Tiny Buddha

Tag: heal

  • Forever Healing: 4 Things I Now Prioritize After Cancer

    Forever Healing: 4 Things I Now Prioritize After Cancer

    “I have come to believe that caring for myself is not self indulgent. Caring for myself is an act of survival.” ~Audre Lorde

    I’m a year out after completing chemo treatment for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and on my healing journey. Cancer is a nasty little thing and can rear its ugly head at any time again. So, to minimize those recurrent chances and to feel like I’m doing all that’s in my control, I’ve accepted that this healing path will be for the rest of my life.

    I originally thought I’d be spending this first year rebuilding myself. And I have. However, I now see that this is a forever life path. Healing is a daily intentional practice, and I am on its continuous road.

    Being proactive by incorporating healthy practices into one’s life isn’t a guarantee against illness, but it at least makes us feel like we’re taking charge and doing all that’s in our control to ward off disease and optimize our health and well-being.

    I began exercising more than thirty years ago when my ex-husband moved out to begin divorce proceedings. My friend Gloria came by one day and pushed me to go to the local gym. She said it would be good for me. “Okay, I’ll try it out,” I said, “but I don’t think it’s for me.”

    Well, fast forward… exercise became a life practice. Over the years my basement became home to a treadmill, stationary bike, free weights, a trampoline, bars, and a balance ball. The local gym is also my place of exercise, as is the boardwalk and nature trails. Like brushing your teeth and taking a shower, exercise is a daily living activity.

    Healing encompasses a lot of factors. Sometimes it can feel overwhelming. Good enough must become a mindset and motto so we don’t beat ourselves up over occasional off days.

    So what goes into a healing path?

    Exercise is a must and a biggie.

    Since that’s been a permanent structure in my life, I don’t have to work on that one. Like a tree trunk, it’s rooted deep in my ground. When the walking, biking, weightlifting, yoga postures, hoola hooping, or trampolining don’t take place for a few days, my body calls out, “Move me, twist me, stretch me, strengthen me.”

    I have now added a new piece to my exercise: HIIT (high intensity interval training). Twenty minutes of HIIT a few times a week is indicated as an anti-cancer workout. And my dream and goal of ballroom dancing is being realized once again, as I’ve excitedly resumed my lessons that I started shortly before I was diagnosed. Movement comes in many forms.

    Contemplative practices are inner forms of reflection and calming activities.

    Meditation and breathing exercises, journaling, and time in nature are all soothing and quiet activities, bringing us back to ourselves. We listen to and feel what’s inside, what may be bubbling up, what our gut is telling us. We put aside the external distractions to promote the engagement of our calming parasympathetic nervous system.

    For, as we all know and feel, as our anxiety levels have skyrocketed, we live on high alert all the time, fighting off the invisible tigers, as our fight-or-flight response is continuously engaged. We don’t have to be a guru meditator, but giving ourselves a few minutes a day to just be, sitting in quietude and breathing deeply, is a natural antidote to stress and a huge release of cortisol. And as we know, stress is a big contributing factor in illnesses.

    Our lives are lived in a state of perpetual busyness and hecticness as we push ourselves toward productivity and perfection; therefore, we must prioritize activities that counter that busyness and bring us back to our selves. We oftentimes want to drown out our pain with distractions and busyness, but it catches up with us one way or another.

    Eat to live becomes a mindset for a lifestyle of healthy eating.

    We are gifted with a body that requires food to function well. As I am not a nutritionist, I’m not dishing out dietary advice. My new level of healthy eating is nature’s foods and limiting inflammatory, processed foods and sugars.

    Before cancer, I had always been a big ‘nosher.’ Entenmann’s cakes, cookies, potato chips, Dr. Pepper soda, and ice cream were my after-dinner desserts. I cut most of this out years ago when I got ulcers and had reflux and irritable bowel.

    One of my best takeaways from my trip to the Amazon was our hiking guide in the jungle, who said, “The jungle is our supermarket and pharmacy.”

    The people there, as in many poorer countries, have very low rates of cancer and heart disease. Their food is plant-based, along with some fish and meat. And look at the Blue Zones, the places in the world where the people live the longest and healthiest. Those purple potatoes go a long way for them.

    Making intentional food choices becomes a habit, giving ourselves the good stuff to fuel our body. This can be a harder part of the lifestyle to keep up with, as food preparation and shopping become a focal point. And for someone like me who’d rather be anywhere but the kitchen, this is definitely more difficult. It is an ongoing process for me.

    The bigger purpose and mindset keep me on track. My guiding mindset is this: My body took care of me through my chemo treatment, and now it is my duty, in gratitude, to take care of it. I am paying it back for how it kept going and didn’t break down; it didn’t break me. So I look to feed it well.

    I’ve upped my healthy eating to another level. My one square of dark chocolate each day satisfies my chocolate craving, and it has no sugar. I’ve developed a taste for this 100% dark chocolate. Practice and repeat. And whereas I used to choke down one piece of broccoli or asparagus, I now eat many pieces with my meal. Yay to baby steps of becoming more of a vegetable eater!

    Inner psychological work is a new one for me.

    I’ve been to numerous therapists throughout my adult life to deal with different circumstances, but now my therapy has taken on a whole new level and direction. During my treatment, I knew I wanted some type of support but did not want to join any support group or go to regular therapy again. I found, on this site actually, a creative arts therapist with whom I’ve been doing therapy like never before.

    My goal, besides coping through the chemo treatments, was healing myself from the inside out. I had an intuitive sense that I needed to clear out my whole gut and center area of my body where the lymphoma had appeared. Get rid of the cobwebs that had taken root in there and work through past resentments, upset, anger, hurt, and all the rest of those toxicities.

    Art, instincts, and unconscious work were all at play in this therapy, and continues today; uncovering and working through stuff that I never looked at like this.

    —

    This is my new life, beyond the simple wording of self-care. It’s focused and purposeful care of body, mind, heart, and soul.

    It’s work, but after a while it feels really good to be doing this with the big purpose of optimizing our well-being so we can live our best life.

  • My Husband Left Me for Another Woman: How Forgiveness Set Me Free

    My Husband Left Me for Another Woman: How Forgiveness Set Me Free

    “Allow yourself to be proud of yourself and all the progress you’ve made. Especially the progress no one else can see.” ~Unknown

    I watched my then-four-month-old daughter wiggle around on the floor on her belly, arms flailed out to the side in her pink-footed pajamas, giggling hysterically. Her brother, four years old at the time, was launching himself from our king size bed onto a pile of pillows next to her, over and over. He’d land with a thud and a loud “oof,” cracking himself up,and she would break out in hysterics right with him.

    I heard my voice in the background of the video, light-hearted and sweet, encouraging them both: “Look at you two! Look at you making her laugh. Isn’t he such a great big brother, cutie. Look at you!”

    I didn’t sound like me. I sounded like an actress in a movie playing a part.

    I was playing a part.

    I went down the rabbit hole of watching video after video of my kids when they were just babies, which was housed on an old hard-drive I kept in a drawer hidden away. I hadn’t taken that drive out in a long time.

    Too many memories. A time in my life I try to forget.

