Tiny Buddha

Tag: connection

  • Why Listening Matters More Than Giving Advice (A Barbershop Lesson)

    Why Listening Matters More Than Giving Advice (A Barbershop Lesson)

    “Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” ~Stephen R. Covey

    I used to think running a barbershop was all about haircuts, schedules, and keeping clients happy. I measured success by the number of chairs filled, how quickly we moved through the day, and whether everything ran smoothly. Efficiency felt like the most important thing.

    Then one afternoon, a moment with a customer changed everything.

    Mr. Hicks, a regular, came in looking unusually quiet. He slumped in my chair, barely making eye contact, and gave only short, mumbled answers when I tried to make small talk. Normally, I would have filled the silence, tried to keep him talking, or offered advice. But that day, I paused. I simply listened. I let him sit in silence as I worked, resisting the urge to speak unnecessarily or try to “fix” anything.

    Minutes later, he began to share struggles he had been carrying for months—tensions at work, family challenges, the weight of constant exhaustion. By the time I finished his haircut, he looked lighter, calmer, almost relieved.

    I realized I hadn’t needed to give advice. I hadn’t needed to solve his problems. I had only given him my attention. That day, I learned a lesson I carry with me every time I sit behind the barber chair: listening is a gift, patience is a practice, and presence can heal in ways words sometimes cannot.

    This lesson didn’t just apply to Mr. Hicks. Over time, I began noticing similar moments with other clients, apprentices, and even friends and family.

    A young apprentice, struggling to perfect his techniques, came in one morning looking defeated. Instead of correcting him immediately, I stepped back, watched, and let him try on his own. When he finally turned to me for guidance, the lesson became his own. The joy on his face was more rewarding than any praise I could have offered.

    I’ve come to understand that patience isn’t just about waiting. It’s about presence. It’s about fully engaging in the moment, without rushing to the next task. In a barbershop, it’s easy to feel pressured—clients waiting, appointments lined up, every second seeming valuable. But slowing down and giving someone your full attention creates connection in a way speed never can.

    One afternoon, I faced a particularly challenging situation. A client came in visibly frustrated and tense. Every suggestion I made seemed to irritate him further.

    I could have taken offense or brushed him off, but I tried a different approach. I listened not just to his words but to the subtle cues: the tone of his voice, the tension in his shoulders, the hesitation in his movements.

    Slowly, he began to relax, and by the time I finished, he was calmer, smiling, and expressing gratitude. That experience reinforced that sometimes, people need more than advice. They need acknowledgment and space to be heard.

    I’ve also carried these lessons beyond the shop. With friends, family, and even strangers, I try to pause before responding, asking myself whether I am truly listening or just waiting to reply. I’ve noticed that when I give people room to share openly, relationships deepen and grow more authentic.

    Running a barbershop has taught me humility. Not every story is easy to hear, and not every challenge can be solved with words or actions. But being present, patient, and genuinely attentive is a form of service that often matters more than technical skill. I’ve learned that my role isn’t always to fix problems but to create a safe space where people feel seen, understood, and valued.

    There have been moments of personal growth too. Early on, I struggled with impatience, rushing through tasks, wanting instant results, and missing the subtle cues from those around me. By paying attention to the human side of my work, I’ve learned to slow down, notice details, and respond thoughtfully rather than react impulsively. This patience has spilled over into other areas of my life—how I manage stress, handle conflict, and nurture relationships.

    I’ve also discovered that listening can transform the listener as much as the speaker. Each story I hear challenges me to see the world from a different perspective. I’ve developed empathy I never knew I had, realizing that everyone carries burdens and struggles silently, searching for someone willing to simply acknowledge them. This awareness has made me more compassionate, not just in the shop, but in every interaction.

    Sometimes, the lessons come in unexpected ways. I remember a shy teenager who came in for his first haircut. He was nervous, almost silent, and seemed unsure of how to interact. I spoke less, observed more, and let him get comfortable.

    By the end of the session, he was laughing, joking, and sharing stories. That simple act of patience, giving him room to open up, reminded me that growth often happens quietly, in small, unassuming moments.

    Through all of this, I’ve realized that patience and listening are not passive acts. They are active choices we make every day. They require mindfulness, attention, and the willingness to put another person’s experience before our own need to act or respond. Running a barbershop taught me that these choices, repeated over time, build trust, deepen relationships, and foster genuine human connection.

    If there’s one takeaway I can share, it’s this: slow down, be present, and listen. Whether in a barber’s chair, a living room, or a workplace, giving someone your full attention is a rare and valuable gift.

    You don’t need special training or expertise, just the willingness to be patient, notice, and understand. The lessons you learn, and the growth you experience, will stay with you long after the conversation ends.

  • Magic in the Ordinary: Finding Glimmers and Hope in Everyday Life

    Magic in the Ordinary: Finding Glimmers and Hope in Everyday Life

    “If today gets difficult, remember the smell of coffee, the way sunlight bounces off a window, the sound of your favorite person’s laugh, the feeling when a song you love comes on, the color of the sky at dusk, and that we are here to take care of each other.” ~Nanea Hoffman

    The beach breeze brushed against my skin. I felt the warmth from the sun, and I could hear the crashing waves and wild shrieking laughter of my toddlers.

    I looked down at my perfect ten-month-old with his adorable chubby cheeks, snoring softly in my arms. My chest ached as if my heart physically hurt from the amount of love I felt toward my children in that moment, and my eyes shimmered with tears at the force of that love. “This was a glimmer,” I thought.

    Many people are familiar with the idea of triggers. Triggers are any scenarios or stimuli that stir up negative emotions, which are usually rooted in a past hurt or trauma.

    Less familiar to most people is the concept of glimmers. Glimmers are the opposite of triggers. They’re little moments that spark calm and connection. The idea was originally introduced by Deb Dana, who is a prominent figure in the application of Polyvagal Theory, which is a scientific framework for understanding the nervous system.

    We are less inclined to look for glimmers than triggers, and the reason is evolutionary.

    In the past, our caveperson brains benefited more from remembering the time we ate poison berries or the places that hungry lions lurked than from savoring a beautiful sunset. But most of us are buying our groceries at farmers’ markets and grocery stores now—and don’t have to worry about lions, so we can practice changing our brains.

    There’s an idea in psychology that “what we water will grow” in reference to what thoughts we attend to. The more we practice noticing the positives, the more naturally our brains will make and strengthen those pathways.

    I’m a mental health therapist, and I learned about glimmers through a continuing education course. At the time, I was struggling with my own anxiety. I had feelings of guilt show up as I guided my clients through their mental health challenges while still learning how to manage my own.

    When I have a moment to take perspective, though, I can show myself grace as a mom of a three-year-old, a two-year-old, and a ten-month-old, who happened to be a miraculous little surprise.

    With three small humans, two dogs, and a fish, life is loud, messy, chaotic, and beautiful. Balancing work, house chores, and the needs of others can feel exhausting and overwhelming.

    I don’t have hours to do all the self-care activities that you are “supposed to” do in a day—journal, exercise, meditate. But glimmers? They fit into my life.

    I love Harry Potter, fantasy, and magic. I like to look at glimmers as more than calm and connection and more like sparkly little moments in our ordinary life. Glimmers can be sensory—a beautiful sunset, a warm breeze, the flicker of a candle, the scent of lavender, or the first sip of a really delicious coffee.

    They can be internal—a deep exhale, a comforting memory, a moment of self-compassion, or being proud of an accomplishment.

    They can be a social connection—a long hug from your partner, a rambling story from your three-year-old, or hearing your two-year-old tell his sister, “I love you, Evy.”

    The idea of glimmers reminds me a bit of the Danish concept of hygge. Hygge’s closest English translation is a concept of coziness and contentment. I love the idea of connecting these two ideas because it would seem to me that engaging in hygge practices would set you up to have even more glimmers.

    Creating more hygge in your life would include whatever feels cozy for you. For me, it’s big comfy blankets, candlelight, a warm drink, and clothing with the softest fabrics. The values behind hygge are a sense of presence, slowness, and connection. Hygge is about setting an environment to invite glimmers in.

    These days, I collect glimmers like fireflies in a jar. They’re nothing fancy, but they’re tiny moments that reassure me that I’m okay. They bring me home inside my own body. There is magic in the ordinary, after all. You just have to look for it.

  • How to Make the Most of Our Time with the People We Love

    How to Make the Most of Our Time with the People We Love

    “Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” ~Robert Brault

    With only a few more months until my son leaves for college, I am a mindfulness teacher wrestling with my own heart and mind.

    While avoiding the frequent mom conversations about “empty nesting,” I’m struggling to admit that my last child leaving home may be harder than I thought. Ironic, since working skillfully with difficult emotions is exactly what I teach.

    Every school event I attend feels like a heavy, steady march toward graduation day. Yesterday in the high school gym, I was sandwiched between two other senior moms bawling their eyes out. Their minds and emotions were far in the future, already experiencing that final goodbye hug on college move-in day.

    While I was feeling some of the same emotions, that experience gave me a clear insight: I don’t want to miss the time I have left with my high school senior because I’m living my life as if he’s already gone. Then, a poem by Bashō flashed in my mind:

    Even in Kyoto
    hearing the cuckoo’s cry
    I long for Kyoto

    You know when a poem perfectly crystallizes an emotion you’re feeling? This one nails it. The feeling of being in the presence of something tremendously special and beautiful while holding it so tightly that you’re missing it before it’s gone. The more I explore it, the stronger it gets; an eerie feeling of longing for something while still enjoying it.

    My less poetic version might be:

    Only four months left
    Laughter coming from his room
    My heart aches already

    I considered asking for a weekly “mother/son date” for the rest of the school year, but I know better. His senior year should be focused on his own priorities, not my emotional needs as a parent.

    So, while he’s out enjoying his senior year, what can I do to get the most out of MY remaining time with him so I don’t have regrets of my own?

    Then it came to me. Savoring.

    It dawns on me that I already have the perfect tool for this situation. The mindfulness practice of savoring. We normally think of savoring as it relates to food, like consciously enjoying a bite of high-quality chocolate. With mindfulness, you can savor anything. A sunset, the scent of a flower—even a person.

    Remembering this gives me an idea of how to get the most out of my time with him, rather than missing it thanks to an anxious mind living full-time in the future.

    Previously, I’ve used the practice of savoring to increase the intensity and appreciation of positive experiences and emotions, and it worked. So, why not now? It also feels right because it’s a “stealth” mindfulness practice, something I can do without him even knowing I’m doing it.

    Now, I’m eager to begin applying what I teach, and being more present for this important relationship in my life. I start off using a popular mindfulness practice known by the acronym “S.T.O.P.”

    When savoring a person’s presence: I Stop, Take an intentional deeper breath, Observe the moment using my five senses, and Proceed with awareness.

    The “secret sauce” is the Observe stage, which involves leaning into my five senses: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and feeling/sensing.

    Now, instead of multi-tasking while we’re in the kitchen together, I pay close attention to information coming in through my five senses. I also try to practice high-quality listening. This kind of listening differs from normal conversation where we are half-listening and half-thinking about what we’re about to say back. Here, I’m simply trying to listen with my whole heart.

    The interaction wraps up with the last stage: Proceed with awareness. I bask in the warm feeling I get from being with him and let it imprint on my heart. The mindfulness soon wears off, and that’s okay. I know I’m not always aiming for this kind of heightened state of awareness.

    I let out a big exhale now that I’m less anxious about the next four months. Auto-pilot interactions are replaced with a sense of calm and connection. Each day, I pick at least one interaction where I make a focused effort to savor his presence and appreciate the richness of our simple everyday moments together.

    This afternoon, the smell of steak on a cast iron skillet draws me into the kitchen. I give full attention to the new baritone voice as he speaks, closely admire the way he peels the garlic like a trained chef, and smile at a ray of sun hitting the strands of gold in his hair.

  • From Professional to Personal: The Unexpected Joy of Workplace Friendship

    From Professional to Personal: The Unexpected Joy of Workplace Friendship

    “Chance made us colleagues. Fun and laughter made us friends.” ~Unknown 

    A year into my new job, I realized that the hardest part wasn’t the complexity of the work—it was the culture. The office felt like a maze of silos, each person isolated in their corner. The hierarchy was more than just a structure—it was something everyone was constantly reminded of. I was used to navigating high-pressure, competitive environments, but this one was different.

    As a woman in STEM, I had learned early on to keep my personal life separate from my work life. This boundary helped me maintain control, protect my privacy, and avoid becoming the subject of office gossip. It worked for years. But the longer I stayed, the more I felt the weight of that separation. I was increasingly feeling isolated, even in a room full of colleagues.

    For years, I had adhered to the motto: I’m here to do a job, not make friends. I thought I was maintaining professionalism. But here’s the truth: What happens when you spend so much of your waking life in a place that doesn’t let you connect? How can you keep thriving if you aren’t allowed to be fully human, to engage in real, meaningful relationships?

    The paradoxes of modern work culture are everywhere:

    • “Create your own destiny”—but also “Surrender to the universe.”
    • “Work smarter, not harder”—but “Success comes from hustle.”
    • “Don’t tie your identity to your job”—yet when you meet someone, the first question is, “What do you do?”
    • “Collaboration is key”—but everyone is really looking out for themselves.

    These contradictions left me feeling more lonely than fulfilled. The boundaries I had set to protect myself had instead built walls, ones that made me feel increasingly disconnected. It took me a while to even notice how long I was working, or how late I was staying just to “prove” I was worthy of the job. The high turnover rate was a sign that others weren’t faring much better.

    Breaking Down Walls, One Connection at a Time

    But then something unexpected happened. A colleague, stationed right next to me, began to shift everything. She had this unshakable warmth about her. She had big brown eyes and a smile that lit up the room, and more than that—she cared.

