Because a professional is much better equipped than your friends and family. You can see a therapist and reach out to your friends for help too.

    Do what you feel more than you feel what you do.

    There will be times when you feel like doing something unexpected and fun, but once you start doing it, you will feel guilt, shame, and self-judgment. Doing what you feel like doing and not overthinking about how you are feeling while doing it allows you to let go. Read this again to understand it better.

    Keep track to remain patient.

    Grieving and getting over a loved one’s death requires a long process for many of us. It can get frustrating to constantly and consciously work on it. But if you can maintain a log of your progress— your tiny steps like making an effort to socialize, sitting with your feelings, or writing about your thoughts and sharing this with someone you trust—this can keep you aware, grounded, and patient for the long ride.

    Lastly, live your life.

    Circling back to the original theme, your loved ones just want you to be happy. So do things that make you happy. This could be as simple as getting an ice cream from the same place you used to visit together and reminiscing on the good times. Or as radical as getting your ducks in a row, showing up for that job interview, taking care of your body, joining the gym, and working on your mental health as well.

    At the end of the day (or life), we are all going to be floating in a pool of our memories, so make memories and enjoy life.

    And try finding the meaning of death. Ensure that meaning makes you rise one step above and closer to the person your loved ones imagined you to be. #YOLO

  • How I Healed My Low Self-Worth After Infidelity and Divorce

    How I Healed My Low Self-Worth After Infidelity and Divorce

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

    Once upon a time, I met and fell in love with the man of my dreams. He was the most romantic, loving, amazing person I had ever met and for some reason, he wanted to be with me.

    I was a nobody. I was the little girl who had lost her mommy and had control issues. I was the princess needing to be rescued by a prince. And I was rescued, whisked away to a whole other state, and loved and adored by this wonderful man whom I eventually married.

    We were together for almost nine years. But my history of eating disorders caused a disconnect. I obsessed over food, exercise, and the slightest interference in my perfectly planned day. We no longer could talk with each other. We no longer could connect on a physical, spiritual, or emotional level.

    Two days after Christmas, he told me he didn’t love me. He filed for divorce in early 2021.

    I admit, the facts remain foggy about when husband’s affair started, but the emotional truth is this: I felt raw, exposed, ripped apart from the inside. My heart broke into pieces and then those pieces broke into more pieces.

    Each time he left the house, I knew where he was going and who he was with. A pickaxe constantly chiseled away at the hole in my chest, making the constant ache and longing for the return of my former life, my husband, greater and greater.

    I wanted him next to me, in our bed. I wanted to feel his weight while he slept, see his silhouette in the darkness. Hear his breath and occasional snoring. I thought I would run out of salt from the tears I shed, but they kept coming, night after night, day after day.

    I blamed myself for all of it: losing my husband, my house, my dog. It was because of me that my marriage failed. I was unlovable and unworthy of love. Broken. That is why my husband didn’t love me enough to want to work through our problems.

    If I had only gotten help sooner, then we would have stayed together. If I wouldn’t have been so obsessive over exercise and what I ate, then he wouldn’t have stopped loving me. If I would have loved him perfectly, then he wouldn’t have found the love he needed with another woman. 

    Good and bad memories of him haunted me in my dreams. Harsh words I said, unloving things I did, waited for me in my bed and pounced when I tried to sleep. Wherever I went, the constant flood of tears threatened to destroy me.

    When he filed for divorce, I made up my mind. I refused to allow the eating disorder to take any more of my life away.

    I realized I couldn’t blame myself entirely for the end of my relationship. For the first time in fifteen years, I threw all of my energy into my healing process instead of achieving the perfect body.

    I needed to heal for me. I needed to take real control of my past and learn from my mistakes so I wouldn’t make them again. I had experienced other life-changing trauma, and knew I finally needed to work through it. But I didn’t know where I should begin in the healing process. This is what helped me:

    1. Gratitude and Prayer

    I am reminded every day that there is always something to be grateful for. The light of the sun after the darkness. The gentle rain that falls after a long dry spell. The changing leaves on the trees. A functioning mind and body. People in your life who love you unconditionally.