    But there it was, beckoning me back. Inviting me to take a painful trip down memory lane, which I now feel was no accident because sometimes we have to look backward to see how far we’ve come.

    My kids are now almost fourteen and ten years old. They still play the same roles as in that old video. My son often doing something idiotic and funny to make his sister laugh out loud. Her looking at him with adoration and love.

    If someone could hear my voice now when I talk to them, though nobody is here anymore to hear it, it would sound light-hearted and sweet, laughing along with the two of them most days when they aren’t driving me crazy. I’m no longer playing a part, but still I secretly guard the story around what happened at that time in our lives that forced me to ever pretend at all.

    I wept watching those videos that night, a profound sadness I hadn’t felt in a long time working its way up the hidden chamber of my soul. Friends who carried me through that period of time will often say, “Oh my God, that was awful. You were a mess.”

    My friend Patrick, who came into my life not long after those videos were taken, said, “Dina, you were not well during that time. I mean, it was painful to watch. You’re a completely different woman today because of what you went through. I think you should talk about it.”

    “No,” I said emphatically. “I don’t need to talk about it. That’s in the past. I’m different now. Why dredge it up?”

    Except we don’t help each other when we don’t share our experiences. We can’t heal or give others hope that they too can heal when we’re not willing to go to the dark places; the ones that may be in the past but have left a scar reminding us of how far we’ve come.

    Scars are just reminders of the wound. They don’t define us.

    So, rewind the video… I had just had my second child, a baby girl I’d longed for. We were the perfect family, parents to a boy and a girl, both of us working glamorous jobs at movie studios in Los Angeles. With a nice house in the burbs. I was wildly in love with my husband at the time. Life was perfect.

    Until it wasn’t. I found out just a few months before my daughter was born that he was having an affair. Some gorgeous blonde at the office. Younger than me, everything I wasn’t. All the cliché things.

    I thought I could hold our perfect life together. Nobody had to know. I didn’t tell my family. I confided only in my closest friends, who became the army who carried me through the unbearable days, talked me through the panic attacks when I was hyperventilating on the floor, then came to sleep at my home and carry on a round-the-clock vigil when he moved out to be with her on my son’s fourth birthday. 

    I felt decimated. I was decimated. Here I was with a new baby only four months old and a four year old. My family lived across the country. My life in pieces. It felt like my heart had stopped beating.

    It was a long road to healing and forgiveness. There are people I know who never get there, who allow the wound to stay open, bleeding; in pain, stuck, and feeling they can’t forgive and move on.

    But I wanted to forgive. I wanted my peace, my power, and my own happiness more than I wanted to be right. I wasn’t  going to let one person take everything away from me or allow one moment in time to define my life and my future happiness. But boy, did I want to stay in my story for a period of time.

    The victim story.

    The scorned wife story.

    The cliché of believing he left because she was younger and prettier than me and that I wasn’t enough. Thinking his leaving meant I would never be enough for anyone.

    That was a bullshit story that wasn’t true, and if anyone is in it now, I promise you that someone leaving you is an invitation to rise up and become everything you already are but don’t know you can be.

    It took years for me to truly move on in a way that felt real. Because I did all the things within the first few years that made me look like I was doing just fine but wasn’t. I dated and had a few relationships. I continued to succeed at work, building my own business, and accepted every social invitation that came my way, all while taking care of two kids.

    I pretended that when I saw him with her, I was doing just fine.

    But I wasn’t. I hated him for what he did to me, and I loathed her. I was jealous, angry, and depressed. I hid my struggles and real feelings behind a fake-it-till-you-make-it confidence I didn’t really feel and filled my days with distractions from morning till night so I would never feel alone.

    It wasn’t until I got honest with myself and really did the work that I started to thrive. My end game was forgiveness. Without it, I was locked in a prison of anger, resentment, and pain. I knew I needed to forgive myself first for not seeing what was right in front of me, my ex for not loving me the way he promised when we exchanged vows, and the other woman who I blamed for the ending of my marriage.

    I found a great therapist, dove deep into my spirituality, worked with sacred plant medicine, and traveled to Costa Rica and Peru, where I took part in ayahuasca ceremonies. It was Mother Ayahuasca, as we call her in the shaman community, who showed me our soul contract together, which was to bring our children into the world, and also showed me his deep pain and regret for hurting me.

    It was through all of the healing modalities I embarked on that I found compassion for the woman he was now with and a forgiveness I didn’t know was possible that set me free.

    Flash forward ten years. My ex and I have a healthy co-parenting relationship. We’re not besties, but we have mutual respect for each other and bring our families together to celebrate the kids’ big milestones, whether it be their birthdays, holidays, dance recitals, or graduation.

    I forgave and made peace with the woman he left me for. She and I stay in touch, although they are no longer together. She loved my kids for four years, and for that I’ll always be grateful to her. I cheer her on from a distance and pray for her happiness and that she finds love again.

    I’m raising my kids solo, having moved them from LA where their dad still lives to the east coast to be closer to our families. It’s hard co-parenting long distance, but when it feels really hard, I remind myself that I’m surrounded by so much love and have a ton of support. There’s not one shred of me that feels not enough or unlovable or that something was done to me.

    It was an invitation to grow. It was a bigger invitation to learn how to forgive.

    We all make mistakes and do things we wish we could go back and undo.

    We’re a messy, sometimes complicated family, just like every other family. Nobody has the perfect life, the perfect family, or the perfect relationship. I have to remind myself every day I scroll through my social media feed and see happy families smiling on the outside, that there is a story behind the smiles we aren’t always privy to.

    My smile is real most days. Other days, there are tears of overwhelm or sadness or just mourning a life I thought I should have. There are also days when I am still angry with him for what he did to my heart and to me. But I am incredibly proud of the life I’ve created for myself and my children. They will never know the progress I’ve made in the last decade, nor will people who didn’t know me back then, but me… I’ll always know.

    We can survive anything if we make the conscious decision to not let that thing take us down. We can not just survive but thrive if we allow forgiveness for ourselves and others who have hurt us to always be our endgame.

  • Why I Sense Threats Everywhere and Panic All the Time

    Why I Sense Threats Everywhere and Panic All the Time

    “Traumatized people chronically feel unsafe inside their bodies: The past is alive in the form of gnawing interior discomfort. Their bodies are constantly bombarded by visceral warning signs, and, in an attempt to control these processes, they often become expert at ignoring their gut feelings and in numbing awareness of what is played out inside. They learn to hide from their selves.” ~Bessel A. van der Kolk

    I have a prescription for Lorazepam.

    After coming home from picking up my first ever bottle from the pharmacy several years ago, I threw the bottle at the wall and cried.

    I used to find those orange bottles of medication in my mom’s bathroom and tucked away in kitchen cabinets. Zoloft, Ambien, Xanax. It was how I figured out what was “wrong” with my mom—by looking up what a particular medicine was used to treat it.

    But instead of helping her, her cocktail of pills caused side effects that seemed to make things worse. Was she suicidal because of her mental state or because of her medication?

    Seeing that orange bottle holding an anti-anxiety medication labeled with my name felt like a death sentence. I was doomed to go down the same path.