    She asked how I was doing, and it wasn’t just casual small talk. It felt real. Unlike many others in the office, she didn’t need to remind anyone of her place in the hierarchy. It was a breath of fresh air. In her presence, I felt seen. Not just as an employee, but as a person.

    For the first time, I realized I had been isolating myself, not just from my colleagues, but from the very kind of connection that could make work feel less like a grind and more like a community. Letting her in was a major shift for me, one I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. But in hindsight, I see that her presence became a lifeline—one that helped me reframe what work could really be about.

    Over the course of my career, I’d met incredible colleagues—mentors, references, even leaders who helped propel my career forward. But none of them had ever become true friends. She, however, became a friend in the truest sense of the word. She listened without judgment, understood without needing to fix, and was a presence that made the office feel less lonely. We remained friends even after I moved on to my dream job.

    And here’s what I’ve come to realize: it’s absurd that we spend so much of our time at work, yet we often avoid forming meaningful, lasting friendships with the people we work alongside. It’s as if we’re all conditioned to believe that work is a place to be productive and professional, and friendship is something that exists elsewhere, in other spaces.

    It’s a lie.

    Work doesn’t have to be a place of isolation. It can—and should—be a place where we bring our full selves, where connection and kindness are valued as much as competence and productivity. I still value privacy. Not every coworker is a safe space. But the idea that friendships cannot begin in the workplace? That’s the real myth.

    Here’s the truth: We all deserve to feel connected, supported, and seen, especially in the places where we spend so much of our time. So, why not break the mold? We don’t have to throw away professional expectations, but we can create new rules—ones that make room for authenticity, kindness, and connection.

    Let’s rewrite the narrative of what work can be. Yes, we must adhere to boundaries and professionalism, but let’s remember that humanity is not a weakness—it’s our greatest strength.

    Practical Tips for Making Meaningful Friendships in the Workplace

    Clarity on Personal Values and Needs

    For any friendship to form—whether at work or beyond—it’s essential to understand what we value and need in a meaningful connection. True friendships aren’t just about proximity or convenience; they are about aligning with people who share our core values and support our growth.

    Through my own experiences, I’ve realized that I deeply respect and connect with people who have strong morals and live by their benevolent principles. I gravitate toward those who are humble and grounded enough to challenge their own beliefs in moments of conflict but who also stand firm against injustice when it truly matters. It took me years to recognize just how much I needed this type of person in my life.

    To cultivate meaningful friendships, we must first ask ourselves: What makes a friendship truly fulfilling for me? When we are clear on our own values and needs, the effort required to build those connections feels worthwhile.

    Reflecting on past and present friendships can reveal patterns—what has worked, what hasn’t, and what truly matters to us. While this type of reflection is often encouraged for romantic relationships, it’s just as valuable for friendships. When we understand who we are, what we need, and who complements our strengths and weaknesses, we can pursue connections that genuinely enrich our lives.

    This introspection may be the hardest part—but once we have clarity, the rest becomes much easier.

    Maintain Healthy Boundaries

    Building friendships at work doesn’t mean oversharing or blurring professional lines. It’s about fostering trust, mutual respect, and human connection—without pressure to disclose every detail of our personal lives. Meaningful workplace friendships can grow even while maintaining privacy.

    It’s also important to recognize that not every colleague will be open to deep friendships, and that’s okay. Focus on organic connections rather than forcing relationships that don’t naturally align.

    Trust Your Intuition

    You likely already have a sense of your coworkers’ personalities—whether through morning greetings, meetings, team events, or casual conversations. Pay attention to the people who make you feel at ease, who you enjoy speaking with, and around whom you feel most like yourself.

    Trust your instincts about who feels warm and safe. Meaningful connections often start with a simple gut feeling.

    Break the Ice with Small but Genuine Gestures

    If no one has approached you first, take the initiative. Start small:

    • Ask a coworker to grab a coffee with you.
    • Chat about shared experiences—projects, books, hobbies, weekend plans.
    • Accept invitations when they come your way. I’ve turned down coffee and lunch invites in the past, overwhelmed by my workload—only to realize later how much I had missed out on. If possible, say yes.

    Pay Attention, Get Creative, and Have Fun

    Sometimes, the smallest moments create the deepest connections.

    At one of my workplaces, there was an auction where one of the prizes included two tickets to a Harry Potter play at a local theater. I discovered that a coworker shared my love for Harry Potter and the theater, so I suggested we buy our own tickets and go together. We were both ecstatic—and it became a memory that strengthened our friendship.

    If you enjoy deeper conversations, suggest an after-work drink following a major project. This keeps the gathering work-related but also allows space for connection and shared recovery from stress.

    When planning activities, don’t hesitate to suggest things that excite you. Passion is contagious—when you light up about something, others feel it too.

    What You Seek is Seeking You

    If you’re searching for meaningful connections, trust that others are looking for the same. There is no one-sided win—friendship is always a mutual gift.

    Meaningful relationships, even in a professional setting, have the power to bring joy, support, and belonging. And in a world where we spend most of our waking hours at work, that kind of connection can be life-changing.

  • Healing Childhood Wounds: A Journey to Love and Connection

    Healing Childhood Wounds: A Journey to Love and Connection

    The drive on I-95 from the New England coast back home to Washington, D.C., was harrowing— construction zones, accidents, and rush-hour traffic. I was glad my husband was at the wheel.

    After spending the weekend visiting our daughter at college in Connecticut, I was ready to check out, so I scrolled through social media on my phone to mindlessly pass the time. But when I paused on a post from my favorite self-help influencer, Cory Muscara, I got something very different from the relaxation I’d been craving.

    I started following Cory several months before, after a friend had sent me a post of his about navigating significant life transitions. After my daughters left for college, I faced an empty nest and was about to turn fifty. To help with the changes, I immersed myself in all the self-improvement content I could find.

    Cory’s striking blue eyes and calm, steady voice captivated me. He was a former monk, inspirational speaker, and teacher of all things zen. In the post that caught my attention in the car, he filmed himself walking through a forest, a green hoodie pulled over his head. Since my husband was busy with work calls, the sound was muted, and I focused on the captions.

    One word caught my attention: fireball. I continued to read, engrossed with the step-by step instructions to overcome stored pain, break free from destructive patterns, and achieve freedom and inner peace.

    I’m great at following directions, but the concepts of letting go or surrendering frustrate me. I’d love to, but how? I hoped that Cory was about to deliver the answers.

    I was told to connect with my heart. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and felt the space my heart occupied in my chest. Next, I was to identify a barrier or obstacle I had been struggling with, something preventing me from achieving what I truly desire: love and connection.

    When I discovered the barrier, I should then imagine my heart flowing toward it, softening it, and then, as the barrier began to soften, I was to observe it unravel. At the very bottom of this would be a fireball.

    In Cory’s vernacular, it was the core wound. Google defines this as a deep emotional wound that can be traced back to a significant event in childhood. It can be caused by suppressed pain or emotions and can lead to a belief system about the self. Core wounds can be a result of unmet needs and can include messages like “I am not enough” or “I am unworthy of love.”

    Cory warned me not to get distracted by the fireball and to move toward the pain, look at it, and acknowledge it. I felt emotional pain as a memory took hold and began to replay over and over in my mind. And he was right: it was a fireball.

    I was around fourteen, and it was the end of a school day. I remember walking with my friends, heading to the bus stop. And then, I saw my mom in the carpool line. She had never picked me up from high school; she was driving her new red sports car.

    Growing up as an only child and a latchkey kid on the outskirts of a small town in Northern Arizona, my afternoons were often spent alone at home. My parents were involved in their careers and were active members of the community, often not returning home until late in the evening. My neighbors were mostly retirees, and the distance from town made it difficult to hang out with friends.

    I often wondered why my parents didn’t want to spend time with me. Was I unlovable?

    With all the pain and insecurity I felt every day, the sight of my mom waiting for me in the carpool line filled me with joy. Seeing her there, in her new car, I felt something I rarely felt: special.

    My heart surged. I couldn’t believe she had surprised me. I stopped in my tracks, not believing she was actually there. I told my friends I had to go and then ran as fast as I could to the car. I was out of breath when I climbed into the passenger seat.

    “Thank you for picking me up!” I said.

    My mom turned to me. “Oh, I’m not here for you, Jennifer. I’m picking up a client.”

    Before I could respond, she added, “I’ll see you at home.”

    Mom was a therapist, and the client was a student.

    I remember how I swallowed back tears and feelings of rejection.

    I walked to the bus stop. It felt like the longest ride of my life, and the walk home even longer.  Angry with myself for getting my hopes up, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.

    When Mom returned from work that evening, there was no mention of the incident.

    And now, thirty-five years later, I sat in the car and cried as I recalled this painful moment. I had found a fireball, and I was told to stay with it, but then what? Did I have to be stuck with the pain of this core wound, unsure of what to do next?

    This is when I realized that the girl on the bus so many years ago needed an adult to soothe her. I closed my eyes, imagined seating my fifty-year-old self next to her, and held her hand. I asked her to tell me what was wrong, and I listened with compassion. I sat with her until the pain subsided. Until our pain subsided.

    When I opened my eyes, I realized that an hour had passed since I had started watching Cory’s post. I was surprised my husband hadn’t noticed the tears that I had been too distracted to wipe away.

    I felt a mix of disappointment and relief. I felt sad that he wasn’t aware of my tears sitting so close to me, but the experience felt so personal that I didn’t want the burden of explaining it to him at that moment.

    Following Cory’s instructions had proven more effective than my past two years of therapy. In this short time, I had not only taken care of myself but had also become aware of the needs of that fourteen-year-old girl. I knew exactly what she needed to hear.

    It was up to me to heal her wounds.

    The girl on the bus couldn’t understand why a mom would dismiss her daughter so easily, but I was able to explain. I could see from what my mom had expressed to me about her childhood, growing up with an alcoholic mother and a traveling father, that she was so traumatized that she felt compelled to fiercely protect her heart.

    She didn’t allow herself to be curious about my emotional needs because she was conditioned to protect herself. My mother wasn’t capable of empathizing with me, not because she didn’t love me, but because of her own deep-seated wounds.

    I’ve tried to discuss this incident and others from my past with my mom, but every time a painful childhood memory resurfaced, she would inevitably ask, “Did I do anything right?” It’s clear that these conversations are not ones she is open to having with me.

    It took me a few days to tell my husband what had taken place during that ride. I told him about the wound and how it no longer felt painful, but I was still feeling raw, and I was worried that I wasn’t accurately explaining. However, as I described Cory’s steps and how I processed the memory until the fireball was extinguished, I became animated and excited to share this new tool.

    He was taken aback and said, “I can’t believe you had that experience in the car!”

    Then, I asked him if he had noticed my tears while sitting next to him. He responded, “No, I was focused on the road.”

    The truth is, much like my mom, my husband isn’t as attuned to my emotions as I would like. However, healing this childhood wound has empowered me in my relationships with him and others. I now have the confidence to express my emotions, and if I don’t feel heard, I make sure to speak up.

    Throughout this journey, I have come to understand that the solutions reside within us. We possess the ability to nurture the younger parts of ourselves and acknowledge our inherent worthiness of love. Perhaps, like me, you will experience healing by spending time with your younger self and addressing their pain.

  • 5 Pillars of Mindful Awareness That Transformed My Life

    5 Pillars of Mindful Awareness That Transformed My Life

    “When things change inside of you, things change around you.” ~Unknown

    When I was twenty-three, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. It was not until two years later, when I stopped taking medication, that I discovered I had a mental health disorder linked to my menstrual cycles.

    Meditating daily has been foundational for my well-being. It helps me manage the physical expressions of anxiety and bad moods. It allows me to be more accepting of myself and grateful for the many positives in my life.

    But it is the awareness journey that mindfulness has paved over these last seven years that has reached so many different corners of my life.

    The awareness I developed from regular practice seeps into my life as a positive multiplier, pushing further progress in emotional regulation and health. It inspired me to start journaling daily. It encouraged me to face myself, my fears, and my choices.

    With awareness comes meaningful change. I completely pivoted my life, walking away from my career in the investment industry to prioritize things that I discovered I valued the most.

    This is just one transformation that has come from developing different types of awareness. Together, these form the pillars of a healthy, fruitful relationship with myself and the world around me.

    Everybody’s awareness journey will be different; you cannot know where yours will lead. But in case it helps with your reflection and journey, I am sharing the questions I faced on mine.

    Awareness of Emotions: Taking Back Control from the Unconscious

    Mindfulness practice revealed how much my emotions had a hold over me. I previously saw no separation between myself and my emotions. I let them convince me of things that weren’t true and lead my decisions.

    But now my relationship with my emotions has transformed from one of “I am this feeling” to “this feeling is happening to me.”

    Awareness of feelings reveals some key things. Firstly, emotions are temporary. Secondly, many emotions come from an instinctive, animalistic part of us, cropping up to protect us. This means they can often impact our perceptions and rationality.

    Emotions are there to serve us, as is our stress reaction. But we must recognize these bodily reactions for what they are—processes that need completing. Stress and negative emotions are often linked to significant health problems, but the power to minimize their impacts is within our reach.

    With awareness, I recognize my changing views, desires to act, and needs to service all the different parts of myself. The latter includes the person I am at my core, the part that houses my rationality and values. Quick, emotional reactions do not tend to represent this part.

    At first, it was difficult to accept all the parts of myself that awareness uncovers. But it paved the way for enhanced emotional regulation and management. I now know how to take the messages my emotions are trying to send me, feel them, settle them, and act in a way that represents all parts.

    When we do this, we change unconscious reactions, led by emotions, to conscious responses. It’s okay if we still have racing thoughts; it’s how we act that matters. We take back ownership of our lives from our emotions by making constructive choices.

    Reflecting on your emotions:

    • Can I name my emotions and the feelings toward the events or people involved?
    • How did the desire to react manifest?
    • Why might I feel this way, and what are my needs?
    • Does this point to any unhealed pain, fears, or insecurities?
    • How did my feelings and perceptions change, and what contributed to this?
    • Which thoughts are supported by evidence, and where do I need more clarity?