    I still experienced all of these things, and I still had people who loved me in my life, even though they were hundreds of miles away. I vocalized my gratitude for even the smallest things out loud each day.

    At night, I wrote down at least three things that I was grateful for that day: I am grateful that I rose from my bed free of pain in my body. I am grateful for the ability to make my bed. I am grateful for my job.

    When you express gratitude for even insignificant things, you begin to see the good in your life, and not dwell on what is going wrong.

    I have always been a spiritual person, believing in a connection with a higher power. Each night, I prayed for my family. Then for my friends. And eventually for myself, something I’d never done before because I didn’t feel worthy.

    I wanted the gnawing ache in my stomach gone, and my broken heart to mend. Blaming and berating myself all my life had not worked, so what did I have to lose. What I had to gain was a stronger and more confident self.

    2. Counseling and Self-Love

    I sought a counselor. It helped to relay my story to someone who could help. By telling someone my story from the beginning, I was released from its power. It didn’t own me anymore.

    But I still had a long way to go.

    The energy around my husband was cold and uncomfortable. I knew he felt it too. He avoided me. When we did encounter each other, he looked at me with disdain and disgust. I went straight to my default thoughts; he must think I’m ugly. It put me in another downward spiral of self-loathing, but not for long.

    I was determined to get better, to stop struggling with low-self-worth and lack of self-compassion.

    Counseling helped put things in a new perspective. In one of our sessions, she told me something I will never forget: There was nothing you could have done differently. He was going to leave anyway. To know that I hadn’t failed at my relationship and it wasn’t all my fault was a huge relief.

    My counselor introduced self-love activities, which sounded so counter-intuitive. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Despite the awkwardness of looking at myself in the mirror and giving myself positive compliments full of compassion, I did it. The more I practiced compassion toward myself, the more I began to see my intrinsic worth.

    I began with the simple phrase: I love you.

    That turned into: I deserve love.

    I kept saying these every day, wherever I was. My thinking changed my reality. I began to truly believe I was worthy of love.

    3. Acceptance and Forgiveness

    Even though I spoke with a counselor regularly, I still rode on a rollercoaster from hell. While I still lived at the house, my husband had told me he was going on a fishing trip a few hours away. Every fiber of my being told me he was lying.

    The Monday he returned, I searched the room he slept in and found the receipt for a hotel room for two people only twenty minutes away. I confronted him and he denied anything was going on. I couldn’t mention the receipt because I was ashamed for trying to find proof.

    I said horrible things to him that night, not because of what he had done, but because he was lying. After being together for almost nine years, how could he still ignore my feelings? How could he continue to lie? His behavior made it perfectly clear that our marriage was over, he had someone else, and he had nothing else to lose. Why not admit it?

    I felt as though he never loved me at all. The tension between us worsened and I felt like a stranger in the home I had lived in for six years.

    I wanted him to hurt like I did, to understand my pain, my devastation, to empathize with me in some way. He had never experienced a devastating loss of a parent like I had as a child. He had never experienced abandonment of people who are supposed to love all of you, the imperfect parts too. He could not begin to understand the pain and grief I experienced. He had no idea how it festers inside like a dormant volcano for years, then spews out in forms of self-harm.

    Despite my mistakes in our relationship and my feelings of unworthiness, I knew I didn’t deserve his lies. The next morning, I promised myself that I would stop trying to find proof of his affair. It wasn’t worth the pain. I knew the truth and if he wanted to continue to lie, that was his choice. I also stopped berating myself for what I had said.

    I knew I could never go back in time and redo everything. I couldn’t take anything back. I had to learn from it all and move forward. I had loved this man, and a part of me still did. It was at that moment I forgave my husband for what he had done. I just couldn’t forgive myself yet.

    4. Meditation and Breathing

    I tried meditation on my own, but I was in the same boat as so many other people who say they can’t meditate because their mind wanders. I didn’t have the patience to meditate, but I still tried.