    —

    I didn’t grow up afraid of going to the dentist. Or maybe I did; I just didn’t know or feel it. Feigning okayness was how I moved through the world. Maybe I was doing it at the dentist too. Maybe I always dissociated.

    About a year and a half after having my first child, I was at a routine dental cleaning when a panic attack hit. I remember the way it felt like time was stuck, like I was stuck, trapped. I remember acting casual as I put up my hand, laughed, and told the dentist that I really needed the bathroom.

    In the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror, berating myself for being embarrassing and ridiculous. “Pull yourself together! You’re fine!”

    Months later, I went to an endodontist for a root canal. As soon as I sat down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. This time, I was honest with the doctor, who very kindly listened, told me a lot of people fear dental treatments, and suggested I speak to my GP about medication.

    I had never taken any sort of anti-anxiety medication before. I barely take ibuprofen for cramps and, when I do, one pill feels like more than enough. I saw what medication did to my mother—the way she became dependent and addicted and how her medication seemed to intensify her madness. Also, with my yoga background, I couldn’t possibly willingly ingest toxins and chemicals!

    But I needed the root canal, and I knew that it would get worse the longer I put it off. I asked my therapist, and he agreed with the endodontist that using medication to help me get through this specific stress-inducing situation was the right choice.

    I returned for my root canal appointment with a dose of Lorazepam in my system and I got through it. I haven’t taken another dose since.

    —

    I avoided the dentist for five years before finally making an appointment with a new dentist, hoping for a fresh start. I spoke to him about how scared I was, and he suggested a slow and gentle plan, which put me at ease. An appointment just to talk about my dental goals, an appointment just for X-rays, never too much at once. I arrived each time with my support system: a member of my family, my kids’ security blankets, and Friends playing in my AirPods.

    The dentist told me that the first thing he recommended was fixing a broken crown and filling the beginnings of a cavity. It would take two hours, and he recommended that I book it reasonably soon. I felt confident I could get through the appointment. I had built trust with the doctor; I felt safe at the clinic. I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t scared when I was, and that had to count for something.

    I ended up rescheduling the appointment six times. Each time, there was some sort of moderate conflict, but the real reason, of course, was fear.

    The day before the appointment I would ultimately keep, I considered the Lorazepam. Despite never having taken it since that first time, I always have an updated bottle on hand. There’s something about knowing that it is there that helps.

    I gave myself a pep talk that I hadn’t had a panic attack in years now and that I could do this! My husband was coming with me, and I would have my kids’ blankies. It would be fine.

    —

    On the morning of the appointment, I woke up in dread. I had butterflies in my stomach. I kept having to go to the bathroom. I felt shaky, a nervous energy. But I showed up. I told myself how good I would feel on the other side.

    As I was being prepped in the chair, I told the dental assistant that I was scared. She assured me that the doctor was the best—so good, so fast. I asked for a breakdown of the two hours. I breathed deeply. I could do this.

    Within seconds of the treatment beginning, I was sitting up, taking the protective—claustrophobic—glasses off saying, “I’m sorry. I’m so scared. I don’t know if I can do this. I need to get up. Can I get up? Can I walk around? I’m sorry.”

    The doctor said, “Of course. It’s no problem. We have plenty of time.”

    My body shaking, I got up and paced the hallway. I exhaled through fluttered lips. I thought about my dog shaking her whole body after a stressful encounter, and I shook out my arms and hands.

    I returned to the room and repeated my apologies and my confessions of fear.

    “You’ve done the most painful part already—the numbing shot,” the doctor said encouragingly.

    “I know, but I’m not afraid of pain. I’m afraid of having a panic attack again,” I said, clarifying to everyone, including myself, the exact source of my fear.

    It was an important, necessary distinction to make. My fear of the dentist was not actually of dental procedures. No, this fear was rooted in repressed childhood trauma that exploded into uncontrollable symptoms that severed me from who I thought I was.

    I apologized again, and the dental assistant said something I really needed to hear: “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You can’t control how your body reacts.”

    What she said alleviated me from blaming and shaming myself. Logically, I understood that I was fine, safe even. But my body—where trauma is stored—was not present. It was back at that dental cleaning where panic overtook it, and further, it was back in my childhood when life truly was scary, shocking, unpredictable, unsafe.

    I wanted to get through the appointment. The main thing I needed to feel was that I was not going to be trapped. What if I needed to sit up? Was it okay if I swallowed? Went to the bathroom? Got a drink of water? Just had a break? I was assured that all of those things were possible; there would be no point where we would not be able to stop.

    I felt the support of the dentist and dental assistant and, most of all, my husband, who sat at the end of my chair and held my foot through the entire treatment. I felt my breath. I clutched my kids’ security blankets. I focused on the lighthearted banter and cheesy jokes of Friends.

    I got through it.

    And I was elated.

    I felt emotionally and mentally drained for the rest of the day, but I expected that would be the case. Mostly, I felt relieved and happy.

    —

    The next day, carrying my toddler down four flights of steep stairs in an old Tribeca walkup, I was suddenly hit with a feeling of unsteadiness. It was a humid and rainy day, and my glasses had been falling off my face, something I recently learned is contributing to dizziness as my eyes struggle to focus outside the center of my lenses, where the prescription is most accurate.

    As logical as it was to feel unsteady in that moment, fight-or-flight mode was triggered, and I felt off for the rest of the day.

    The grooves of something-is-wrong are so deeply worn that my mind and body effortlessly magnetize toward and embed within them.

    I sense threat everywhere: Is my kid going to get hurt at camp? Is a mass shooter around the corner? Why am I so dizzy? Is it my brain? And why does it feel hard to take a deep breath? Is it my heart? For a while, I’m caught in an oppressive whirlpool of fear until something snaps me back to reality, to the present.

    I think it helped that I did a cardio-heavy workout in the middle of that day—energy got moved around. And then a thought saved me: This is all the residue of anxiety from the dentist appointment yesterday.

    As quickly as I had that thought, my physical symptoms eased. It’s like my body had been searching for and straining itself to find something to fear. And as no answers arose, it was trying harder, fighting harder.

    —

    I relayed all of this to my therapist.

    “How are you feeling right now?” he asked.

    “I’m fine!” I reflexively answered, perhaps a pitch too high.

    “Fine doesn’t really give us much information. Close your eyes. What do you feel?”

    I closed my eyes and realized my body felt lighter than I expected. “This is kind of strange, but I can’t really feel the seat underneath me.”

    “What does your skin feel like?”

    I patted my arms and noticed I couldn’t really feel any sensation. “Wow, I almost feel numb,” I said.

    I was not in my body.

    —

    My therapist explained that dissociation is a common trauma response. It’s an emergency action taken during actual danger, a mental escape when physical escape is not possible. However, it’s not effective when there is no danger and counterintuitively preserves the fear you so desperately are trying to avoid.

    Dissociating tells the body we are back in danger, and the body responds appropriately to danger. Except there is no danger.

    Dissociating disconnects the body from the present moment so that instead of protecting yourself from a perceived yet false fear, you’re ultimately depriving yourself from a sense of safety.