    Awareness of Capacity: Getting the Best Out of Myself

    When we are not feeling like our best selves, we naturally blame our circumstances or problems. We often completely overlook how much our inner space influences our feelings, our functioning, and what we get out of the world.

    By paying attention, I discovered how so much inside of me is always changing. My motivation, my energy, and my physiology change across the month. Patterns started to appear—times when my self-doubt and limiting beliefs were louder, or when my cognitive or physical strength were weaker.

    Some things cycle naturally. Some are heavily influenced by “too much of this” or “too little of that.” I see the links between physical factors, mindset, and progress.

    You can consume all the motivational quotes about success and personal growth out there, but if you do not prioritize your health, you are setting out on the wrong foot.

    Intuitively, we function best when we look after ourselves. We are most confident when we can recognize our self-doubt for what it is.

    With awareness, I can identify and meet my needs. Whether that be self-compassion practice when my self-doubt is loud or fueling my brain when it feels slow. I also match activities to when they best suit my capacity, working with myself instead of beating myself up.

    Reflection questions for awareness of capacity:

    • When do I feel most energized, motivated, creative, focused, and confident?
    • What are my motivation and energy killers and boosters?
    • When do I find it easiest to make decisions?
    • Which activities work best for when my brain feels slow, my body feels weak, or my social capacity is low?

    Here are some things to consider: sleep, nutrition, movement, connection with nature, time with loved ones, stress management, and downtime.

    Awareness in Relationships: Finding Peace and Improving Connections

    Reflecting on some past relationships, it often feels like I wasn’t a part of them at all. Driven by unconscious reactions and people-pleasing, they hardly felt authentic, and this really limited their richness.

    We can learn a lot about ourselves from our approach to relationships. Our deepest traumas manifest in our triggers. Our actions are mostly driven by our fears and insecurities, often underpinned by the need for validation and fear of rejection.

    Once we deal with these at the root and take back our life from our emotions, we enter a new space. Challenges with other people stop becoming reasons to walk away or make an enemy, but instead become opportunities to build something stronger. Or at least they give us a chance to act more authentically.

    Awareness of my own changing feelings, needs, and typical behaviors provides a level of empathy that is nothing less than superhuman.

    Known as a main ingredient for successful relationships, empathy is the understanding and patience we need to lovingly consider things from another’s perspective. Most of the time, everybody is trying their best to navigate the world and their relationships, acting in ways they’ve learned from their experiences rather than out of selfishness.

    Boundaries are still key when there is a misalignment of standards and values. But empathizing is useful for finding acceptance where needed. Where alignment exists, empathy is the tool that helps relationships grow and enriches connections.

    Reflecting on relationships:

    • What are my values, wants, needs, and expectations, and do I know where they come from?
    • Do I approach things authentically, or do I have ulterior motives?
    • What challenges do I often face in relationships, and what is my approach usually?
    • What assumptions do I make about how others should behave?
    • Do these answers reveal areas of required self-work?

    Awareness for Connection: Feeling Present in the World

    Becoming aware and being present are one and the same thing. When we practice mindfulness, we pay attention to the present moment. Mindfulness isn’t just about cultivating self-awareness; we also train our brains to be aware of everything around us.

    Before my awareness journey, I lived in my head. Mulling over events, worrying about things that could be, and constructing scenarios, I took attention away from everything around me.

    With mindfulness practice, you transform your relationship with your thoughts, just like you do with your emotions. You realize thoughts are just thoughts, and you don’t have to get so wrapped up in them. They become much easier to let go, and with time, your mind can become quieter.

    When we practice being present, we train ourselves to notice the little things around us. I hear the birds in the morning. I feel the wind against my skin. I see the pattern on the tie of the person sitting opposite me.

    Awareness of the world is connection to the world. And it is connection that ultimately helps us feel mentally well. This kind of awareness gives us the sense of grounding we need to get out of our heads and feel alive in the world.

    Maximizing external awareness:

    • Practice awareness of sounds, sensations, and smells during meditation.
    • Take mindful moments during the day for a few deep breaths.
    • Get out into nature.
    • Make activities mindful by engaging the senses. What can I see, hear, smell, and feel?

    Awareness of Living: Leading an Intentional Life

    Previously, I worked toward other people’s ideas of success and things I thought I “should” have or do. And I know I’m not alone.

    Again, fear underpins a lot of our motives, as we dread being judged or not accepted. We often prioritize conforming over doing things that are meaningful to us personally. We lack self-compassion, compare ourselves to others, and find it hard to say no.

    Intentional living starts with really understanding why we want the things we want and do or don’t do certain things. Then we can take ownership of our life direction and make choices in line with our values, not what we feel is expected of us.

    With awareness, we can trust that any consequences of living authentically are insignificant compared to the benefits.

    It is totally possible to go through life passively, going with whatever is presented to us. It is easy to pick up short-term pleasures and continually get sucked into the moment. But if we do this, we will always be haunted by a sense of unfulfillment.

    Awareness shines a light on passive living and encourages us to enjoy the present while making decisions for the long term.

    Reflecting on your approach to life:

    • Why do I want the things I want?
    • Am I measuring progress by comparing myself to others?
    • What is meaningful to me, and what are my values?
    • Which parts of my life lack alignment to these?
    • What do I think is expected of me, and how can I deal with these pressures?
    • When did I last make active decisions or changes for alignment in my life?

    Your Awareness Journey

    Ultimately, this is a journey that will never end. We are constantly changing, and life around us is forever moving, so there will always be a need for reflection. You might become great at recognizing your feelings and staying present, but it will still be something you should practice to maintain.

    When we accept that, like our mental well-being, awareness is not a destination, we can enjoy continually managing life rather than redundantly wishing for things to be different.

    With awareness, life becomes an art. Regardless of what it throws at you, you have a powerful tool to navigate and make something out of it.

  • What Migraines Have Taught Me About Being Vulnerable

    What Migraines Have Taught Me About Being Vulnerable

    “Vulnerability is the core, the heart, the center, of meaningful human experiences.” ~Brené Brown, Daring Greatly

    Migraines. I’ve had them since I was five years old. Sometimes they’re bad, sometimes they’re really bad. But I have them.

    When I was five, I had electrodes placed on my skull to do an EEG. I didn’t understand the name, so I called it a “sleepy EG” since they put me to sleep to do it.

    Back then, I didn’t realize how chronic pain could interfere with my daily life. I just knew that I was getting my sleepy EG.

    It was also during my childhood that my personality started to form, as it does with everyone. I was a shy and introverted child, and I quickly learned the societal ropes of not expressing your struggles. I learned to say, “I’m fine,” when someone asked how I was, even if I really wasn’t.

    I saw vulnerability as something to be avoided. However, as I got older and my migraines got more intense, my worlds of chronic pain and vulnerability ultimately converged.

    As many with chronic pain would tell you about living with their conditions, my life has become a delicate dance between preventing/treating my migraines and enjoying my life. But the migraines’ frequency and severity have not made it easy.

    When I was six, I got a migraine the morning of my dance recital. It was a Disney-themed recital, and I was supposed to wear a Minnie Mouse costume. I developed a throbbing pain in my head that debilitated me for a couple of hours.

    The recital was in the evening, and I didn’t know if I would be able to go on to perform that night. I got incredibly anxious that I wouldn’t be able to perform that night while wearing my Minnie Mouse costume. I feared I would let my whole dance class down.

    After lying down in the dark for a couple of hours, the migraine dissipated, and I was able to perform. But it was then that I became acquainted with the anxiety around my migraines and letting others down. It was both out of this anxiety and a fear of showing my feelings that I didn’t let anyone at my dance studio know that this was a struggle for me.

    In my early twenties, I got a migraine that stands out as a turning point in my migraine and, frankly, my life journey. It was the Minnie Mouse costume scenario on a much larger, more disastrous scale.

    I was doing a year-long internship at a theater company. It was a prestigious and selective internship, and I’d moved across the country for it.

    I was qualified, but I was stressed about being new to the professional world, and stress is a trigger for my migraines. I was working at plenty of events that went late at night, and I hadn’t mastered adjusting my sleep schedule around those.

    The combination of lack of sleep and stress was not good, and I got sick a lot with colds, the flu, and, of course, migraines.

    During this internship, the theater company held a fancy gala at the Ritz-Carlton. I was working the event, running around setting up and checking donors in. I’d been in charge of another event the night before, and I was feeling exhausted and depleted.

    About two hours before the gala, I saw the dreaded spots of light that usually fill my vision and precede a migraine. But I was working, an early-career professional, and I felt I couldn’t really do or say anything about it.

    The event started, and guests poured in. The migraine set in, but I plastered on my event smile, the one that makes my cheeks hurt when I’ve been doing it for hours. Things were going okay, until I got nauseous and felt like I was going to be sick.

    I tried to make my way to the bathroom, but it was all the way across the event hall. There were also a bunch of people in the room that I had to push past.

    Suddenly, I couldn’t control the urge to vomit anymore. Right there, in the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton, crammed in between a bunch of fancy partygoers, I vomited.

    It got all over my dress and on the floor. I’ve been told it hit other people, although I wasn’t conscious of that at the time.

    What happened next was a blur of events that included me going into the bathroom to vomit more, crying in a hotel room, and my coworkers and boss coming to check in on me. I felt humiliated.

    After years of avoiding vulnerability, this experience forced me to be vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. I couldn’t control the physical vomit that came out of my mouth in the middle of the gala, and I was too depleted to hide my embarrassment and sadness over the event for the rest of that day.

    We’re taught not to show such vulnerability to others, especially not coworkers. But it had happened. After that event, how could I go back to work the following week and face everyone?

    I returned to work the following Monday, and it was in facing the situation that I learned even more about vulnerability. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but what I learned would affect how I approach situations and relationships in my life moving forward.

    Since everyone at work had either seen my embarrassing moment or heard about it, one of the few options I had was to simply be honest about the experience.

    It actually felt kind of refreshing to be open about my migraines and my embarrassment over them. I feel like we all spend so much time trying to convince everyone else that we’re fine when we’re not. It was a relief to be open and honest with others about real life.

    Here are some examples of vulnerable things I said to coworkers about my migraine experience.

    “I was really scared. I felt like my migraine would never go away.”

    “When I was nauseous, I tried to go to the bathroom, but it was all the way across the hall. I felt so helpless.”

    “I didn’t want to let everyone down by admitting I had a migraine.”

    Being vulnerable enabled me to connect with my coworkers, and we were able to relate to one another about the very human experiences of embarrassment, pain, helplessness, and anxiety. A couple of coworkers shared stories about migraines or other embarrassing situations in their lives.

    Yes, these were my coworkers, and I saw them that way. But I suddenly also felt as if I could see them as simply human.

    Vulnerability isn’t for every situation. Sometimes it isn’t safe or appropriate. Nowadays, I don’t talk to my coworkers about every life situation, and I only mention migraines if they somehow come up in conversation.

    But this experience with chronic pain gave me a little taste of what opening up to others would feel like and the good that it could do. It encouraged me to be open about migraines and other struggles in my life with family and friends. Some of the best, most fulfilling relationships of my life have come from being vulnerable with others.

    Life is just plain unpredictable. You can plan and prepare all you want, but sometimes things happen. And when they do, being vulnerable can help you glean something positive from unfortunate situations and form strong relationships.

    Although I’ve learned from my migraines, I want to be clear that I’d still rather not have them. They have caused me to have a lot of pain and limitations. I don’t agree with the phrase “everything happens for a reason” for every situation in life.

    But the reality is that I do have migraines, so I might as well look for the silver lining and take what I can from it.

    And it is true that I never would have learned so much about vulnerability if I hadn’t vomited from a migraine at the Ritz-Carlton.

  • ASMR: The Powerful Practice That Helped Me Let People In

    ASMR: The Powerful Practice That Helped Me Let People In

    “For the person that needs to see this today: Your heart will heal, your tears will dry, your season will change. Rest tonight, knowing the storm will end.” ~Unknown

    Like many people, I didn’t have the easiest time growing up. Between having a toxic family upbringing and being bullied, I learned to trust nobody and keep to myself. Being naturally bold and self-sufficient enabled me to move through the world independently, relying on as few people as possible. Living this way was the closest experience to safety I could reference.

    Over the years, my lifestyle of hyper-independence increased, and I drifted further away from others. This coincided with a new career field I’d moved into that required much travel. As I threw myself into making money, I cut ties with many of the remaining relationships in my life, wanting to rid myself of anything that felt interdependent.

    “I don’t need anybody now,” I justified to myself. “As long as I have money, I can buy support.”

    This wasn’t a dig at the people in my life as much as it indicated a deep feeling of unease that had always followed me in relationships. Connection was challenging for me, and I hated being faced with my perceived failures.

    As much as I wanted to disappear into the busyness of work, as time passed, I couldn’t escape how painful it was to be alone. I would often wake up in a new hotel room unsure of what city I was in, and feeling so lonely, I thought at times that I might literally die from the pain of it. The self-imposed isolation started to feel like a prison that I didn’t know how to break out of.

    The more I tried to distract myself, the more suffocating the isolation became. It was as if the walls of the hotel rooms were closing in on me, mocking my attempts to fill the void. Each morning, I would force a smile onto my face, pretending to be content with my solitary existence. Still, inside, my soul ached for connection.

    During this time, I desperately craved human touch. Sometimes, I felt as though my body was withering like a flower while sensing the absence of a loved one to cuddle with or hug. I wanted physical contact that felt gentle and nurturing. Touch that allowed me to feel a sense of home.

    Yet, deep down, fear gnawed at me. Fear that if I allowed myself to let others in, to depend on them, I would be vulnerable to the same pain and rejection that had haunted me in the past. I had constructed a thick fortress around my heart to shield it from potential pain.