    I sat down on the floor, closed my eyes, and began thinking of all the things I wasn’t supposed to think about. I tried hard to stay focused on the present moment, like I had read so many times. I needed help.

    I found a Meetup group about mindfulness and the healing process. I learned tactics for finding awareness and my own inner peace, like repeating a mantra over and over, “I am here. I am love. I am enough. I am okay.” I learned about the power of breathing and the breath cycles: inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight.

    With practice, I was able to retrain my brain to stay in the present and not dwell in the past or worry in the future. Meditation helps to change the mind’s thoughts, too.

    With meditation came awareness and acceptance of my emotions. When the sadness came, I let it. I crumbled to the floor and allowed my tears to fall for as long as needed and eventually, I rose from the floor and moved forward, telling myself that it’s okay to feel whatever it is you feel.

    When loneliness threatened to debilitate me, I let it in, sensing it poke and pry at every vulnerable part of me. But then it eventually went away too. I learned that emotions are like unwanted guests: they are annoying when they are around, but they will eventually leave.

    Over the next few months, I could feel a shift within me. I felt empowered. I felt more confident.

    5. Writing

    Writing is in my soul. It helps to put things in a new perspective. Since I was a child, I wrote my thoughts down to help process what happened to me. I can see the events anew with some distance and perspective.

    I kept a notebook and carried it with me wherever I went. When I felt overwhelmed by my thoughts, I wrote them down. It served as a kind of brain dump for all the streaming thoughts in my head.

    Writing is tangible proof and a reminder that the only constant thing in life is change. Our viewpoint on life never looks the same when we look back on it from the rearview mirror.

    I am a work in progress. I am healing. I am growing. I am learning. I am rising stronger every day. Even if one person cannot see my value, my worth, and my intrinsic goodness, I have countless others who can and who have shown me that I am worthy of love.

    Love is what humans truly crave when they futilely use money to buy new gadgets, clothes, or make fancy renovations to their homes. But at the end of the day, humans thrive and prosper on love. No amount of money or material wealth can replace the desire to feel loved and be loved in return. The most important love of all is that for yourself.

    I still question myself and my value. But I am getting better at recognizing those thoughts and shutting them down sooner, then replacing them with more compassionate ones.

    I have learned that mental illness is not something to be ashamed of or kept secret.

    Mental health is okay to talk about. It is okay to ask for help. Don’t hold it in no matter what you assume other people will think. You are worthy of finding peace and healing. You deserve to be the best version of yourself. Accept yourself so you can forgive yourself. Choose to love yourself first and everything else will fall into place.

  • Dear Mom and Dad, Thank You for the Years of Trauma

    Dear Mom and Dad, Thank You for the Years of Trauma

    “When you finally learn that a person’s behavior has more to do with their own internal struggle than you, you learn grace.” ~Allison Aars

    I’m writing this to say thank you for the trauma you caused me since I was born. You might be thinking that I’m being sarcastic, but that’s far from the truth.

    Let me explain why I have such gratitude for the pain and trauma you created in my life. Also, please understand that I forgive you.

    Dad, I want to start with you because you’re no longer living. I know you’re now able to see the pain you caused.

    When I witnessed the violence between you and mom, it caused years of anxiety and depression. I was no longer able to have friends at our house for fear violence and your drunken, angry rages might happen again.

    That caused me difficulty in making friends, and that stayed with me for many years. It also taught me to pretend everything was okay and that we had a “good” family. I learned to live a lie.

    Your depression made me believe there was something wrong with me. I thought I was the reason you rarely wanted to be around us. I falsely learned I was unlovable.

    Your portrayal of being the victim in all of life’s situations taught me that others are always to blame for anything that goes wrong in life. Your self-hatred taught me to hate myself too.

    The explosions of anger taught me that’s how you handle life. For years, I blew up on people when I was angry, then pretended it never happened. That cost me romantic and friend relationships for many years.