    —

    The wiring of the trauma brain can feel impossibly tangled, even irrevocably damaged, like Christmas lights that were improperly stored. Trauma alters neural pathways so that we experience the world through a lens of fear.

    But our brains are malleable—neuroplastic. For me, therapy is like a mental and emotional Botox to smooth out the trenches of my trauma and anxiety. I crave the intellectual understanding of what is happening in my body and mind and how they infinitely inform and impact each other.

    When my mind thinks about the past, my body thinks we have gone back in time, and it reacts accordingly. My body is desperate to keep me safe, so it reverts to various trauma responses and coping mechanisms. The mind then detects a disparity between the circumstances of the present and the physiological reaction of the body and, to put it bluntly, freaks out.

    But I recognize a potential re-centering in this trauma pattern. If a sudden feeling of physical unsteadiness can untether my mind from reality and send my body into a spiral of fear, it is logical to assume that the opposite can also be effected—that a conscious grounding of my body in physical space and in present time can coax my mind away from fear of the past.

    This isn’t to say that freedom from symptoms is as simple as intellectually understanding that you are no longer a child or moving your body through exercise. Those are simply pieces of a much more layered puzzle of each of our psyches. But for me, it’s a helpful reminder that there are always anchor points I can return to: breath, the present moment, and people who are looking out for me, like my husband holding my foot.

    Because as much as healing is inner work, we don’t have to do it alone.

  • How I’ve Been Shaking Out My Pain Since Losing My Daughter

    How I’ve Been Shaking Out My Pain Since Losing My Daughter

    “Movement has incredible healing power.” ~Alexandra Heather Foss

    My ten-year-old daughter, who had been ill for all her life, was dying. She was hooked up to tubes and monitors, and they were always going off. Her numbers were off the charts, and the doctors kept saying, “Your daughter’s numbers aren’t normal, and we would normally have a team coming in here to check on her breathing and to rouse her.”

    After the last operation, one doctor said she was surprised that she was still alive when she came into work. We all were. She kept fighting. She would just be sleeping heavily, deeply, and then would wake with a massive smile on her face and a giggle, as if it to say, “Ha! I fooled you again.” She kept fooling us… until she didn’t anymore.

    My husband and I made the decision to turn those monitors off because they were not helping her or us, as the constant beeping with no action was just stressing us all out. It was a massive decision. The doctors had done everything they could, and there was no miracle cure.

    During this time, we were having daily conversations with the doctors about what her body would look like and feel like when she was going to die, what we could expect. We had to make decisions that no parent would want to make—about where we wanted her to die: home, hospice, or hospital.

    We talked about all the different scenarios. They were trying to prepare us for the worst. Her little body was failing her. She had a rare genetic issue, and the future was bleak because she wasn’t well or strong enough for any other operations.

    She couldn’t walk or talk; she couldn’t hold herself up; she had scoliosis, brain damage, and hip dislocation, as well as a horrible condition called dystonia. She had lived her life with a smile on her face but was in the most unimaginable pain daily.

    Doctors were telling us that they had reached the end of the road, and that either we could stay in the hospital or choose to go home with an even stronger set of medications than we had arrived with.

    Around this time, I found myself jumping around and shaking my arms and legs.

    Doctors, nurses, and my husband would look at me, and I would say I needed to get it out. It was the stress. It helped calm my nervous system; it helped calm me even though my whole body was in a state of mass fear and my whole world was crashing around me.

    We had nearly a whole extra year—we tried so much—and then on that last day I went into her room at home and she looked awful. I knew it was the end.

    I rang the ambulance, and they came and asked us what we wanted to do. Then they confirmed our worst fears.

    We had an end-of-life plan in place; again, something that no parent ever should have to write. We loved her so much.

    I held her, I cuddled her, and I loved her. I love her still so much.

    Since she has died, I have felt empty, but I am trying my best to forge a way forward.

    I had a terrible childhood, one of fear and abandonment. It led me down a path of being needy, constantly needing reassurance. I haven’t loved myself at all. Whenever people broke up with me, it reignited those feelings of fear, that I wasn’t enough.

    When I was under ten my mother broke my arm, tried to drown me, scared me, and decided with my father to leave me on the side of the road when I was naughty. The house was full of arguing, my mother narcissistic and unwilling to take any responsibility for any of her failings. We, the people around her, had to adapt ourselves to her and her mood.

    I then went to school and was bullied. My sense of self-worth was shot. Where was I safe?!

    I met my husband and we are happy, and I thought my life was complete when we had our beautiful daughter.

    I was scared she wouldn’t love me, that she would love my husband more. She seemed to know what I needed. She would have mummy days and daddy days, or both of us days. I didn’t mind sharing her love. The mummy days were hard work (as they entailed being with her 24/7) but, oh my, the look of love on her face. When I looked at her, I felt so loved and I loved her.

    Since she died, I have been doing things to heal myself that I never would have tried before. Ecstatic dance—two hours where I keep my eyes closed and dance but, actually, I find myself shaking the whole time, like I did in hospital, and crying, letting it all out. Shaking my arms and kicking my legs out over and over again.

    I have seen a healer and had a dynamic breathing session, where I howled like a wounded animal for everything that I have been through and what I have lost—my childhood and now my child.

    Since being home, I have been having hypnotherapy and more dynamic breathing sessions, as well as EMDR therapy. All with the view of healing myself, trying to love myself. My body has hurt more than I realized is possible. While dynamic breathing, the pain I felt in my stomach before I breathed it out was immense. Physical pain from mental pain.

    I feel like my daughter gave me love, and I am honoring her by making sure that this next part of my life is going to be healthy. I am going to hug myself, breathe deeply, and try to calm the nervous people-pleaser inside of me. It’s going to be hard, but by now, at fifty, I feel I am ready to do the work.

    Wish me luck!

    Rest in peace my Taylor Swift-loving Ella Bella. She was eleven when she died.

    We will dance for you when we see Taylor next year.

    And for anyone out there who’s dealing with unbearable pain of their own, I can’t promise you the pain will ever fully go away. But maybe, like me, you’ll find a little relief in moving your body to get some of it out.

  • How Tonglen Practice Healed My Pain After Trauma

    How Tonglen Practice Healed My Pain After Trauma

    “Tonglen reverses the usual logic of avoiding suffering and seeking pleasure. In this process…we begin to feel love for both ourselves and others; we begin to take care of ourselves and others. Tonglen awakens our compassion and introduces us to a far bigger view of reality.” ~Pema Chodron

    It was challenging to focus during the summer months, with my six-year-old son at home more than usual. I had tons of ideas to write about, but my creative energies were exhausted from hours of playing. When the school year started, I finally sat down to write. The words took their own path and directed me into a memory that had surfaced a few days earlier.

    It was a memory of the first days of my son’s life. It came as nostalgic remembrance of his life so far, as he reached the milestone of first grade. I wanted to write about how Pema Chodron’s Tonglen practice saved me during these challenging days. I had no idea that there was much more in this story for me.

    ***

    Even though I was forty-three when I was about to give birth for the first time in my life, I insisted on having a natural birth at a birthing center, despite my parents’ protests. I wanted to show them, and the world, that women can give birth naturally at my age. I envisioned the book I would write, and the courses I would teach to give women like me more confidence.