    I wish I could say that one day I woke up and decided to make a change, but it took time. As the magnitude of my trauma started to come into focus, I developed a newfound appreciation for the parts of myself I had judged because of their unhealthy coping mechanisms.

    Harsh criticism was replaced by tenderness and even admiration for all I’d been managing to hold up. For the fact that I had still managed to strive and dream and hope in the face of so much pain.

    But it wasn’t until somatic practices were introduced into my life that I was able to heal some of the more profound wounding that had been following me around.

    Somatic means “of the body” and is a growing area of study in the mental health and wellness space. Research studies reveal how trauma isn’t located strictly in the brain but is held in our nervous system and physiological responses.

    For example, our body kicks into action when we encounter a stressful situation. Our psychology cannot tell the difference between physical or emotional pain, so its first instinct when encountering either is to move into a flight-or-fight stress response.

    This shows up in the body as a spike in cortisol levels and blood rushing to our legs so that we can run faster. Our digestive system slows to conserve energy, and our breath becomes shallow. If the trauma isn’t properly processed, these physiological responses can stay “turned on,” so to speak, leaving us in a state of dysregulation.

    As I explored somatic practice, I began to experience trauma leaving my body in visceral ways. Sometimes, my legs would shake, or my jaw would chatter uncontrollably. I began to take comfort in these releases, as my nervous system was always remarkably calmer at the end of one.

    I was hooked and wanted to learn more. I started to read everything I could on trauma and somatic tools as a way to heal. One day, I stumbled across a practitioner who used autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR) as a form of touch therapy.

    I had only been familiar with ASMR as YouTube videos in which the creator would whisper into the camera while performing reiki or tapping on a microphone. I didn’t know that it could be performed one-on-one, in person.

    I also didn’t know that ASMR can be deeply calming, relaxing, and healing, and that this could be the key to letting my guard down and letting people in.

    When I arrived for my session, I entered a quiet room where my ASMR therapist greeted me. She explained what I should expect from our hour together, and after my questions were addressed, I settled face down on the massage bed. Ambient music drifted from a nearby speaker, and I was instructed to relax.

    What happened over the next hour was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I drifted into one of the deepest relaxations of my life, where every sense was stimulated.

    Various types of head massages and tools were used on my back to draw circles and shapes. There was a gentle tapping on my legs and a soft brush on my neck. There was also an instrument that sounded like rushing water played over top of me periodically. I felt myself sighing deeply repeatedly as decades of emotional tension released from my body.

    By the end of the session, I was on cloud nine, and I slept like a baby that night. For the next week, I felt like I was inhabiting my body in an entirely new way. A light breeze brushing against my cheek would leave me speechless. The fabric of my cashmere sweater felt like a hug. It was as if all my senses were returning online after years of numbness.

    I credit ASMR as a critical practice on my healing journey. In fact, I finally opened my own practice to help others. This tool is still widely misunderstood and underrepresented in therapy modalities, and the benefits need to be shared on a wider platform.

    As I healed, I started to challenge my fear of intimacy and began taking small steps toward building meaningful relationships. I finally addressed the deep-rooted issues that had contributed to my aversion to connection. I gradually learned to let others into my heart.

    It is said that we are not meant to navigate this world alone, and indeed, I have come to realize the truth in this sentiment. As my heart opened to the beauty of human connection, I discovered the transformative power of shared experiences and the profoundly positive impact others can have on our lives.

    No longer bound by self-imposed isolation, I now embrace a life surrounded by a network of kindred spirits. I have learned that strength can be found not only in independence but also in the willingness to forge deep and meaningful connections. And through this journey, I have come to understand that true safety lies not in solitude but in the embrace of genuine human connection.

  • My Soul Craves Real Connection

    My Soul Craves Real Connection

  • How I Claimed My Right to Belong While Dealing with Imposter Syndrome

    How I Claimed My Right to Belong While Dealing with Imposter Syndrome

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post briefly references sexual abuse.

    “Never hold yourself back from trying something new just because you’re afraid you won’t be good enough. You’ll never get the opportunity to do your best work if you’re not willing to first do your worst and then let yourself learn and grow.” ~Lori Deschene

    The year 2022 was the hardest of my life. And I survived a brain tumor before that.

    My thirtieth year started off innocently enough. I was living with my then-boyfriend in Long Beach and had a nice ring on my finger. The relationship had developed quickly, but it seemed like kismet. Unfortunately, we broke up around June. And that’s when the madness began.

    I believe it to be the extreme heat of the summer that somehow wrought this buried pain from underneath my pores to come up. Except the pain didn’t evaporate. It stayed stagnant, and I felt suffocated.

    There were excruciating memories of being sexually abused as a child. Feelings of intense helplessness came along. I had nightmares every night, and worse, a feeling of horrendous shame when I woke up. All of this made me suicidal.

    Before I knew it, every two weeks I was being hospitalized for powerful bouts of depression, PTSD, and the most severe anxiety that riddled my bones.

    This intense, almost trance-like experience of going in and out of hospitals seemed like the only way to cope with life. I felt broken, beyond repair. I gained a lot of weight and shaved my head and then regretted it. My self-esteem plummeted.

    I felt like I didn’t belong to society anymore. I’d had superficial thoughts like this before, growing up in the punk scene, but the experience of constantly being in and out of mental hospitals was beyond being “fringe.” I felt extremely alienated.

    With many hospitalizations in 2022, I was losing myself. Conservatorship was now on the table. I was terrified and angry at the circumstances fate had bestowed upon me.

    In my final hospitalization in December, I suffered tortuously. I was taken off most of the benzos I was on, and I was withdrawing terribly, alone in a room at the psych ward. My hands and feet were constantly glazed in a cold sweat.

    I was so on-edge that every sound outside my door jerked my head up. The girl next door would sob super loud, in real “boo-hoos,” and do so for hours on end. It eroded me. I would scream at her to stop, but she would then cry louder.

    If there was a hell on earth, this was it. I told myself, with gritted teeth, staring out the window, that this would be my last time in a psych ward. No matter how miserable I was, I would just cope with it. I didn’t want to deal with this anymore.

    So I made a commitment to myself to really try to get better. Hope was hatched by that intense amount of pain. I knew I had a long journey ahead to heal, but that there was no other way but up.

    After that final hospitalization, I joined a residential program that helped me form new habits. There was a sense of healing and community there. I felt a mentorship connection with one of the workers, who was a recovered drug addict.

    I was glad I was finally doing a little better. I realized I shouldn’t have gone to the hospital so much and perhaps should have plugged into one of the residential places first.

    This year has been easier as a result of sticking to treatment and addressing some of the issues that were plaguing me. I now have better coping mechanisms to deal with symptoms of PTSD, as well as some better grounding techniques.

    As a result, I’ve been able to go back to work, despite still dealing with intense anxiety. For the first time in a while, I feel hopeful for my life. But I can’t help but getting hit with a barrage of thoughts before I go to work.

    This whole thing I’m going through is commonly known as “imposter syndrome.” Basically, it feels like I don’t belong where I’m going in order to make the quality of my life better. I feel like a fake or a phony, afraid my coworkers will understand who I really am—someone who has struggled with PTSD and depression.

    As a result, some days are more difficult than others when it comes to showing up at work. I’ll have mini panic attacks in the restroom. There’s an overwhelming feeling of surrealness.

    Although I’m glad to have gotten out of the merry-go-round of doom, putting on a happy face and attempting to appear as a healthy, well-adjusted person is too much sometimes.

    And I know it’s not just in my situation that people experience imposter syndrome. Some people that were once extremely overweight feel out of place once they’ve lost their extra pounds. Others who are the minority in race or gender where they work can also feel like they don’t belong.

    I’ve come to realize this is a universal experience, the feeling of “not belonging.” It’s also a syndrome of lack of self-worth. I try to tackle this in baby steps every day.

    Here are some things I try to live by to feel more secure where I’m trying to thrive.

    I ask myself, “Why NOT me?”

    There’s a Buddhist quote that suggests, when you’re suffering, instead of asking, “Why me?”, you’re supposed to humble yourself by asking, “Why NOT me?” But I think this is also relevant to feelings of belonging.

    When you feel like you don’t belong, ask yourself, “Why NOT me?” Why wouldn’t you deserve to belong, when everyone else does, despite their varied challenges? This sort of thinking levels the playing field.

    I remind myself of my worth.

    I could spend hours thinking about why I’m not adequate or deserving. But I try to think about why I do have a right to be there. I deserve to get a paycheck like everyone else. I deserve to work, no matter what I’ve been through, and to value the sense of belonging offered through my coworkers.

    I try to power through my inner resistance.

    Many days this is more difficult than others, but I know if my greater goal is improving my life and feeling like I belong to society again, its worth challenging all the mental resistance I feel. I also know that my feelings will change over time if I keep pushing through them.

    Cherish the times of connection.

    There are times at work where I feel really connected to my coworkers, even though I doubt we have the same psychiatric history. I try to savor those times of connection because they keep me going. Since we are social beings, it is important to us to feel connected.

    Take comfort in knowing this will fade.

    Already, having just worked a few weeks at this job, my feelings of imposter syndrome are starting to fade. If I had known this would happen in the beginning, I wouldn’t have put so much anxiety on myself. If you’re going through this too in any capacity, just remember that the feelings are only temporary and will pass as you find your footing.

    Make peace with your past.

    Everyone has a past, some that may feel more shameful than others. But don’t conflate that with your right to belong and be a contributing member of society. Sure, some things are harder to rebound from than others, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t get past them. And that doesn’t mean you need to be defined or limited by your past challenges.

    Validate your feelings of struggle.

    Although it would be nice to just use denial to move forward, that’s not possible since you know the truth. You know what you’ve been through and how it’s affected you. I validate my experience in the struggle by going to support groups after work. That way I’m not gaslighting myself, pretending I’m fine. It’s just about knowing there’s a time and place for that unheard, marginalized part of yourself.

    —

    We all put on a brave face to be accepted, but we all deserve to belong, regardless of how we’ve struggled.

    Don’t let your struggles define you. Instead, validate the fact that they have given you the strength to get where you are now.

  • Why Relationships Matter Most: We’re All Just Walking Each Other Home

    Why Relationships Matter Most: We’re All Just Walking Each Other Home

    “We’re all just walking each other home.” ~Ram Dass

    Living in the hyper-individualist society that we do, it’s easy to forget our obligation to those around us. Often in the West, we are taught to prioritize ourselves in the unhealthiest ways, to ‘grind’ as hard as we can to achieve wealth and status.

    We are taught, between the lines, that our first responsibility is to create a ‘perfected‘ version of ourselves to such an extreme that it is alright to forsake our relationships with others to accomplish it.

    From day one, it is embedded in us that it is our individual selves against the world. Like many others, I’d like to challenge this notion. Because what is the purpose of wealth and status if not to share it with the ones you love and who love you the most?

    What is the meaning of life itself if not companionship, community, and love?

    I want to disclaim, of course, that this is by no means attacking the notion of having personal external goals. Career success, physique aspirations, and other tangible objectives can absolutely be noble in pursuit and attainment.

    What I would like to say is that none of those external goals will fulfill you the way that genuine human connection can—and that those goals should not be completed by abandoning your healthy relationships and support systems. And if you are thinking, “who actually does that?” this introduction is not for you.

    To put it simply, life is a series of circumstances, situations, and experiences that we get reluctantly swept into (and sometimes, foolishly, sweep ourselves into). It’s just one adventure after the next, for better or worse. That sounds gloomy, but it is what makes life so beautiful—the human ability to feel a vast range of emotions within an hour and find charm in the worst circumstances.

    A little over a year ago, my aunt passed. Through a blur of tears, I remember thinking about how beautiful the flowers people had sent were and how vibrantly green the grass of the cemetery was. And amidst all the despair, I remember looking around and seeing my friends.

    When I think back to all the times in my life when it felt like the roof would cave in, that I had nothing left, that I didn’t know if I would be strong enough to move forward and continue on, I remember what exactly it was that pushed me forward. It was always my friends, my people. Those who almost daily not only told me that they would be there for me but showed up when I needed them the most.

    Would I have survived my hardships alone? Yes. Would I prefer to do it alone? Never.

    I am infinitely grateful for the community I have created for myself—the network of friends that have become family and mentors that help guide me when things seem too chaotic to untangle.

    Through the gentle counsel of my loved ones, I have come to realize that there is no nobility in solitary living. There is no wisdom or bravery in taking on hardship or challenges alone when I don’t need to. Every time I forsook my loved ones to be (my distorted idea of) independent, it seemed almost like I was just adding gasoline to already growing flames. There was no more profound message beneath suffering in silence, only suffering.

    And I think most of us can agree that attempting to handle problems alone feels infinitely more difficult to manage than with support. It’s part of why people seek romantic partnerships, to have someone always there to walk through the flames alongside. It’s why people invest so strongly in their loved ones in general. It is to feel heard and be seen, to hear and to see.

    Part of the purpose of life, I have come to learn, is within the attempt to know someone else, to recognize yourself in another person deeply. Connection is everything we have in this world. It’s the mirror that holds itself up to us in the face of conflict with another person. It makes us think twice before buying from a brand that uses slave labor, and it’s what makes us recoil at the thought of abused animals or children.

    Connection with all living beings is the deeper understanding that we are all somehow joined by our humanity. And in that, understanding that one of our primary purposes is to know and be known. To know my friends and their joys and fears and draw parallels to how they reflect my own. To walk alongside them through the difficult times and the blissful times. I recognize now that it is in the attempt to know others that I now know myself.

    We are all just walking each other home. Life, at its core, is that simple.

    I am walking, hand in hand, side by side, sometimes a little bit ahead or a little bit behind, with the people around me. Some of those people may walk too quickly for me to keep up, and some may move too slowly. That is when I thank them for walking me as far as they could and continue on without them, as they will continue on without me.