    The embarrassment of your drunk episodes in public caused me a tremendous amount of shame. Not until I got much older, did I realize I shouldn’t be ashamed of something I had no control over.

    Your absence throughout my teenage years resulted in seeking negative, unhealthy attention from men. When you attempted a return in my early twenties, you shamed me for being emotionally and physically scared of you.

    Every new friendship or romantic relationship I had brought such dread. I knew at some point I’d be asked about my family.

    Since I was emotionally unhealthy, I attracted unhealthy people. So, explaining how my alcoholic father wasn’t in my life was never received well.

    The shame I had was only increased as I was told, “that’s your father. You should forgive him. Let him be in your life.”

    Oh, how that brings up such sadness. I think about all the times I attempted to reconnect with you throughout my twenties. Each time I had high hopes that you’d changed, only to be let down further each time.

    To say I had “Daddy Issues” was putting it lightly. Those “Daddy Issues” showed up in very harmful ways. I struggled with men in authority in work environments because of you. I don’t even have to mention again how much you affected my dating life.

    Now, it’s time to address Mom and the trauma she caused. Also, I’m going to tell you how the two of you as a unit, also caused a lot of my trauma.

    Mom, I have so much to say about the deep, emotional pain you caused and continue to cause. I used to think many of my struggles were a result of Dad. The older I get, the more I realize you’re responsible for more of my pain than Dad ever was.

    Since I was just talking about the trauma Dad caused me, let’s talk about how you handled that. You taught me to pretend bad things never happened. Pretend everything is okay and no matter what, never talk about it.

    The fear, shame, depression, and anxiety that caused was more than any child should ever endure. Not only that, but when I told you I was depressed as a young teen, you belittled me. Your response was that I had nothing to be depressed about and “to get over myself.”

    All of that was incredibly painful, but there’s much more. Your inability to love me and show me affection was the biggest pain of all. Still to this day, even after having done so much healing, I’m still uncomfortable if somebody tries to hug me, other than my husband or baby.

    You taught me to never show others that life is hard. Instead, act like we have a good life and that we’re the perfect family. I cringe just even typing that because it’s far from the truth.

    As you know, because I’ve told you many times, marrying the man you chose after the divorce was also incredibly traumatic. Your happiness was your priority, not me.

    I was a teenager. I still needed my mom, even though we had our issues. It appeared that I was tossed aside for him. You gave up on me. I was free to do anything I wanted to do because you were occupied with him.

    I thought that was so much fun. Looking back, I realize how unhealthy and out of control I was. I had no rules and could do anything I wanted, and I did.

    I’m still amazed that you married another alcoholic, but you refuse to acknowledge that. On top of that, he despises me and your entire family. I still remember having to load my little nieces up in their pajamas with no shoes to escape one of his childish tantrums aimed at them.

    I could go on about my major life events you chose to miss because of him. As I mentioned, he made it clear that he hated me. I even remember you saying, “If you ever make me choose between him or you, I will always choose him.”

    That still brings such sadness and pain. Being a mother now, I can’t imagine any circumstance where I’d choose anybody over my child. However, I see how different we are.

    Mom and Dad, it’s now time to talk about how your unhealthy, dysfunctional marriage caused such pain. I never saw love between you.

    What I saw was the two of you growing further and further away from each other. I saw that neither of you attempted any healing or got me help for the trauma you created.

    Instead, we were supposed to ignore all the bad stuff. Never talk about it, no matter what. When I attempted to talk about my struggles and feelings, I was labeled as “dramatic” and “ridiculous.”

    Healthy love and healthy relationships are two of the most important things parents should teach their children. Yes, I’m aware that very few parents actually do that.

    That gets me to the gratitude I have for you both. The trauma you created is something in which I’ll forever be thankful.

    Yes, you wouldn’t think that based on all that I have written thus far. I’m just asking that you bear with me.

    For years, I was an angry person and mad at the world. Underneath that anger was depression and a belief that I was unlovable, not good enough for anything.