    Many of my dreams come true, but not this one.

    I went into labor on the morning of the full moon in March. After twenty hours of rapid contractions and vomiting at the birthing center with no progress, I was moved to the nearby hospital.

    This was not the time for idealism. I surrendered under complete exhaustion. I gave in and took an epidural, willing to do anything to have my baby in my arms.

    During my pregnancy, I envisioned that once my son would be born, he would stay cuddled with me at the comfort of the birthing center and that we would return home shortly after. I wanted him to feel nourished, loved, and welcomed right away.

    Again, reality hit me in my face. My son had severe jaundice and was forced to spend most of his first few days in the nurses’ room under therapeutic lights.

    One of the reasons I wanted to avoid birthing at a hospital was that as soon as I walk through the big swing doors, I feel my blood is washed away from me and I turn into a ghost. How many times I walked the white, sterile, cold corridors, feeling that I was turning white, sterile, and cold myself. It did not matter if I came to greet a friend’s newborn or to visit my dying mother. The reaction was always the same.

    And there I was, living in a hospital during the first days of motherhood, barely carrying my body, depleted by lack of sleep and nonstop breast-pumping. I kept asking why? Why? Why?

    Why did it have to start like this? Why can’t my child be with me? Why do I have to pass by the nurses’ room and see him crying while no one pays attention? Why did they have to poke his finger for blood every few hours?

    My husband and I were thrown into our worst nightmare, fearing our son’s brain would be damaged. We knew that even if he would eventually be healthy and well, the trauma of these first days would be forever imprinted on him. What hurt the most was that we could not even embrace him with our loving support.

    During one of the short nursing breaks we got, my son was lying on top of me, resting in my arms. I felt his heartbeat and his little breaths. I patted him and cried, “Please be healthy, please be healthy, please be healthy.” The pain was breaking me into a thousand little pieces.

    Then I remembered Tonglen. I had read about it in Pema Chodron’s book When Things Fall Apart. I had practiced Tonglen throughout three challenging years of fertility treatments and three miscarriages. It was weird that I hadn’t thought of it earlier, but then again, I was in the midst of a whirlpool of suffering; I could barely even remember my own name.

    I started the practice with breathing in my son’s pain and breathing out healing for him. As I was doing that, I felt a new sense of power. I was no longer helplessly lying there. There was something I could do for my son; I could take away his pain and heal him.

    After a few minutes, I moved on to breathing in my own suffering, and breathing out healing to all the struggling parents whose babies were sick or hospitalized. Suddenly, I was not alone. I was a part of a group of parents. I was a parent for the first time in my life, and I felt all the emotions that came with it: the joy, the gratitude, the pain, and the fear, of a magnitude that I’d never experienced before.

    Not only was I a part of a community of struggling parents, but I was also helping to ease their pain and healing their children. This exercise connected me to my power, and my wisdom. I was no longer a broken body, but an empowered soul.

    My perspective shifted. I stopped taking it personally. I understood that what happened to my son, to me, and to my husband, happens to others too. It was all a part of the journey of life, which contains suffering as well as joy. I was connected to something bigger than me. I was supported by it and supporting it.

    A good friend told me, “You cannot control your child’s path, you can only support it.” I could not change his journey. I could only make it easier on him and help him grow through his challenges.

    Once we were finally released from the hospital, life did not get easy right away. My son was crying a lot and had difficulties nursing. I kept practicing Tonglen all that time. It took us about a month to settle in and shift from hardship to joy. Since then, I haven’t noticed any traces of trauma in my son so far.

    But what about my trauma?

    Through writing about this memory, I acknowledge that these were the hardest days of my life. I also realize that I have never really processed this hardship. I have worked on my disappointment from the vacuum extraction delivery at the hospital. But I have never talked about the days that followed with anyone, not even my husband or my therapist.

    At first, I thought that the trauma was so deep that I had to repress it. But on second thought, it did not feel like an open wound. I believe that thanks to practicing Tonglen, the healing occurred in real time. I did not repress the pain when it was present; I allowed it to manifest in me. I processed the pain so well that it went away and left us clean and clear to start our new lives as a family.

  • 3 Things I Learned About Healing from an Autoimmune Diagnosis

    3 Things I Learned About Healing from an Autoimmune Diagnosis

    “To truly heal, we need to create a healing space—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.” ~Lynn Keegan

    Growing up, I never understood the importance of taking care of myself. I thought my body was invincible, and I treated it quite poorly. I stayed up late, I ate out a lot, I partied, and didn’t have a care in the world.

    In my early twenties this all began to shift for me. I began experiencing all types of symptoms. My body was doing things I was embarrassed to share with anyone.

    I started having eight to ten bowel movements per day, I was afraid to eat anything, and I lost twenty pounds in the span of two weeks. I was confused and scared as to what was happening to my body.

    After missing countless days at work and taking countless trips to the doctor’s office, I was eventually given a diagnosis.

    In February of 2012, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, which is an autoimmune disease with no official cure. It causes inflammation and issues with digestion. It can affect the physical body anywhere from the esophagus down to the colon.

    As if being told you have a disease with no real cure wasn’t enough, my doctor found precancerous cells in my colon. This meant I was at high risk of having to get my colon removed. I was in my early twenties at the time, and my doctor mentioned he had never seen a case so severe in someone my age.

    I faced a lot of resistance with this at first. I was caught up in my old ways of life, not really having to care about my body. I continued to punish my body through my old habits of drinking, smoking, and eating an unhealthy diet.

    I’m sure you can imagine that this got me nowhere. Things weren’t getting better, and I finally realized that no one was coming to save me. It was up to me to turn this situation around.

    This is when I started what I like to call “my path of un-doing.” I began to step into unknown territory—health, wellness, and taking care of myself.

    Step by step, I started adopting healthier habits. It started with physical activity, which naturally led me to eating a healthier diet. I started to see improvements with my symptoms and knew I could discover how to heal even further.

    I started to explore my mental health. I had been through a stressful situation prior to my diagnosis and was dealing with energetic blocks because of this. I was able to work through these blocks with modalities such as yoga, meditation, journaling, and reiki.

    It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually my symptoms decreased from all of the work I was doing. Fast forward to today, and I’ve now been in remission of Crohn’s disease for the last six years. I was very lucky that I never had to get my colon removed, and I’m thankful for that every day.

    If you are dealing with a serious illness and are having a hard time right now, here are three takeaways I learned from my own experience with illness that will help you move forward on your healing journey.

    1. Focus on a holistic approach.

    When I first started my journey, I only focused on the physical side of things, nutrition and movement. I also followed my doctor’s protocol and took the medications he prescribed. These changes helped to some extent, but there was still something missing.

    I needed to work through energy blocks I was experiencing from my past. I needed to find healthy ways to cope with stress. I needed to find ways to work through challenging emotions that came up along my healing journey.

    This situation taught me that we are more than just our physical selves. We are multidimensional beings, and because of this need to focus on the mental, emotional, and spiritual sides of ourselves as well.