    If the journey of life is a path we walk, then the purpose of our travel buddies is to help us navigate the storms on the road and to make the journey as funny, exciting, and comfortable as possible. If life is a journey, then the whole point of friendship, companionship, and mentorship is to just be with each other.

    If I am walking you home, is my purpose not to try my best to protect, guide, and love you throughout that journey? We are all walking each other and ourselves home. And the least we can do is do our best to make that journey as beautiful, warm, and light as possible.

    So many of us are falling into a spiritual trap of sorts and being wholly sucked into the hyper-consumerist and individualist mentality of the West. Some of us are actively fighting the true nature of our being, which yearns for deep and genuine connection above all else.

    As you age and the world around you changes, your values begin to change. When you’re nearing your final days, when all you want is your family and friends surrounding you, will you have planted those seeds? Will you have spent time cultivating and nourishing your relationships with those around you? Will you have walked your loved ones down their path and done your best to create joy in your (and others’) journey?

    The message I am trying desperately to convey here is that we need one another. We need love, and we need companionship. We need forgiveness, and we need grace. We need to be open to giving our hearts away and open to the risk of being hurt. And in that same breath, we need to do everything possible in our power to avoid hurting those around us. We need to use the path to grasp the importance of being tender with each other.

    The journey of life is not easy. Take a moment and reflect on all those who have walked you in the past and all those who continue to walk you home.

    Think about the connections you have made, the empathy and love you have nourished in the lives of those you care about.

    And remember that at the end of the day, despite all of the problems and chaos around us, we are all just walking each other home, and we are all just trying to be better companions, one day at a time.

    Dedicated to my travel companions, you know who you are.

  • 8 Ways You Can Help Fight the Loneliness Epidemic

    8 Ways You Can Help Fight the Loneliness Epidemic

    “The antidote to loneliness isn’t just being around random people indiscriminately, the antidote to loneliness is emotional security.” ~Benedict Wells

    Emotional security. The feeling of being at home in the presence of another. Safe to be who you are, good times or bad. Feeling seen and seeing the other clearly, accepting the other’s whole lovely mess. It’s good stuff, and it can be hard to find.

    In fact, ever-increasing loneliness stats have led many experts to describe the problem as epidemic. You might assume it was caused by the pandemic, but it was a crisis long before lockdowns and social distancing.

    In 2018, Cigna conducted a survey of U.S. adults and found that loneliness was at 54%, already at epidemic levels. Since then, it shot up to 61% in 2019, with three in five Americans reporting feeling lonely, and now sits at 58%—we’ve got ourselves a big problem. And it’s not just the fact that it’s unpleasant to feel disconnected from others and not have anyone to talk to; research also shows it’s also bad for our health.

    As someone who went thirty-seven years not knowing I’m autistic, for most of my life I’ve hidden a lot of who I am (masking), making it impossible to feel truly connected and seen. So, despite formerly frequent socializing, I’ve been exceedingly familiar with feeling lonely for most of my life.

    However, when health issues took me out of the day-to-day world altogether in 2015, I was surprised at how much worse it got. At first, rarely interacting with others was largely a much-needed relief, but a few months in, things got dark. I was communicating with the people I knew so little—sometimes it’d be months—that I felt ungrounded, like I could just disappear, or die, and no one would even know I was gone.

    When I did get to talk to the people who I then considered close, it often felt like I wasn’t really allowed to talk about my life anymore because it’d become too sad. (So cringe. Positive vibes only.)

    Even with the support of a therapist, feeling so alone in what I was going through made me feel like my life didn’t matter. And it’s not that I was associating with awful humans, it’s just how we’re socially conditioned. Society prioritizes seeming-pleasantness to a severe degree, and as a result most folks have no idea how to hold space for the hard stuff. We just aren’t taught to be emotionally equipped for providing that kind of support; instead, the general example is to repress and deflect.

    It’s like we’ve decided compassion is inefficient and awkward, instead honoring placid insensitivity as a virtue. And, as a result, people feel like it’s not safe to talk about what’s really going on in their lives, what they’re really thinking and feeling. This, of course, creates loneliness.

    Eventually, after half a decade of dealing with severe health and life trauma in isolation, I was diagnosed with autism, which was amazing in many ways… but also a core-shaking thing to handle with only the support of online groups and a telehealth therapist who had dozens of other clients. It was too much to process, and I had a nervous breakdown.

    Afterward, I accepted that I needed to work harder to find people I could regularly and, especially, authentically connect with. It took some time, but I eventually found aligned friends via reaching out to people I didn’t actually know all that well (yet) but had met through very authentic circumstances.

    Routinely talking and connecting with them has changed my life. I’m still homebound for health reasons, and it’s still hard, but despite still being without human company like 95% of the time, I don’t feel like I could just float away anymore; I now feel warmly and safely connected, even seen and understood.

    Honestly assessing if I had people with the bandwidth to connect regularly, that also know how to hold the kind of safe-feeling emotional space I need, was the first step to having consistent connection with people who let me be my whole self; relationships that do provide that precious and hard-to-find feeling of emotional security—progressively replacing my loneliness with connected perspective, understanding, and acceptance.

    If your honest self-assessment comes to the same conclusion as mine—“I need to confront this loneliness thing”—these sorts of authentic-connection-seeking efforts can do the same for you.

    8 Ways to Combat the Loneliness Epidemic

    1. Honestly assess your needs.

    Do you feel lonely? What do you need to feel socially connected? Which interactions leave you feeling drained and which ones lift you up, making you feel less alone? Do you feel safe to be your whole self with the people in your life? What are some characteristics of those who’ve made you feel safe?

    2. Reach out (and reach back).

    Once you’ve got an idea of what you need, reach out to someone who makes you feel relaxed, safe to just be you, and see if they want to catch up. Maybe they’ll be down for it, and maybe they won’t, but keep trying.

    If you don’t really know anyone you feel safe to be authentic with, try joining like-minded activity groups or using a platonic friend-finding app. And if someone who seems safe reaches out, don’t let fear stop you from reaching back.

    3. Set and respect boundaries.

    What you need from someone and what they’re able to provide might not mesh. It’s important to understand that some of us are comfortable with having open, potentially vulnerable, conversations, and others prefer to stick to more shallow waters. And the same is true for the reverse.

    It’s okay to prioritize time with those who connect in a harmonious way and also to distance yourself where needed. Life is pretty demanding and people can only do so much, so try not to take it personally if people can’t meet what you need, and let others (gently) know when you can’t meet theirs.

    4. Practice ‘holding space.’

    Make sure you’re present enough to really listen and ensure you’ve understood and/or been understood (we rely far too much on easily misinterpreted nonverbal communication).

    Learning to stay in the moment—resisting deflection, going into judgment or fix-it mode—is crucial to creating authentic connection in your life (and that includes holding space for your own honest, but difficult, emotions).

    It can be scary to hold space, and/or ask someone to, but we need to get over our societal fear of awkward experiences; isn’t it worth it when it could lead to connection, growth, and clarity?

    5. Resist the pressure to lean on small talk.

    It can be tempting to stick to trivial matters, but it’s not without harm. I concur with the take on small talk that Natasha Lyonne shared on an early February episode of Late Night with Seth Meyers:

    “I don’t believe in it. I would say I aggressively don’t like it. I think it’s damaging to society as a whole… it’s like John Lennon said, just gimme some truth. I think it’s really dangerous because when you ask a person ‘How are you?’ their only option is to lie aggressively, right? Society says you’re supposed to say, ‘Oh, I’m good’ and keep it moving, but you’re not good, are you?”

    It’s isolating that we’re expected to talk in pleasantries, especially since it often happens even in relationships considered close.

    6. Gossip doesn’t count as connection.

    In the same interview, Meyers fights for small talk as a segue into shit-talk, and Lyonne suggests that maybe instead of talking about other people they could segue into some other talk (she suggests inanimate objects, which I don’t hate).

    Our society depends on gossip far too much. People very often rely on it to judge another’s trustworthiness, a fact that is manipulated all the time. And if you’ve ever played the game “telephone,” you know it’s not exactly a science to depend on hearsay.

    Real conversations, asking direct questions, can be intimidating—but it’s a hell of a lot better than writing someone off because of what so-in-so told so-in-so. Also, gossip isn’t connection. It might feel like fleeting togetherness à la “we hate them,” but you know your shite-talking cohort’s talking about you as well. It’s fake. If gossip’s the primary mode of convo, you’re just flapping jaws.

    7. Reflect on and articulate your feels.

    When we don’t understand why we feel alone, it makes it much harder to address, so it’s unfortunate that introspection is underrated in our society (sometimes even ridiculed, which is revealing).

    Gaining emotional awareness and being able to express our feelings is key to reducing loneliness. To quote sociological researcher Brené Brown, “The more difficult it is for us to articulate our experiences of loss, longing, and feeling lost to the people around us, the more disconnected and alone we feel.”

    When we don’t have the words to describe our emotional experience, emotional communication becomes foreign—but by gaining emotional awareness and vocabulary, that kind of connection becomes possible.

    Crucially, we must know that it’s okay to feel whatever it is that we feel, as many of us are taught that emotions like anger or fear aren’t okay. They are. Using tools like the emotion wheel, journaling, and therapy can be of great assistance, as well as opening up to trusted others and holding space when they open up to you.

    8. Know (and love) yourself to connect authentically.

    Finding relationships where I felt supported the way I needed to be involved a lot more time getting to know myself than I thought it would; tons of self-reflection and, ironically, solitude were necessary for me to find the self-acceptance it takes to have any shot at finding authentic support.

    To again quote Brené Brown, “Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them—we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.”

    As far as how to get started on fostering self-love, I think all love grows from appreciation, something many of us find hardest when it’s pointed in our own direction. Appreciate your efforts to choose growth by reading articles on a website like this over mindless scrolling, or reaching out for connection instead of your favorite escape. And acknowledge your needs in addition to your efforts. You deserve love (the whole you).

    —

    Self-reflection and cultivating emotionally secure relationships inherently involves vulnerability, but our social norms dictate staying away from that—safe in the shallows of small talk, leaving the depths to be explored in fifty-minute therapy slots by a complete stranger who won’t have the same security with you (if you’re lucky enough to have the coverage).

    While therapy can be very helpful, emotional support shouldn’t primarily be found at a price as one of many clients on a therapist’s roster. We need to have the emotional tools to express our feelings and support another’s.

    And, in addition to our individual efforts toward authentic connection, we, as a society, need to recognize the costs of mass loneliness and prioritize having a populace that knows how to be there for each other in good times and bad. It’s time to learn how to allow space for authentic connection in our lives and relationships. We need it, we deserve it, and we can do it.

  • An Unexpected Place to Find Kindness: What Made Me Feel Like I Belong

    An Unexpected Place to Find Kindness: What Made Me Feel Like I Belong

    “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” ~Mother Teresa

    Routines are important to me. I rely on certain things to bring me back home to myself; to feel clear and open in my mind, body, and heart.

    One of the activities that bring steadiness to my life is swimming. It’s one of my greatest pleasures. There is something magical to me about the feeling of water on my skin, the repetition of the arm strokes that calm my mind, the sound of my breath that relaxes my body, and the rays of sunlight that reflect off the water.

    I rely on swimming three mornings a week. I like to say it gets me back in my lane or it keeps me out of the others’ lanes.

    I showed up to my local pool several weeks ago—pool closed due to mechanical issues.

    It was just supposed to be for a few days. I told myself that it was a gift to give my body a rest from swimming. Over the next few days, I told myself that this time allowed me to help a loved one who needed extra care. But as more time passed, I couldn’t find a reason to find peace without swimming. I missed it.

    I found another pool a bit farther away from my home. Though I felt irritated that I had to go to another pool and create a new routine, I chose my love for swimming over any of the inconveniences.

    After my first swim, an employee ran over to me and said, “I’d like to introduce myself and welcome you to our pool. It’s wonderful to have more lap swimmers here.” We connected over our love for swimming.

    I left feeling a little more cheerful than I usually do after a swim, and I am already pretty cheerful after swimming.

    I came back the following week, and after finishing my swim was greeted by the water aerobics women. As I got out of the pool, they chatted with me about swimming and how they want to learn to do laps.

    Over the next few weeks, I began to notice that every time I left swimming, I was a bit more cheerful.

    One morning, as the aerobics women came into the pool, I noticed that they greeted each other with hugs and kisses (yes, in the pool at 9:00 a.m.).  I asked the lifeguard, “Does this always happen?” 

    He replied, “Sure does.”

    In the locker room women hum songs, tell me to have a blessed day, and chat with me about all sorts of things as I shower. I don’t know anyone personally, and yet they are undeniably kind and warm to me.

    Just this past week a woman belted out in the locker room I AM BEAUTIFUL. I couldn’t help but feel completely overjoyed at this women’s confidence and radiance.

    I have been noticing how I’ve been feeling after swimming, and I have become curious about what’s contributed to the fact I haven’t checked if my pool has reopened.

    It’s the women. It’s the kindness. It’s the singing. It’s the joyful greetings. It’s the curiosity.

    While I only know two women by name, they know even less about me and how the things they have been doing for many years have been bringing an extra dose of cheer into my life.

    It has not been easy for me living in a neighborhood that is known for intergenerational legacies of families living here. I didn’t come from this neighborhood. Even though I have been here for eighteen years, feeling like I fit in has been a private struggle that I don’t often share with others.

    In this pool, a short drive from my home, in another neighborhood, I have found a place that I need more of in my life. 

    We all want to find our people; we all want to belong.

    Sometimes we don’t actually know how much pain we hold until we are blessed with the one thing that has been missing—kindness.

    And with that kindness, the protection starts to soften and the hurts come to the surface. We realize that’s just what our heart was holding all of these years.

    In my mind, I’ve known the story of the past eighteen years of living in a place I don’t really feel like I fit.