    Due to my childhood trauma, I needed deep healing and years of therapy. I started that in my late twenties.

    That process took me several long, hard years. I’m so grateful for the pain you caused. Also, your never getting help gave me guidance in how to do things differently.

    The generational trauma has stopped with me. I will not pass on the behaviors that you both taught me.

    As I continue my healing work, I can easily see the pain that both of you endured. I know that pain resulted in your hurting me. So, I’ll address you both individually for that.

    Dad, I have such love and compassion for you. I know your father was an incredibly abusive alcoholic. He put so much of his not good enough stuff, those feelings of never being good enough, on you, which left you swimming in your insecurities.

    I am pretty certain that your father hated himself. That’s probably how you learned to hate yourself, as I did from you.

    When I think about your true soul identity, I see a soul with such love. Your true soul was kind and loving.

    I remember you driving a girl home on my soccer team that you coached. It was always seemed odd that you dropped me off at home before taking her home.

    Now, I know why. She lived in a dangerous area for us to be in, especially at night. The only way she could play soccer was if she had transportation.

    You risked yourself driving her home but made sure I was safe. I know I have your loving nature. I love that about myself.

    The reason you were an alcoholic was your own childhood. Sadly, you didn’t learn a better way. You repeated what you were shown.

    It may seem odd but thank you for the life you chose resulting in my “daddy issues.” That was a beautiful gift that I needed.

    Without that, I wouldn’t have married a loving, emotionally healthy man. Also, I wouldn’t have started my healing journey. Self-love would’ve never existed.

    As for the childhood trauma you had, I know now you’re at peace. I know you’re proud of what I’m doing in life to heal the generational trauma you left and helping others do the same with my work. Just know the generational trauma will not continue.

    Mom, it’s taken a lot more time to have gratitude for the emotional pain you caused. That’s probably because that pain is more recent and still occurs.

    However, I now see the reasons you did all you did and continue to do. Acknowledging reality would be too much for you. You would crumble.

    Also, I’m aware that your mother was unable to nurture and show you affection. You truly didn’t know how to love me in a healthy way.

    I know that you’re not well emotionally. For that, I have such love and compassion. I’ve been there. It’s miserable.

    Mom, I also know that you were taught that your image was the most important thing in life. Your behaviors to “protect” your image were simply your way of trying to prove to yourself and others that you were happy.

    Due to the trauma, I had from both of you, I was able to learn how to create a life I truly love. Seeing both of you being so miserable showed me that I wanted more for myself.

    The pain you two caused resulted in many beautiful things for me. The two things I’m most proud of in my life are results of learning to do things in a different way than I was shown.

    Finding an emotionally available, loving, supportive husband was one of my biggest struggles. Fortunately, you two gave me a blueprint for what I didn’t want.

    Many people follow in their parents’ footsteps when choosing a partner. Since the two of you showed me how an unhealthy marriage can destroy your life, I did a lot of healing before deciding to marry.

    My gratitude for the emotional pain I endured from you two, led me to a promise to myself. I’d never have a child until I was in a good place with the ability to be a loving, nurturing, emotionally available mother.

    Without that pain, I’d have never known how to meet my child’s emotional needs. There would’ve been no knowledge of what my baby needs from me.

    For me, that’s the most beautiful gift you could have given me. Raising a baby who experiences unconditional love, acceptance and nurturing ends that generational trauma.

    Yes, there are times where intense sadness and anger still pop up. However, I’ll continue to do my healing work that allows me to come back to this place of gratitude for you both.

    So, hopefully you both see how much love and gratitude I have for you. At your soul levels, I know you have love for me. Showing that was not easy for either of you. Being lost in your own traumas meant you had no clue how to heal.

    I truly thank you for creating the pain that led me to this beautiful life. Not only was I able to heal, but I’m now able to pass that on to the world through the work I do and raising my baby.

    It’s taken me many years to say and truly mean this, but I wish you both peace and love. You both deserve that.