    Meditate and journal daily to tune in with your emotions and clear out blocks. Get clear on your why so that when motivation trickles down on challenging days, you have a strong drive to keep moving forward. Spend more time in nature to help regulate your nervous system.

    Healing requires a holistic approach. There is no shame in taking medication, but it’s important to not rely on this alone. Focus on making shifts with your entire lifestyle to support yourself the best way possible.

    When you focus on nurturing all aspects of the human being you are, you take your healing journey to a whole new level.

    2. Be patient with yourself.

    Your symptoms didn’t show up overnight, so you can’t expect them to go away that quickly either.

    Healing takes time, dedication, and consistency. There were many times along my journey where I felt like giving up, or that my efforts weren’t paying off. I kept going anyway.

    Some days you will feel like you’ve made major progress, and some days you will feel like you took five steps back. This is a normal part of the process. When you feel like you aren’t getting anywhere, take a break and reconnect with your why to help you regain momentum.

    3. Celebrate the small wins.

    It’s easy to get swept up in the “all-or-nothing” approach when you’re first starting your healing journey. The problem with this approach is that it isn’t easy to sustain it long-term.

    The key to long-lasting results along your journey is taking small actions every single day. It’s the small changes you make every day that eventually lead to change and transformation.

    Find something to celebrate every single day, no matter how big or small. This is going to help you stay positive about your journey and will help you build a new lifestyle for yourself that is actually sustainable.

    Dealing with a life-changing illness is overwhelming and it can feel like no one understands what you’re going through. Trust that you are not alone on your journey and that you can make your way out of this. Your body was designed to heal, it just needs the proper environment to do so!

  • How Trauma Affects the Brain and How I’m Healing from PTSD

    How Trauma Affects the Brain and How I’m Healing from PTSD

    “Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we’ll ever do.” ~Brené Brown 

    Several months ago, I was stoked about writing a piece on the living legacy of trauma, sharing how much we think we know about these so-called injuries of the mind, body, and spirit when, in reality, we know diddly squat.

    I thought that a piece on this topic would inform and help folks like me. I’d suffered long and hard from PTSD, triggered initially by the sudden death of my brother and, simultaneously, the unfortunate finding of an email that confirmed that my husband of twenty-five years was having an affair with a girl half his age who lived in Germany.

    Little did I know that after broaching this idea in an article that explored how trauma manifests itself in intense physical, perceptual, and emotional reactions to everyday things, I would experience the absolute worst trauma imaginable since that fateful day when my world turned into a nightmare that didn’t end when I woke up.

    You see, after three years of working virtually with a therapist who specialized in drug and alcohol addiction and trauma—a woman with a gentle English accent and passion for all four-legged creatures (her “family” consisted of a husband, cat, horse, and donkey)—I got a text that rocked my world like a magnitude 10 earthquake. An energy force that, to me, far surpassed what 32 Hiroshima atomic bombs would feel like.

    In tiny bold font, I was informed on a Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. that my beloved therapist, Vanessa, had died peacefully at home, surrounded by those who loved her dearly.

    Although I should’ve found some sort of comfort in hearing that, I curled up in a fetal position on my deck, letting the warm summer breeze wash over my badly shaking body.

    I grabbed the folds in my oversized Life Is Good T-shirt, using them to wipe away tears that didn’t stop. Not even when I realized that my two Chihuahua rescues were whimpering next to me, confused as to why the sad, high-pitched noises coming out of me sounded a lot like theirs when I left the house.

    And although it shouldn’t have come as such a huge surprise after she went into remission after her first bout of ovarian cancer several months ago, Vanessa’s death came fast and furious within a span of just two weeks of her terminal diagnosis.

    Without the ability to correspond with her in the days leading up to her death (due to her illness becoming so severe it rendered her 99% incapacitated), I literally stopped, dropped, and rolled on the floor upon receiving this news. I felt as if I was lit on fire, with the pain from this communication leaving me excruciatingly traumatized and broken.

    Not knowing what was happening during these many weeks of radio silence, I was texting her number over and over and over again, not realizing that all of this communication was being read by her husband. He was caring for her in their Vermont farmhouse, assisted by family who flew in from England a few weeks prior to spend whatever little time they had with this very special and beloved daughter, sister-in-law, and cousin.

    There are no road maps to trauma. No GPS or Waze apps can get us from point A to B. What I did discover during my three-plus years of work with my incredibly wise, informed, compassionate, insightful, and funny therapist in the trauma work we did each week was that there are alarms in our bodies that go off, signaling that we have to find a safe place to get out of danger, away from the darkness lurking within.

    Using a workbook that was beyond helpful, Transforming the Living Legacy of Trauma: A Workbook for Survivors and Therapists, by Janina Fisher, PhD (2021), a huge epiphany for me was connecting the dots of trauma.

    I learned that “the living legacy of trauma manifests itself in intense physical, perceptual, and emotional reactions to everyday things—rarely recognizable as past experience. These emotional and physical responses, called ‘implicit memories,’ keep bringing the trauma alive in our bodies and emotions again and again, often many times a day” (Fisher, 13).

    Doing weekly homework was an integral part of my journey to wellness, although, as anyone knows, you don’t ever really rid yourself of a lifetime of events, symptoms, and difficulties common to individuals who are traumatized.

    Worksheets were incredibly helpful in guiding my work with Vanessa, holding me accountable to “naming” the symptoms and difficulties I recognized in myself. Those include a feeling of emotional overwhelm, loss of interest in most things, numbing, decreased concentration, irritability, depression, few or no memories, shame and worthlessness, nightmares and flashbacks, anxiety and panic attacks, chronic pain and headaches, substance abuse and eating disorders, feeling unreal or out of body, and a loss of sense of “who I am.”

    I had to examine how these symptoms helped me to survive. For example, if I suffered from depression, how did that help me get through my PTSD? How did losing interest in things help me? How did not sleeping help? How did using alcohol help me survive? (I unfortunately combined prescription meds with alcohol, putting my life in jeopardy for years).

    One of the most important pieces of my trauma work was recognizing just how integral understanding the brain was in experiencing trauma. Certain areas of the brain are specialized in helping us survive danger (van der Kolk, 2014).

    “A set of related structures in the limbic system hold our capacity for emotional, sensory, and relational experience, as well as the nonverbal memories connected to traumatic events. The limbic system includes the thalamus (a relay station for sensory information), the hippocampus (an area specialized to process memory), and the amygdala (the brain’s fire alarm and smoke detector). When our senses pick up the signs of imminent danger, that information is automatically transmitted to the thalamus, where, in a matter of nanoseconds, it is evaluated by threat receptors in the amygdala and in the prefrontal cortex to determine if it is a true or false alarm.” (Fisher, 15)

    One of the most interesting parts of studying the relational pieces of trauma with the brain is that the prefrontal cortex is designed to hold the “veto power” (Fisher, 15). Depending on how a stimulus is recognized, such as being benign or threatening, I discovered that when I construed a stimulus as threatening (which I did many, many times), my adrenaline stress response prepared my body to fight or flee.