    I’ve worked with the beliefs. I’ve taken responsibility for what is mine to learn, heal, and grow from. I’ve also come to accept that this was what life gave me and that even in not feeling like I belong, there have been tremendous gifts and blessings these past years.

    But it is also true that we need to give words to our truth. I want to belong. It is a human birthright to belong. We are designed to belong to groups of human beings.

    We see people through our own lens and make up stories about them that aren’t necessarily true. I am grateful that these women at the pool didn’t make up a story about me and instead treated me with kindness.

    They could have easily made up a story about me. They are black, and I am white. They know I am not from their neighborhood, but instead, they saw past what I looked like and opened their hearts to me. They sang to me in the shower, blessed my day with prayers, and wished me well for the rest of my day.

    None of us know the story of someone’s insides. None of us know how simple acts of kindness and inclusion can make someone feel like they belong.

    Sometimes the people that we least expect to make a difference in our lives do. We are all capable of this.

    We all live with a protected heart in some ways; none of us are free from hurts. If I hadn’t sat with the pain of not belonging and feeling disappointed in past relationships, my heart may have been impenetrable. I had to learn to be there for myself with kindness before I could allow others to be there for me. I think this is true for all of us.

    Sometimes the simple gesture of placing your hand on your heart and saying to yourself, “I am here for you” is a great act of kindness and allows the unexpected joys of life to be felt when you least expect them.

  • How to Let People in So You Can Feel Seen, Heard, and Supported

    How to Let People in So You Can Feel Seen, Heard, and Supported

    “We are hard-wired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it there is suffering.” ~Brené Brown

    In relationships, I have always felt more comfortable being on the sidelines rather than center stage. I liked playing the supporting role to many people’s leading roles. I am good at it; it’s the career I chose for myself as a life coach. However, personally, constantly staying in the role of supporter created resentment.

    I felt unseen and unheard, and many of my relationships began to feel one-sided—with me listening and holding space for them and then feeling there was no room for me to have a turn. It felt like I could not connect with others, and that left me feeling deeply alone.

    At first, I believed that others were to blame. If they didn’t take up so much space and time, it would be easier for me to open up. As time passed, I realized this was an excuse. It was an excuse that gave me permission to stay quiet. Because staying quiet was easier than sharing whatever was heavy on my heart.

    It was painful to constantly stay silent or to question if I should share or not. It felt like I had created brick walls to protect myself, and it began to feel impossible to start sharing more of my personal experiences, thoughts, and realizations.

    I would think, “They won’t get it anyway. What’s the point?” Or “What they’re experiencing is so much harder.” Or “I will just end up hurt by sharing more.”

    At times when I felt the loneliest, I began to wonder, what was I protecting myself from, and why had it gotten so difficult to speak to my closest and trusted people? I felt like I was walking around like a knight covered in steel armor, but there was no one shooting arrows at me; and on the inside, I felt like a volcano was slowly brewing.

    I knew where parts of these habits stemmed from. I am highly sensitive and guard my heart because I feel things so deeply. In the past, there were times when I shared and people either didn’t listen because they weren’t fully present or they didn’t understand where I was coming from, and this hurt.

    Also, I knew that I was a people-pleaser and wanted others to feel good and happy even if it meant that I didn’t. And I’m naturally an observer and introvert, so it came easily to stay quiet.

    Part of my healing came from this basic knowledge. This is the unique way that I am built, and it is not bad or wrong. However, I had to address the brewing storm inside, and that meant having the courage to share and to cry and to be angry—to be seen in front of people I love and trust.

    A friend of mine has consistently modeled what it means to open up by communicating her thoughts, fears, and feelings with me, even if they are vulnerable. Over time she became someone with whom I felt comfortable testing the waters of sharing my own pain.

    I felt a huge sense of relief when I opened my heart to her and shared that I was struggling to feel good enough in my relationships and roles—and I was met with the simple yet powerful impact of thoughtful listening. Not only did she accept me with my messy emotions, I felt more safe, authentic, and comfortable being me.

    Opening up to others is still a practice for me, but each time I do it I find that others are more loving and capable than I imagined, and that my taking a step toward vulnerability leads to the connection I deeply desire.

    I have realized that opening up has less to do with others accepting or understanding me and more to do with me accepting the vulnerable parts of myself.

    I know now that I deserve to be listened to and supported, even if it is messy and more emotional than logical. The only way to do that is to communicate and share what’s going on in my heart with a reliable or committed partner/friend.

    I believe most of us avoid opening up at all costs because we’re afraid of being judged and rejected.

    In any relationship there is a chance that you are going to get hurt. Whether it is intentional or unintentional, whether you guard your heart or not, the possibility is there. The question is, is the sense of connection worth it for you? This is a question that requires discernment.

    Not all relationships require equal sharing. This is the part that you get to choose. Who do you want to talk to, and who is able to hold space for you? What parts are you willing to vulnerably share, and, as Brené Brown asks, “Who has earned a seat at your table?”

    If, like me, you tend to be guarded and not trust the people you are closest to, take a moment to slow down and acknowledge the part of you that wants to be seen and heard.

    Let yourself know that, though safety and security cannot be promised from another, you can promise them to yourself. You can assure yourself that whether other people understand and support you or not, you will maintain a safe space within yourself by validating your own thoughts and feelings.

    Also, remind yourself that even if sharing was painful for you in the past—if people didn’t offer you their full attention, empathy, or understanding—the future can be different. All people are different, and there are many who care and want to be there. You just have to give them a chance.

    Having the courage to be seen in a vulnerable place isn’t easy; however, it is necessary if you long for connection and authenticity.

  • Looking Back: The Silver Linings of the Pandemic and Why I’m Grateful

    Looking Back: The Silver Linings of the Pandemic and Why I’m Grateful

    “You gotta look for the good in the bad, the happy in the sad, the gain in your pain, and what makes you grateful, not hateful.” ~Karen Salmansohn

    The 2010 decade was difficult for me. Hardly a year went by without someone close to me passing away.

    When the tragic decade started, I was in the midst of my residency training and free time was a luxury I did not have. When I graduated and became an attending physician, I was too busy caring for patients on my own to take a break.

    In 2018, my world was shattered when one of my best friends died unexpectedly. The sudden shock of it left me feeling helpless. To counter my feeling of despair, I worked even harder to take care of patients in need.

    Shortly afterward, my father-in-law was diagnosed with a recurrence of his cancer. Over the next year, my husband and I spent whatever free time we had flying across the country to see him. We watched as he slowly deteriorated until he took his last breath in 2019.

    Instead of slowing down, I kept on. It seemed like the more I needed a mental health break to grieve, the harder I worked to suppress my grief.

    When the world stopped due to COVID-19, I too was forced to take a pause. With the whole world quarantined, I finally had the time to heal my broken heart.

    With more time at home, my husband and I found ourselves taking more walks, cooking more meals, and openly talking about our feelings. We visited with family over FaceTime and Zoom and shared stories about those who were now gone.

    We found joy in the small things: a sunrise, a bird’s song, and even just a cup of tea. With the past vastly different from what we were living through and the future feeling so uncertain, we were finally living in the present.

    Though the pandemic brought with it so much suffering and sadness, I found unexpected gratitude in the midst of it:

    Gratitude for the time that we had with our lost loved ones before COVID-19.

    Gratitude for the extra time to spend with one another now.

    Gratitude for the technology that allowed us to stay connected with our family and friends.

    Gratitude for the reminder that life is fragile and that “taking it slow” is sometimes necessary.

    Gratitude for the chance to take a step back and reflect on the important things in life.

    Surprisingly, I realized that I felt gratitude for COVID-19.

    It’s been the darkest of times. I’m devastated by all the lives lost and all the other losses people have experienced. The course of humanity has changed, and likely not for the better.

    But I’ve found solace in the silver linings that have emerged from the pandemic—things that will stay with me long after the virus has passed. I am far more grateful today than I have ever been and with it comes a sense of peace and a newfound strength to carry on.

    My father-in-law, for instance, died peacefully at home surrounded by his loved ones. For a year, we were able to join him at his medical appointments and also create new memories. We arranged for a family trip to Mexico so he could enjoy warmth in the wintertime with his sons and brothers.

    These otherwise normal events would not have been possible during the beginning of the pandemic. If he had passed away a year later, we wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye the way we did. I’m grateful for the quality time we had.

    During the pandemic, I finally grieved my best friend’s death. Instead of keeping myself busy to distract from it as I had done before, I now had time to truly process and feel his loss through the five stages of grief. I think about him at least once a day but instead of feeling sorrow, I’m usually thinking about how he would guide me through this new normal.

    While the pandemic is not something to celebrate, it has certainly opened my mind. I never would have thought that something so awful could bring about so much healing and hope.

    COVID-19 made it very clear that life is too short to worry about the little things. Life is too precious not to enjoy every moment, especially with our loved ones. When we choose to be grateful for all that we have, we open ourselves up to more joy, peace, and connection.

    While we may not be able to control our circumstances, we can control how we react to them. We can choose kindness, understanding, and empathy for ourselves and others.

    Did someone just cut me off in traffic? It’s okay, maybe they’re rushing to the hospital to see a loved one. I hope they make it there safely!

    Is the Wifi connection poor again? No worries, I can use this time to read a book.

    Did I make the wrong decision? It’s okay, I’ll learn from it and make a better choice next time.

    Reframing our thoughts to focus on the good, no matter how small, can have a powerful effect on our mood and outlook. Things that would otherwise be frustrating or upsetting are suddenly not so bad.

    For all of us, COVID-19 has taken away so much. But if we can find a way to look for the positive and cultivate gratitude then we can find happiness amid hardship. We can come out of this stronger, kinder, and more connected to the people and things that matter most.

    I’ve developed several good habits during the pandemic. I now journal every day writing about all the things that made me happy. Whenever I spend time with friends and family, I give them my undivided attention. I enjoy my work—I treat my patients as I would my family and consider it a privilege to be part of their care. I’ve also been taking more time for self-care and nurturing my creative pursuits.

    The world has changed and so have I. I am grateful for the life lessons and growth.

  • Why My Boyfriend and I Play Like Kids and Are Happier for It

    Why My Boyfriend and I Play Like Kids and Are Happier for It

    “Play is the foundation of learning, creativity, self-expression, and constructive problem-solving. It’s how children wrestle with life to make it meaningful.” ~Susan Linn, Psychiatrist

    We met at a job interview for a summer camp. At the time, I was twenty-two years old and pursuing a bachelor’s degree in English literature and psychology at UBC. On the other hand, H was attending college in the hopes of one day becoming a high school history teacher. He also “liked to promote and support the development of children.”

    During our first date, we grabbed coffee and spent some time at Indigo Books & Music. I was impressed. I had not only found a boy who was willing to tolerate my endless browsing, but genuinely seemed to enjoy it.

    H was funny, dressed nicely, and most importantly, didn’t know much about me. Later, he would learn that I’d grown up a perfectionist, that I became overwhelmed easily, and that I always took life too seriously. I valued the art of productivity and felt self-conscious when acting silly.

    In our early days, we enjoyed sunbathing at the beach and went “playground hopping,” a term coined after spending an entire afternoon going from playground to playground, sitting on the swings, flirting. We climbed the various structures and found out we could no longer get across the monkey bars.

    We had a typical “summer romance.” We sent each other flirty texts at work, and I chased him around the jungle gym during one of our outings with the kids. We played Connect 4 instead of strip poker and went to the candy store to buy samples of all our favorite childhood treats. He loved to make blanket forts and was always to blame for the ensuing pillow fight. We put on music and danced in our underwear in my bedroom late at night.

    He brought out my inner child. We played handshake games while waiting for the bus without caring about the other commuters’ glances. We painted cheap wooden frames from the dollar store and bought a puzzle at Toys R Us. We went to the kid’s arcade and had a playful Skee-Ball competition.

    After a few months of dating, and as a result of my interest into Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), H and I sat down and made a list of what would become our Common Core Values. Out of sixty values, we picked about a dozen. Then, we talked about them.

    Connecting with our values adds meaning to our lives, but clarifying values can be challenging, because most values are words that are vague. Take, for example, the value of respect. Most people I know value respect. But what does it look like? And what does respect look like specifically in a romantic relationship? We recorded our choices in our newly bought couple’s journal.

    Our values included words such as connection (physical, emotional), equality, boundaries, safety, teamwork, gratitude, humility, and kindness, as well as trust, courage, and vulnerability.

    The value that stood out to me the most, though, was play.

    Play has been one of the core tenets of our relationship. When we first met, he had no idea that I was heavily involved in the mental health community.

    I worked at the hospital where I did peer support work and supported children as well as their families navigate the (highly complex) mental health system. I heard devastating stories of families trying to access care.

    I sat on the board of a non-profit organization that held support groups for students every week and spent a lot of my time holding space for others, while at the same time admiring their resilience. Outside of that, I was busy taking classes, and trying my best to care for my own mental health.

    A few years ago, when I fell in love with Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection, the chapter that stood out the most to me was: “Wholehearted Living Guidepost 7: Cultivating Rest and Play.”

    In the chapter, she introduced Dr. Stuart Brown, a psychiatrist who has studied play. He explained that play is time spent without purpose and can include a variety of “frivolous activities.”

    As a young adult, overachiever, and university student, I spend most of my time working hard, trying to achieve the definition of “success” society has defined for me. At times, there are sleepless nights, two cups of coffee, and skipped breakfasts.

    When H and I play, we lose track of time. We become immersed in our decorating of gratitude jars, tickle fights, and me chasing him down with an ice cream cone.

    My relationship with H has given me one of the greatest gifts: the ability to lose myself in laughter, and permission to focus on leisure without feeling guilt or anxiety. In the words of Brené Brown, it is all about “letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol and productivity as self-worth.”