    I know that neither of you intentionally caused me such pain. Also, apologies aren’t something either of you’ve ever been capable of giving.

    That’s okay. Again, I know your own trauma prevents that. I forgive you anyway.

    In conclusion, I love you both. Thank you for all you put me through because I now have a wonderful, happy life. That’s not something many can say.

    Thank you for the hard lessons. Thank you for creating me. Thank you for being who you were or weren’t to me.

    That was needed for me to now sit here with love in my heart for you. Forgiveness and gratitude are two things you both deserve.

    Love,

    Mary Beth

  • How a Highly Sensitive Person Can Get Over a Breakup And Move On

    How a Highly Sensitive Person Can Get Over a Breakup And Move On

    “A shoutout to everyone who is trying right now… Trying to do the right thing. Trying to stay open. Trying to keep going. Trying to hold on. Trying to let go. Trying to find their flow. Trying to stay afloat. Trying to meet each new day. Trying to find their balance. Trying to love themselves. Trying new things and new ways. I see you. I’m there too. We’re in this together.” ~S.C. Lourie

    Breakups are devastating, and the pain is real. But if you’re a highly sensitive person (HSP), it can take an extreme toll on your system because HSPs feel everything twice as deeply.

    For the HSP, the pain of a breakup can be completely overwhelming and trigger a heightened emotional state.

    When a relationship ends, it can make you feel insignificant. Regardless of who initiated the ending, you experience a tremendous impact in your life that can drive you into despair, confusion, and rage. Not only do you feel emotionally affected, but you may feel as if you are physically wounded as well.

    My whole world came crashing down when my partner went radio silent. He refused to answer my texts and avoided any form of contact. I felt lost and confused, not knowing what to do or where to turn. Each day felt harder than the day before.

    I knew for months that things were not going well, but I was clinging on to hope that the situation would somehow improve. When my partner left without a word, I knew that was the end. I did not get any closure, not that I require it because I realized it would not make me feel even the least bit better even if I did.

    I’ve heard stories from fellow HSPs who took a long time to get over a breakup, and I didn’t want that same experience for myself. But the pain of dragging my broken heart around and the intense emotional stress were not getting any easier on me.

    A day felt like a month, and I wasn’t sure I could survive until the end of the month because the experience was so devastating. I wanted to get over to the other side quickly and get on with my life.

    These are the steps that helped me recover within a shorter time than I feared it would it take.

    1. Forcing Myself to Get Out

    When the realization that we’d never be together again hit my brain multiple times a day, I lost functionality. My entire system broke down. I could not think clearly or act normally. All I wanted to do was vegetate and cry, which only made the situation worse.

    To reset my brain, I tried to get out of the house as often as I could. My body and brain would fight me. I was already exhausted and feeling hopeless. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to drag myself out of bed. The moment I succeeded, I realized it wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be. I just had to win the mind game.

    I engaged in simple activities such as dropping in for a cup of coffee at the local café, taking a drive to nowhere, sitting alone watching children play in the park, or just enjoying the sunset. Beauty has a way of distracting us from our thoughts and soothing our nervous system. It drew my mind temporarily away from the problem and provided relief at the moment.

    2. Affirming My Self Worth

    Whenever my mind started reminding me it was over, I blamed myself. I imagined there was something I could have done differently. Or that it was my fault it had happened. I beat myself up and placed the entire burden on my shoulders.

    Knowing there was nothing I could do to reverse the situation, I attempted to tell myself a different story, even though I did not believe it in the beginning. I assured myself I was worthy of love, that I deserved to have someone love me as I was, and I required no validation from others to feel good about myself. I made those affirmations out loud so I could hear myself speak.

    In the beginning, it was a struggle. I would sneer, criticize, or ridicule myself every time I said an affirmation because I did not believe my own words. I persisted between tears and disbelief. Thankfully, it got better over time. Gradually I stopped criticizing myself and what remained were purely affirmations. As I continued to hear myself speak, I gained my own acceptance.