    Adrenaline causes our heart rate and respiration to increase, turning off non-essential systems, including the prefrontal cortex, putting us in survival mode. Pausing to think might put me in danger, simultaneously losing the ability for conscious decision-making, acting, and reacting by crying for help and “bear witness to the entirety of the experience” (Fisher, 16). I often found myself freezing in fear, fleeing, fighting, or giving in when there was no way out.

    My understanding of triggers and triggering was instrumental to my understanding of my post-traumatic stress, which forced me to look at the behaviors of our forebears—cavemen and cave women. They lived in a very dangerous world, where they were vulnerable to diseases, harsh climates, the challenges of providing food for their tribe, and potential attacks by animal and human predators.

    Folks back then had to strike preemptively, something that their environment helped with (using stones, tree branches, etc. as weapons to fight off enemies or craft bows and arrows). Their survival was enhanced by this ability to sense danger and to keep on going, no matter how they felt or what was in their way. They innately had the ability to sense danger before the fact rather than analyze the level of threat once it was in front of them.

    Centuries later, human beings still have heightened stress and survival responses. The brain and body have become “biased to cues” indicating potential threat. Cues connected even indirectly to specific traumatic events are called “triggers.”

    These triggers have caused me to shake in my boots (or Converse sneakers) simply by smelling certain smells or experiencing certain weather conditions. These strong physical and emotional responses are known as triggering, and I struggled with this for many years before I was lucky enough to find a therapist who really “got it.”

    I can literally hear my ex cursing and screaming if I am in somebody’s basement because that is where our fights often took place in our family home years and years ago.

    I can start shaking when I drive through my old neighborhood in upstate New York because I start to “see” all of the evidence I found in our family home that confirmed my ex was having an extramarital affair.

    Just driving down a street a few miles from our family home, I can reactivate the sensors in the limbic system and amygdala and see a flashing “danger” sign. I then feel that lightning bolt of obsessive anger that I felt when I found pictures, letters, and other paraphernalia confirming that I was “dumb and clueless” when my ex made up stories about where he had been or where he was going.

    Vanessa would be extremely upset with me if she were here, knowing that I’m “time traveling” with the writing of this piece and shaming myself in the process by calling myself names.

    Her points are valid, and because of the incredible growth and insight I gained through my work with her, I own both of those things and know that time traveling is incredibly triggering for me, causing me to stir up very upsetting and traumatizing feelings.

    As for the self-shaming I have gotten to be very good at, I can recognize (now) that it is extremely counterintuitive to call myself names or demean myself. All it does is give life to the negative, punitive, cruel, abhorrent words that my ex articulated to make me feel as if “I” was the crazy one in the relationship and that “I” deserved to suffer from his extramarital affair because I was a crazy, terrible wife.

    To all of that I say, bah, humbug, knowing that I have worked way too hard to travel down that dark and dank road of the past, growing by leaps and bounds through weeks of tears, laughter, more tears, and hard-earned self-actualization and growth from sessions with an amazingly good clinician.

    I know that Vanessa always gave me the credit for getting where I am today. I always argued that I never would have arrived at this destination without her patience, expertise, and extraordinary empathy, which I never experienced with the twenty other therapists I had over the years. I tell those closest to me that Vanessa saved my life, and I don’t say that lightly.

    What folks who don’t have PTSD need to understand is that it is virtually impossible for anyone who has experienced severe trauma to truly believe that they “deserve” the good and positive things that come from the extremely hard work they put in.

    They’re convinced that they are not deserving of those good and positive things and that being “messed up” will be a lifelong, integral part of them. As such, positive things are for other folks, and change for the good is something that might be attainable but rarely is, due to the falls and flaws that define the lives of those with trauma.

    Healing and forgiveness begin to happen the moment we accept and forgive ourselves—the moment we see that small child who we once were through the eyes of the compassionate adult we have become.

    For me, I was convinced that the little girl of yesteryear would never be anything but wounded and broken, despite the pep talks and logical arguments presented by very intelligent, intuitive clinicians. But that was then and this is now.

    And if Vanessa is looking down at me (and I’m pretty sure she is), she would imitate Mary Poppins and say, “Pish, posh” with a smile on her face and remind me every time I achieved a new level of insight, understanding, and self-care with a “well done,” putting her right thumb up as an exclamation mark.

    Well done, indeed.

  • Time Doesn’t Heal Wounds

    Time Doesn’t Heal Wounds

  • How I Finally Starved the Disorder That Was Eating Me Alive

    How I Finally Starved the Disorder That Was Eating Me Alive

    “If we are ready to tear down the walls that confine us, break the cage that imprisons us, we will discover what our wings are for.” ~Michael Meegan

    It’s weird, isn’t it? One day you’re playing hide and seek with friends without a worry beyond the playdate you’re having or dinner options for that night. But in a blink, those carefree days vanish. That’s what happened to me, and my teenage years started ticking away right in front of my eyes. Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen, nineteen…

    And a realization hit me: “It’s still eating me alive.”

    Maybe it wasn’t as severe as it was before, and I wasn’t underweight anymore, but I still needed control.

    Let me give you a little background about myself to provide you with some context. At the age of ten, I moved to the United States with my family. These big changes caused a lot of insecurity, impostor syndrome, and anxiety within me. I needed a way to become “better,” to “fit in,” and to control what was happening.

    It was impossible for me to suddenly turn into a cute, fun, skinny, blonde cheerleader. So I innocently turned to something that made me feel in control. If I could start “eating healthier” and “becoming the best version of myself,” I thought, I would finally fit in. Little did I know that this decision would haunt me for a long time to come.

    I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa at twelve. I turned thirteen in the hospital. I even refused to eat my own birthday cake. I moved on to residential treatment, a partial hospitalization program, and then outpatient.

    After a year of treatment, I had checked all the boxes and jumped through all the hoops, and I was finally “recovered.”

    On the outside, I was a success story—weight restored, eating again, and out of treatment. But inside, the disorder still maintained a relentless grip in subtle ways I couldn’t ignore.

    No, I wasn’t crying over a handful of cashews, but I was counting exactly how many went into my mouth. I would go on midnight ice cream runs with my friends, but quickly search for nutritional information and get the flavor with the lowest calories.

    Even though I didn’t want sorbet, I got it. Even though I wanted a medium, I got a small. Even though I wanted sprinkles like everyone else, I wouldn’t get them.

    You get the point. The carefree joy of picking a flavor based on taste and intuition was gone.

    At times I’d think that maybe I was still not fully recovered… then a voice would interrupt, “SNAP OUT OF IT. You are fine. You ate ice cream, so you couldn’t possibly be sick. You are just practicing self-control.”

    And just like that, I’d be back in this hypnotic state. I’d repeat the cycle over and over again. Once again, the disorder would take a bite into my enjoyment and precious memories.

    I eventually realized that this disorder doesn’t care about what type of hold it has on you. As long as it is still alive and gripping onto you in some manner, it is happy.

    Every single time I give in, YOU give in, the disorder is fed and empowered.

    Whether that means not putting on the extra bit of sauce you want because it “isn’t necessary” or intermittent fasting because of “digestive issues,” it doesn’t care.

    I believe there are so many relapses in recovery for this exact reason. Because it is hard to completely let go.