    I like to refer to H as “Mr. Fun” because it’s the part I love most about him. If it wasn’t for him, I would rarely allow myself to play. I often feel self-conscious and judge myself harshly whenever I feel the urge to do something “childish,” like coloring. I tell myself, “Don’t be ridiculous. Grow up. You’re not a child anymore.”

    At the time of our discovering our common core values, we had only been dating for three months. Since then, we’ve grown enormously as a couple. The wonderful thing about our common core values is that we now have a silent agreement. We have both committed to living by those values, so we refer to them as needed, especially during a conflict. When we make mistakes, we refer to the value of forgiveness. It lessens the guilt and shame while still holding us accountable.

    Essentially, play encourages self-enquiry, social connection, and being curious about the world.

    Play has allowed us to cultivate a relationship that is based on vulnerability and helps us cope with the uncertainty of the world. It has enhanced our intimacy and helped us relax during stressful times. After all, we are realistic, and understand that our relationship will encounter many obstacles in the future, including having to cope with economic and political instability.

    From an outsider perspective, I am described as responsible, punctual, and can be found balancing my budget with an Excel sheet, every month. You are more likely to find me writing professional emails than singing in the shower or expressing my creativity.

    Sometimes H and I argue about the pros and cons of having carpet in our future dream home and sometimes we make lists of supplies to buy, like Play-Doh, or Legos. Sometimes we discuss Canadian politics while drinking apple juice in plastic cups. We eat Kraft Dinner as a snack and calculate the cost of a one-bedroom apartment. We are both children at heart and young adults trying to navigate the world.

    And not too long ago, H surprised me with a heart shape made of colourful melted beads.

  • Why People-Pleasers Lie and What We Gain When We Share Our Truth

    Why People-Pleasers Lie and What We Gain When We Share Our Truth

    “You’re a liar. People-pleasers are liars,” a friend said to me. I felt like I was punched in the gut. “You say yes when you mean no. You say it’s okay when it’s not okay.” My friend challenged me, “In your gentle way, begin to be more honest.”

    I believed the lie that pleasing people would make my relationships better. It didn’t.

    I decided to take my friend’s challenge to tell the truth. People didn’t have a relationship with me; they had a relationship with another version of someone else. They didn’t know me.

    People-pleasing was safe; it was how I hid and protected myself so I could belong. Besides wanting to belong, pleasing-people is a bargain for love. If I kept people happy, I believed I would be loved. If I took care of others, I believed I would be loved.

    Showing up differently in relationships is like learning a new dance. You may feel clumsy and awkward at first, but the old dance, while comfortable, is unhealthy. The old dance creates overwhelm, frustration, and resentment.

    I am now a recovering people-pleaser. My journey started when I faced the truth that I was a liar. The first step in change begins with self-awareness. Once you are aware, you can learn new dance steps. The new dance looked like saying no, tolerating less, and telling my truth.

    As I told the truth, here’s what I noticed in my relationships:

    First, I experienced true intimacy.

    As I was more engaged in being honest, others began to know me, not a fake version of me.

    In his book, Seven Levels of Intimacy, Matthew Kelly describes intimacy as “In-to-me-see.” I started saying things I’d never felt comfortable saying before—like “I see things differently” and “that doesn’t work for me.” Secret-keeping was killing my soul, so I also started opening up about the pain and brokenness I felt regarding my former spouse’s addiction and how I’d protected him at a cost to myself.

    When we share more of who we are with others, then we are known and loved, which is a powerful need in humans. I was not broken as a people-pleaser but broken open. I allowed myself to receive the love of others as I allowed them to see me. As a result, I experienced intimacy in a new way.

    Secondly, when we stop lying to others and ourselves, it builds trust.

    It is hard to love someone when you don’t trust them. Trust is the foundation of all relationships. When we are real, others trust our words and actions, and we become more trustworthy. We are no longer chameleons, adapting and saying what others want to hear when interacting with us, and trust grows.

    Lastly, when we pay attention to being more real, we are more fully engaged in our relationships.

    We are wired for connection. When we are engaged in bringing a greater depth to our relationships, the investment pays off. It’s like we are making a deposit in the relationship when we allow others to “see us,” and they in turn feel closer to us. As I began to share more in my relationships, it helped others to open up. One friend said, “Keep sharing; it helps us too!”

    —

    Being more honest in our relationships is a dance worth learning. It improves intimacy, trust, and closeness in our relationships. After all, the alternative is being called a liar!

  • The Joy of Unexpected Kindness and 3 Reasons It’s Hard to Be Kind

    The Joy of Unexpected Kindness and 3 Reasons It’s Hard to Be Kind

    “Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world.” ~Howard Zinn 

    Have you ever experienced an unexpected act of kindness that completely changed your day?

    I have, and I sincerely hope you have too.

    Please pause for a moment and try to remember the last time that happened. How were you feeling before? What happened? And how did the act of kindness impact you?

    If I look back on my own life, I can find countless moments where the suddenness, the unexpectedness of an act of kindness, shook me awake.

    It might sound strange, but this seems to have been especially so when it came from a stranger.

    That’s not to say that the kindness of those close to us isn’t important, because it is. The kindness of our friends, family, and colleagues can keep us going when life throws challenges in our way, and their joy in our happiness makes the good moments radiate even stronger.

    But there is something about an act of kindness from an unexpected source that causes its healing ripples to be especially powerful.

    And most of the time this isn’t some great or inspiring act but just a very small gesture: a smile, a friendly greeting, a sincere question, a few words from someone who genuinely seems to wish you a good day.

    I remember the first time I went backpacking, feeling lost in a city, staring at my map, when a random stranger offered me his help in pointing out the way.

    I remember feeling tired and lost in thought after a long drive, stopping for gas and a quick bite, and the man working behind the counter at the restaurant clearing my mind with the pleasure he took in his work, smiling with a disarming friendliness.

    I remember sitting in a train in Thailand for fourteen hours, anxiously moving toward my first month-long meditation retreat, and suddenly getting a few genuine words of encouragement and advice from a pair sitting across the aisle.

    I remember a woman sitting in her car, rolling down her window to share her joy in seeing my son race down a hill on his bike.

    I remember yesterday, when the cook at our canteen advised me on what to choose, doing her best to prepare my dish with full attention and then sincerely wishing me a good day.

    In all these situations I was not only left with a feeling of joy, but also a sense of connection.

    Kindness can bring a short moment of relaxation in an otherwise busy day, or a complete change from feeling stressed and chagrined to feeling elated, open, and interconnected with the world.

    Kindness is just that powerful.

    And the beautiful thing is that we all have the chance, every single day, to contribute to this kindness in the world.

    So, again, pause for a moment and this time think about the last time when you were the kind stranger. When was that? How did it make you feel?

    To start with the second question, my guess would be that it made you feel good. The first question might be more difficult to answer. Looking at myself, although I would love to say “today,” that just isn’t true.

    Interesting, isn’t it.

    So, kindness is very powerful and important, it helps us and others, it doesn’t cost us anything, yet it still is difficult to give every day.

    I can think of many reasons why it is difficult, but to keep it simple I’ll list three:

    1. You can only give what you have.

    If you want to give somebody money, you must first have money in your bank account. If you want to give kindness, you must first practice being kind to yourself.

    That is why, for example, Buddhist meditation on loving-kindness (mettā) begins by giving loving-kindness to yourself, and only then to others.

    But don’t worry, you don’t have to spend hours each day meditating; just start with a few minutes every morning (or any other time that fits your schedule) by wishing yourself and those close to you happiness and health. Then try to act on this throughout the day by honoring your needs and prioritizing things that bring you peace and joy.

    It’s okay to wish yourself happiness; it’s not selfish. If you are happy you will be able to radiate that happiness outward, making spontaneous acts of kindness easier to do.

    As your ability to do so strengthens, you can always add a few minutes to wish the same to people you know but about whom you do not have a specific feeling, or a neutral feeling. If that gets easier and easier you can even start adding people you dislike, strengthening the power of your kindness further and further.

    2. You have to see the other person.

    If you are anything like me, then you probably live most of your life in a form of zombie state. Moving from place to place, working, talking, acting on what’s happening, checking your smartphone way too often, all without any form of true consciousness or mindfulness.

    You can do the following test to check this for yourself.

    At the end of the day, look into the mirror and ask yourself how often that day you truly noticed how and what you were doing. That’s all.

    Chances are the honest conclusion will be that you just rushed through the day (again).

    If you don’t notice how you are during the day, if you are not mindful of your own state of mind, if you do not see yourself, then how can you truly see another person?

    It all comes down to how much conscious space we have—how open our mind is toward ourselves and those around us.

    Consciousness tends to expand when we harbor wholesome qualities such as patience, energy, calm, and so on, and it tends to narrow when we harbor unwholesome qualities such as anger, desire, envy, and so on.

    Fundamentally, these mental qualities depend strongly on mindfulness, on our ability to see our mind for what it is.

    If you let a goat loose in a field of grass it will just do whatever it pleases and eat wherever it pleases. If you tie the goat to a pole, the goat will only eat the grass within the circumference of the rope and pole.

    Mindfulness is like the rope that binds our mind to ourselves, keeping it within. Keeping the mind within prevents it from creating all kinds of illusions and personal realities that cause the unwholesome aspects of your mind to arise.

    Keeping the mind within helps bring calm and contentment.

    To strengthen your mindfulness, you do not necessarily have to sit down on a meditation cushion as is often suggested. Mindfulness is something you can practice every day, whatever you are doing.

    Just pick a few routines you do every day and cultivate the intention to do them as mindfully as possible. Do only what you are doing, with all your attention, and if you find your mind drifting off bring it back to your task.

    The more you practice this, the more it will become an ingrained aspect of your mind, bringing with it the experience of calm and openness—and the better you’ll be able to really see other people and recognize opportunities for kindness,

    3. You have to practice regularly and be patient with yourself.

    In the end, kindness isn’t different from other skills. Every human possesses the potential to be kind, but you have to practice it in order to bring that potential to fruition.

    Research by the University of Wisconsin showed that compassion can be learned. Just like a muscle can be trained by weightlifting, people can build up their compassion.

    The most direct route I know of is training through meditation—by practicing loving-kindness meditation and the practice of being mindful, as mentioned about, even if it is only for a few minutes every day.

    But don’t go at it with the businessman’s approach most of us grew up with. A businessman’s approach means expecting results relative to the time you invest. Developing the mind, developing kindness, doesn’t work that way.

    We all have our own personal qualities and hindrances, and just as with other skills, to some it comes natural, while others need more time and effort.

    Don’t worry too much about the results; getting on the path to becoming a kinder person is the most important thing. If you keep practicing patiently you will develop the power of kindness within yourself sooner or later. And it will become second nature to offer those small gestures of support, appreciation, and encouragement that can completely change someone’s day.

  • How Weight and Food Obsessions Disconnect Us and Why This Is So Harmful

    How Weight and Food Obsessions Disconnect Us and Why This Is So Harmful

    “We are hard-wired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it, there is suffering.” ~Brené Brown

    I was inducted into diet culture in my early teens and then into the health and fitness industry in my early thirties, when my “fitness journey” had finally really taken off, and I ultimately became a personal trainer and nutrition and wellness coach.

    Once we’ve given enough years of our life to diet culture, many of us begin to recognize the ways that it’s harming us and all the things it’s stealing from us.

    Peace of mind. Self-worth and self-trust. Mental, emotional, and physical health and well-being.

    My grandmother’s cookies.

    The ability to just eat and enjoy food without fear.

    Self-respect.

    Body trust.

    But we don’t notice all the ways “health and fitness” are promoted in our culture and how they do the same thing. And there are so many other things it steals from us that we often don’t think about or notice.

    One of the biggest examples of this for me, and the women I work with, was connection.

    Connection with myself and connection with others.

    I didn’t start losing my ability to connect because of my induction into diet culture. That started earlier as a result of growing up with an abusive, alcoholic father.

    But those industries preyed on it, fueled it, flamed it, and then ran away with it for decades.

    Feeling connected is a core human need. According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, love and belonging are right up there after things like food, water, and safety.

    We are hardwired to connect.

    Recent research has suggested that the brain processes the pain of feeling disconnected or rejected the same way it processes physical pain. Nearly every aspect of our health and well-being relies on connection.

    And while it may seem like we’re constantly connected, especially now through things like social media or video calls, it’s not actually the case.

    Loneliness has been on the rise, worldwide.

    Chatting about what food we should or shouldn’t eat; commiserating over how much we hate our bodies, how much weight we gained, the latest diet attempt we just failed; bragging about how we did in the gym, how much weight we lost, how many steps we took, or how “clean” we’re eating—this isn’t connection. It’s not connecting with others, and it’s definitely not connecting with ourselves.

    In fact, those things keep us from being able to connect with ourselves because we’re so focused on controlling external “shoulds.”

    We may form friendships around those things, but they aren’t based on genuine connections.

    Curating the picture-perfect Instagram feed, gathering around mutually hated or demonized “others,” and sharing memes or videos of the latest TikTok trend are also not the same as real, genuine human connections.

    It’s all just filling space with mindless, external distractions.

    It’s not truly allowing ourselves to be raw, real, and vulnerable. To be seen, heard, and valued for who we uniquely are as individuals—not just the perfectly curated image we present to the world but the messy, raw, and real parts we try so hard to hide.

    The parts we fear make us most undeserving of love and belonging.

    I certainly hid behind many of those things. I used them as a cover, as a tool to hide behind. A mask. A role I played, behind which I could feel (somewhat) safely tucked away and protected.

    My “passion for health and fitness” allowed me to play the badass.

    (In reality, I was scared all the time.)

    It allowed me to play the inspirational “success” story.

    (In reality, I was terrified of putting an ounce of weight back on because I desperately craved the praise and validation I was receiving. And it was destroying my mental, emotional, and physical health and well-being).

    The strong, fearless, confident “fitness freak” that could do anything she put her mind to.