    3. Practicing Self-Compassion

    Research suggests that practicing self-compassion can help us become better adjusted and significantly improve our mental health. But it doesn’t come easily to HSPs.

    We tend to have unlimited compassion for everyone else but struggle to offer the same compassion to ourselves. We often judge ourselves as weak when we’re struggling with emotional pain. But that’s when we need self-compassion the most.

    As I gradually came to terms with reality, I indulged in more positive self-talk. I spoke to myself as I would my best friend. I told myself that I was the main character in my story, and I needed to heal. Despite what was going on, I assured myself I could feel better and rise above the situation.

    I focused on myself, telling myself that I would get out of this episode just fine. I convinced myself that soon, the pain would go away, and the awful feelings would end. Again, in the beginning, there were no significant changes. I persisted and gradually experienced mental clarity that showed me I was on the right path.

    4. Dealing With Relapse

    As I began to heal, I noticed the gap between the time I crumbled and the time I could hold up became further apart. It was not uncommon for me to break down multiple times throughout the day. Sometimes, I managed to get by without crying for an entire day. To me, that was a breakthrough because it showed a marked improvement.

    Some days I unexpectedly suffered a relapse after a period that I thought was an improvement. That took me completely by surprise. Gradually, I accepted that I was still in the process of healing, and that it was normal for my brain to revert to the lingering memory.

    When that happened, I revisited what I practiced earlier—getting out, affirming my self-worth, and practicing self-compassion. Self-talk was a crucial part of my healing process.

    I had to listen to my own words long enough to believe they were true. I had to avoid giving in to the mental chatter about my role in the breakup and my worth.

    We generally act on what we believe about ourselves. If we believe we deserve to hurt, we don’t do the things we need to do to heal.

    Moving On With My Life

    In slightly less than two months, I woke up with no brain fog and was able to go through an entire day without breaking down. I was able to resume my normal activities and focus on the day ahead.

    For me, the whole healing process was a battle of willpower. Some days were tranquil, although most days were difficult. Typically, it was one step forward and two steps backward. Whenever I struggled, I reminded myself that I wanted to heal and feel better. That generally got me on my feet and out of the house.

    A breakup can have a huge impact on a highly sensitive person, since we are more susceptible to stress and extreme anxiety. Although healing takes time and often we have to allow nature to run its course, there is no need to prolong the pain longer than necessary.

    Once you decide you are ready to receive healing and do everything you need to accommodate the process, you can come out of the episode faster and move on with your life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Our Marriage

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

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

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

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

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

    Life After Our Move

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

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

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

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

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

    The Divorce Agreement

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

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

    Twelve Years Later

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

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

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

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

    And life simply carried on.

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

    I couldn’t help but feel responsible for this.

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

    The Call

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

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

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

    Dealing with My Grief and Guilt

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

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

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

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

    It’s not your fault, Iva.

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

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

    It’s Not Our Fault

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

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

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

  • Breaking the Toxic Cycle: My Family Dysfunction Stops with Me

    Breaking the Toxic Cycle: My Family Dysfunction Stops with Me

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post references physical abuse and may be triggering to some people.

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

    I will never forget, when I was twelve years old, I went to sit on my father’s lap and he told me, “No! You’re too heavy to sit on my lap!” What does an adolescent girl do with a comment like that? She hides it away and adds it to the ammunition she has begun to store up in her arsenal of self-flagellation. Shame knows no boundaries.

    My father was never intentionally cruel to me. He had demons of his own. I knew that he had been physically abused as a boy and he used to tell us, or rather proclaim, “I vow to NEVER hit any of my kids!” He neglected to realize that words can hurt even more than a physical slap. And even more hurtful was when nothing was said at all.

    Silence is a killer that there are no words for.

    His father used a leather razor sharpening strap to beat him, and my father hung it in the kitchen of our house. I would wonder if it was a reminder of what happened to him, or was it a warning of what could happen to us? I made sure I toed the line so I would never find out. The beginning of my perfectionism.

    Growing up, the one message that was crystal clear to me was that my body was not acceptable. It was reinforced in so many ways. The times my father would suggest I attend Weight Watchers meetings with my mother. But the biggest reinforcement was once a month when the Playboy Magazine would arrive in the mail. That was what a real woman’s body was supposed to look like! And the only point of reference I had.

    I dealt with this by going within. I hid food and binged in secret. I used running and sports to try to counter the caloric intake. I became the perfect daughter on the outside, knowing it didn’t matter because I would never be acceptable. I fought a battle that there was no way to win. I just didn’t know it at the time. I was a teenager trying to find love in all the wrong places, with all the wrong people. In all the wrong ways.

    And I wasn’t the only one. I was the oldest of four children, and my siblings all had their own demons they were fighting as well. Some people would say that the family that plays together stays together. I would add that the dysfunction in a family can not only rip a family apart, but it can also pick them off one by one.

    My father was the first to fall victim. He died when I was thirty-six from pancreatic cancer after suffering a massive stroke. I am convinced that his stroke was a direct cause of his drinking and lifestyle.

    My youngest sister died when I was thirty-nine years old. She was in a physically abusive relationship for nine years. Her partner and the father to her two children beat her to death.

    The hardest loss was my mother, who died when I was fifty-two. She had suffered from dementia for years. but ultimately it was lung cancer that caused her death.

    At fifty-six, my second sister died of an accidental overdose of heroin. She was fifty-five.

    And lastly, my only brother, who is still living, is recovering from laryngeal cancer and now uses an artificial voice box.

    For the longest time, I would wonder when my time was coming. People would tell me that my family was cursed, and the temptation to fall into that camp was appealing. Just let the chips fall where they may! But the truth of the matter was that, like for us all, there are consequences for our choices. I know that sounds harsh considering that I have lost most of my family, but I cannot make it be anything it is not. And believe me, I’ve tried!

    My codependency was strong, and I tried to save them all! And in the process, I was losing myself. I was tired. I was sad, I felt defeated. But enough was enough.

    I had made the decision, when my husband and I adopted our only daughter, that the dysfunction was going to stop with me.

    I had a lot of work to do on myself. I had to uncover all the lies I had believed about myself. About my life. And then I had to choose new things to believe. I had to unearth all the ammunition I had used to build the walls I had cemented around myself. The walls that would have strangled me if I had let them.

    But that is my work to do now. And because I made the decision to do that work, my daughter is a healthy, well-adjusted young woman in her third year of college.

    I don’t say that to pat myself on the shoulder necessarily, but why not? I chose to walk a different path then my biological family. And choosing that different path also offered me different choices. And it will also my daughter different choices.

    I learned about the boundaries I needed to place around my own family unit, and I was not popular for that. Those boundaries were not popular, and I was ostracized and called out for them.

    My work was to take the box down from the closet. You know the one, where the secrets hide. And if I just keep it up there, no one needs to know. But I knew I had to open that box and take them all out. Then I could decide which were real and which were imagined. Which ones had to go and which ones I could work with.

    Life is a series of turning points. And we get to decide, at any time whether we keep moving forward or whether it’s time to turn around and begin again. We are never too old to keep moving forward. And we have never made a mistake that cannot be forgiven. A wrong that cannot be made right. I have forgiven myself for many mistakes. Many hurts I have caused. I have made amends. I keep taking the next right step.

    I am fifty-eight. I have forgiven those who have needed to be forgiven. I have grieved the family I wished I had. And I continue to grieve the loss of those who have died far too young. And the relationships that will never be.

    I no longer run from the loneliness that catches up to me from time to time. I just don’t stay wrapped in it for too long. I have shed the shawl of shame I have carried around me and work everyday to find the light and the beauty within.

    And I continue to remind myself, every single day, that it is not too late to become who I was created to be. My work is to keep doing the work and find my way home. Home is a place within. A place of wholeness. A place where self-forgiveness and self-acceptance merge. And beauty abounds.