    (Which, in reality, hid the fact that I was so scared and emotionally fragile and felt so broken that I needed the physical strength I could build through exercise just to get through the day.)

    I was good at these roles. I loved these roles, at least in the early years.

    Just be what people expected. Be what I’d seen get celebrated in others. Easy, right? Sure, until it isn’t.

    The longer I wore the mask, the more it started to hurt.

    The harder I worked to keep up those appearances, to maintain that external image of perfection through my body and what I was eating, the more damage it was doing.

    Externally, I was doing everything “right.”

    In reality? I ended up a binge eater, bulimic, clinically depressed, and living with generalized anxiety disorder and panic attacks. For many reasons, not the least of which because I was completely disconnected—from myself, my body, and from others.

    I was so focused on trying to be something I thought I was supposed to be, so I’d be liked, admired, impressive, that I lost who I was and what I needed.

    I lost what truly mattered to me and in life.

    I lost the ability to trust myself, to trust others, to let them in and truly see me.

    In fact, I was terrified of being really seen.

    Because I didn’t like myself and I didn’t believe anyone else would either if they knew the real me.

    So I hid behind what my body looked like. My external strength. The image I built.

    Holy cow, it got exhausting. And soul-crushing.

    You simply cannot simultaneously spend your life worried about what other people think about you (or your body), trying to micro-manage and control the image you project, and also be truly connected to yourself and others in any meaningful way. 

    Because in order to keep up those appearances, you have to actively work to hide parts of yourself—large parts of yourself that you’re terrified will be seen if you dare take off the mask.

    If you’re actively hiding parts of yourself, you’re not able to truly feel seen, heard, and valued… because you are hidden away. Locked in some dark, dusty corner of your inner world, and in my case, stuffed down with food.

    After a while, I didn’t even remember who I was. My identity became so wrapped up in who I thought I was (a worthless failure who was completely undeserving of love or acceptance) and who I was trying to be (the perfect, badass inspiration) to hide it, that I was lost.

    And completely disconnected. From myself and others.

    What I wanted or needed didn’t matter because my entire existence was being driven by fear and the disconnection that causes.

    Fear of rejection and abandonment if I stopped playing the role.

    Fear of weight gain and not looking “good enough.” Fear of not being good enough. Fear of what the binge eating was doing to my health. Fear of what would happen if I stopped micro-managing every morsel of food I ate and just trusted myself with food.

    Fear of judgment.

    And every time I turned around, there were diet, “health and wellness” cultures swooping in and stoking those fears.

    Eventually, I recognized that I couldn’t keep it up. I couldn’t keep playing the role. I was too tired, and it had completely broken me. I couldn’t keep caring about trying to be impressive or accepted. I had to start caring about being healthy and at peace with myself.

    In order to do that, I needed to find my way back to myself. I needed to shut out the garbage that was keeping me disconnected and learn how to connect.

    First with myself, because how could I ever truly connect with others if I didn’t even know who I was when I wasn’t playing the role?

    And how could I heal all that weight and food stuff if I stayed in the fear and obsession that kept me so disconnected from myself?

    I couldn’t.

    So I started working on being present with myself, not an easy feat when you don’t much like yourself. But required, nonetheless.

    I started getting curious and practiced connecting with my body, my thoughts, my emotions, my needs… my inner world.

    Who was I, really?

    What really mattered to me in life?

    Forget what I thought I should eat or do… what did I need?

    Was I really put here to spend my life hating myself, obsessing over these things that are destroying me, distrusting myself, and fearing real, meaningful connection with others?

    What if I could find a way to unconditionally accept myself and my body? How would that change the way I treated it and showed up in the world?

    What did I want to eat? Forget what I was “supposed to” eat; what did I want? How were the foods I was eating making me feel? How did I want to feel in my body?

    Forget what it was supposed to look like or weigh; how did I want it to feel to live in? How were my thoughts and conditioned patterns with food and exercise impacting that? Were they helping or harming? How could I learn to change them if they weren’t?

    And I started practicing being more intentional with my thoughts, beliefs, and actions. Intentionally making choices that were loving and kind, that helped me feel better, in general and about myself. Anything that wasn’t helping me live or feel better, and more connected with myself, could have no place in my world anymore.

    Once I started feeling deeply connected with myself and my body, I slowly started working on learning to connect with others.

    That’s still something I find difficult and am learning to do, but I’m still practicing. In baby steps.

    Because what I learned when I started reconnecting with myself was how much living with an alcoholic father impacted me as an adult.

    It taught me that not only is the world scary, but people are. They’re scary and unpredictable. It also created abandonment issues, and it’s where the fear of not being good enough, and the feeling that I needed to play a role to be loved or accepted, had actually begun. No wonder I had so much trouble connecting.

    I share this story because I’ve come to realize that most of us have an underlying fear around not being good enough that started in childhood for one reason or another. And those predatory industries sneak into every corner of our world, capitalizing on our fear with broken promises that do nothing but make things worse.

    The weight and food obsessions are a diversion.

    A socially acceptable, surface-level distraction that keeps us so externally focused and consumed that we spend most of our adult lives not even knowing that we’re disconnected—or that we’re living in fear and we’re just trying to “fix it” by making ourselves feel more socially acceptable.

    All while disconnecting us more and more. From ourselves and others.

    Because we’re hiding behind diversions and masks.

    Well, my mask is finally off.

    Under it, I have belly rolls. I have wrinkles. I have gray hair. I dye it because I prefer dark hair, but sometimes I put it off and rock a solid skunk stripe of gray down the middle of my head.

    Like all bodies, mine changes.

    None of that means I let myself go. It means I let myself just be.

    I’ve overcome a lot of things in my life, but still struggle with some others.

    I screw up a lot, even fail sometimes. Often, actually.

    I’m exceptionally good at some things and full-on suck at even more.

    I can’t do everything myself. Sometimes I need help and support. I’m still not very good at asking for it, but I’m working on it.

    All of that simply means that like you, I’m human. And I cannot connect with myself or anyone else if I’m trying so hard to be impressive that I’m not being real.

    So I don’t anymore.

  • 7 Lessons That May Help You Find a Fulfilling Long-Term Relationship

    7 Lessons That May Help You Find a Fulfilling Long-Term Relationship

    “You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~Buddha

    “You’re not in love with me, you’re in love with the idea of being in love.”

    Ouch!

    Kate (not her real name) and I had met online before Internet dating websites—let alone apps—were even a thing, and ours was a long-distance relationship.

    I was twenty-four, and she was twenty-three.

    Initially bonding over our favorite musical artists, we soon found ourselves sharing all kinds of personal stuff with each other—first over AOL Instant Messenger, and then via countless hours on the telephone.

    I remember being startled and confused upon hearing a voice I was now intimately familiar with coming out of a face I had never seen before (save for a few photos) when we finally did meet in person a couple of months later. It was jarring.

    Nevertheless, we embarked upon a “real” relationship, in the flesh.

    Our incompatibilities cropped up almost immediately, however, and became increasingly apparent each time one of us visited the other. Still, how could we deny the substantial emotional intimacy we had established?

    Her declaration to me—“You’re not in love with me, you’re in love with the idea of being in love”—seemed harsh and unfair. Who was she to say how I did or did not feel?

    Yet, there was a ring of truth to it.

    No doubt, I had projected my deepest longings for love and my idealistic vision of realizing it onto her. It wasn’t the first time I had done such a thing, nor would it be the last.

    The relationship with Kate crashed and burned rather quickly, intense as it was. Even though it became clear we were not right for each other, it was a painful dissolution. Disillusionment can be painful!

    I would endure plenty more heartache in my dating and relationship life for years to come, as I slowly learned how to love myself more and matured in my understanding of what constitutes a healthy relationship.

    Eventually, at the age of thirty-three, I met the woman whom—seven years later, to the day—I would marry. A wonderfully compatible, loving, healthy, mutually supportive, and lasting relationship is possible, it turns out. As of this writing, we have been happily coupled for sixteen years (the last nine as spouses).

    My observation is that when it comes to relationships, there are “no rules”—meaning, almost anything and everything can happen within the dynamics of two human beings relating to each other.

    Certainly, there are no guarantees.

    There are many factors at play as to when, how, and why we connect with others in the ways that we do, not to mention how long our relationships (of all kinds) end up lasting, and what kinds of changes they undergo.

    Since we have no control over another person’s feelings and choices, nor over what may happen to our beloved, relationships entail inherent risk and vulnerability. That’s the price of admission.

    All of the above notwithstanding, here are seven key things I’ve learned, with experience as my teacher, that may help increase the chances of finding and maintaining a satisfying relationship with a partner long-term, if this is something you are seeking:

    1. Love and accept yourself.

    Loving and accepting yourself—flaws and imperfections as they are—is paramount. It is also the best way to prepare for loving and accepting another person, who will come with their own flaws and imperfections.

    There is always room for growth, and it is admirable to strive to improve ourselves, but we are all, always, works in progress. And that’s okay!

    If we wait until we are “perfect” before we are willing to love and accept ourselves, we never will.

    It is natural to get frustrated with yourself at times, but you can still choose to love yourself anyway and be your own best friend by recognizing and appreciating the goodness deep within you and doing everything you can to do right by yourself and others.

    You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of a loving relationship. Be the best “you” you can be and love yourself all along the way—not in a narcissistic sense, but rather in a self-compassionate one.

    2. Find a partner who is “compatibly neurotic.”

    You will get along best with someone who is what I like to call “compatibly neurotic.” By this I mean not necessarily someone who is neurotic in exactly the ways that you are (this might be a disaster!), but rather someone whose neuroses are compatible with yours.

    In other words, the things about them that might drive other people nuts, you find somehow endearing, and vice versa. You appreciate each other’s quirks and can more or less gladly live with them because they are part of the whole person whom you treasure and adore.

    3. Mutual respect is essential.

    This is a no-brainer, but it must be mentioned. No healthy relationship is absent of this. You must not only each harbor deep respect and admiration for the other, but you must demonstrate this consistently through your behavior.

    If you feel disrespected, it is your responsibility to communicate this to your partner calmly and clearly at the earliest opportune time. Own your feelings and express them as such—your feelings—without attacking the other person, passively or otherwise.

    If your partner feels disrespected, it is similarly their responsibility to communicate this to you, and it is then up to you to rectify it to the best of your ability. You want to nip potential resentment in the bud.

    Don’t assume the other person is aware of how you are feeling. It is important to be able to voice your feelings and ask for what you want or need.

    As far as I’m concerned, putting the other person down, especially in front of others, is a serious violation of respect that should be avoided at all costs.

    In my experience, when there is mutual respect there is a natural give and take that tends to occur with very little effort.

    4. Mutual interest is non-negotiable.

    Again, it should go without saying, but you both should want the same things in a relationship and be interested in a relationship of this kind with each other specifically.

    The object of your interest might seemingly possess every quality you find desirable in a partner; they might be attractive, kind, brilliant, share similar interests and values as you, and so on. If they are not interested in you or are not available for the relationship you are seeking, however, all those other qualities are rendered irrelevant. Painful, perhaps, but 100% true.

    Move on and find someone else who is interested, who is available, and who genuinely appreciates you. Don’t settle for anything less. You are far better off single than in a relationship missing this key component.

    Mutual interest is non-negotiable, meaning it’s a must. It also means that it’s not something that can be negotiated into existence; it’s either there, or it’s not.

    5. Learn from previous relationships.

    Previous relationships are some of your best teachers.

    They help you clarify what you do and don’t want in a long-term partner. They also give you practice relating to another human being. And it is often within the context of our relationships that we develop important aspects of our own character and grow as a person.

    In this sense, all relationships can be seen as beneficial.

    See past relationships, if nothing else, as part of your journey toward finding the fulfilling relationship you are now seeking.

    Keep in mind that we tend to have far greater appreciation for that which doesn’t come easily, so if you have struggled in this realm, the potential reward awaiting you may be that much greater.

    6. Take responsibility for your own happiness.

    Realize that you—and only you—are responsible for your own happiness.

    Do the things you love and that you find meaningful, partner or not. Yes, having a wonderful relationship can be one of life’s greatest joys and blessings. But no one else is capable of, nor should be responsible for, making you happy. That is your job.

    Cultivate great friendships, too. (And realize that with these a lot of the same things already mentioned apply.)

    To promote your own happiness, you must make self-care a priority, which includes setting healthy boundaries for yourself. Self-care goes hand in hand with self-respect and self-love and is much more likely to make you an attractive and appealing partner for someone else, as well as to yourself.

    7. Choose explorations over expectations.

    Put yourself out there. Meet people (this is required if you want to ultimately find a partner). Show up. Do your part. Put forth some effort. And, as much as possible, keep your expectations in check.

    Every connection you make is an opportunity to get to know someone, but you ultimately have no way of knowing where any such connection will lead.

    When things don’t work out with someone the way you had hoped, the healthiest thing to do is to presume that it is for the best. You have no idea what potential miseries you are being spared by not ending up in a long-term relationship with this person!

    In sum, the best attitude to have when searching for a partner is one of exploration over expectation.

    This can be a lot easier said than done –we are human, after all. But the more you can approach your interactions with others as explorations (this person seems interesting, I wonder if there is some possibility for connection?) and the more you can let go of expectations about what a given connection will amount to, the better off you will be.

    Be sure to attend to other aspects of your life, as well, including giving yourself other things to look forward to.

    —

    These seven lessons did not all come easily to me; some needed to be learned repeatedly, and some still present themselves as things for me to learn anew, or within some new context. But I find them essential to relating well to myself, my partner, and others in general.

    “Kate” was part of my journey toward eventually finding the lasting and loving long-term relationship I craved, a mutually nourishing and highly compatible one in which both of us could grow and thrive.

    You could say she helped me realize this by being one of the teachers on my path. I hope that I ultimately played the same “facilitator” role for her.