    In time, I became aware of all the different little ways the disorder could manifest itself. I realized that this disease I thought had lasted five years was still present and would continue leeching off me for life if I didn’t do something about it.

    I’m going to share with you the process that helped me starve my eating disorder and loosen its grip on every aspect of my life.

    If we don’t fully let go and don’t resist all those little temptations we give in to, they start compounding and, like a virus, the disorder spreads and grows.

    So how did I finally starve it?

    This is the process I followed daily.

    1. Reflect

    Take time to reflect on your past and recognize all the small ways the disorder has shown up in your life. I suggest writing everything that comes to mind. You’ll likely identify scenarios you hadn’t thought twice about at the moment and in hindsight realize the disorder was controlling you. Identifying all the ways it sneaks in will help you recognize the patterns while they are happening.

    Write everything down. Even if it seems insignificant. From not adding extra cheese to your spaghetti to ignoring hunger in the morning, write it all down.

    One thing that helped me was comparing my present behaviors to my younger self’s. “Would younger Sophi add extra cheese to her pasta?” If she would, then so do I. Sounds silly, but try it out.

    Also, reflect on times you may have used food restriction or bingeing behaviors to avoid or “stuff down” difficult emotions like loneliness, anxiety, shame, or disappointment. Instead of facing those feelings, the disorder offered an unhealthy coping mechanism. Now that you have awareness, you can work on identifying the core issues or needs beneath those emotions so you can address them in a healthy manner. Rather than stuffing feelings down or starving yourself, get to the root and nurture yourself properly.

    2. Redirect

    Now that you are conscious of the behaviors, I want you to do something. Each time you recognize the disorder sneaking in, ask yourself “Am I going to feed it? Or myself?” You can’t do both. They are literal opposites.

    If you ask this question, it creates friction. Friction gives you the chance to decide consciously rather than engaging in the automatic behavior you are used to.

    Keep in mind that feeding yourself may be in a physical and literal way. But other times it simply means choosing to feed a hobby you enjoy, a relationship you want to develop, or a goal you want to achieve. This disorder drains your energy and sucks the life out of you. Energy and life you could be pouring into YOURSELF.

    You get to choose. Are you going to engage in conversations with your loved ones? Or think about how you are going to compensate for the dinner you ate?

    3. Repeat

    As much as I would love to tell you this is a one-time thing, it isn’t. You have to constantly repeat this process and not beat yourself up because of slip-ups.

    This is like any other habit. If you have been practicing it for years, it is a neuropathway in your brain. So you have to forge another healthy and helpful pathway, which is done through repetition and consistency. Years of reinforcing behavior will take time to change, so be kind to yourself.

    While completely eliminating behaviors associated with your disorder may seem impossible, consistently choosing recovery over disorder is the goal. Even if you experience setbacks, make the choice to feed your true self rather than the disorder as often as possible. Keep being resilient and trying again. With time and practice, choosing yourself will become more natural. But you have to keep making that choice, even when it’s difficult. Feed your spirit, feed your dreams, feed your life.

    Just like one of my dietitians told me, “Your eating disorder will stay alive as long as you let it.” I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but you are actively choosing. I invite you to choose FULL recovery and destruction of your eating disorder.

    I don’t mean to learn how to function and co-exist with it, but to destroy it.

    Enjoying every ice cream outing with friends, saying yes to a coffee run, and letting yourself be intuitive and authentic.

    I knew a friend years ago whose mom struggled with an eating disorder when she was younger. At the time, the family felt she was recovered like she had overcome the beast. Looking back now, I realize the eating disorder still gripped her life in subtle ways.

    She skipped family dinners because cooking made her “full.” She viewed extreme dieting as a hobby, not the unhealthy compulsion it was. All this to say, now I realize, years later, she was still controlled.

    Without intentional healing, those ingrained patterns persisted, slowly impacting her family as well.

    For example, her daughter began mimicking her mother’s disordered eating habits and extreme dieting rules, developing body image issues and an unhealthy relationship with food at a young age. The mother’s fixation on calorie counting and skipping family meals also disrupted bonding time, as she isolated herself and couldn’t enjoy family dinners or holidays.

    I encourage you to write your “why” lists. Why is recovery worth fighting for? What makes you want this? Is it your future family or your goals, or are you simply sick of living under the rules of the disorder?

    It takes energy and strength to constantly fight it, but the less you feed it, the weaker it becomes. The weaker it gets, the fuller your life becomes and the stronger and happier you get. You deserve to live freely and fully, without shame or restrictions holding you back.

    I believe in you!

  • How I Healed My Strained Relationship with My Addict Mother

    How I Healed My Strained Relationship with My Addict Mother

    “We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.” ~Sam Keen

    Like so many of us, my relationship with my mother throughout my life is best described as complicated.

    We’ve had our fair share of turbulent times in our journey, and her alcoholism and drug abuse while I was growing up fueled great dysfunction on every level: literal physical fighting when I was a teenager (yep, Jerry Springer-style), seemingly continual acts of rebellion, a total lack of understanding, deep mistrust, unwillingness (or likely even an inability at the time) to change, and ultimately a total separation when I was thirteen years old that would take decades to shift.

    Today, I’m forty-eight years old, and my mother and I have been rebuilding our relationship for over twenty years.

    I deeply acknowledge how her decision to get sober and stay sober in 2001 laid the foundation for me to develop the willingness to try and have a relationship. To get to where we are today has required a lot of deeply personal internal work for me, and it is my hope that by sharing my story, you may feel hope and even inspiration on your journey.

    My mother was just twenty years old when I was born, and by the time my sister was born two years later, my parents were already divorced. My mother grew up in fourteen foster homes and became the first cycle breaker in our family by deciding to walk away from the system at eighteen and not seek contact with her family. (It’s so clear to me now how truly ill-equipped she was to be a parent.)

    My sister and I lived with my mother, and we saw our father some weekends but there was never a consistent schedule, as consistency wasn’t a word that could describe any part of our childhood. I lived briefly with my father when I was five for one year, and my sister stayed with my mom.

    Because of the inconsistent contact with my father, over the years I idealized him and his life, which was often a bone of contention with my mother.

    By the age of thirteen, I had grown extremely tired of life with my mother and fantasized daily about creating a new one. After a particularly awful experience where she came to my school drunk and dragged me out of the school dance by my hair, I decided to take action and to seek refuge for me and my little sister by living with my father an eight-hour drive away (my paternal grandmother helped to facilitate this).

    When we left my mother’s house, we didn’t have any contact with her for a few years. She moved away from California, and I turned my focus to my new and exciting life with my father. Boy, was I in for a surprise and more excitement than I could have ever wanted!

    My father worked in the blossoming tech industry when we moved in with him in Southern California in 1989. He had a house built for us in a swanky new development, and at first, it really felt like life was taking a turn for the better.

    Until it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t.

    One fateful day, my father went out for a haircut and didn’t return for three days, leaving us with our stepmother, who never wanted kids or for us to come and live with them. When he returned, he was disheveled—no haircut—and extremely quiet.

    Through the angrily clenched teeth of my stepmother’s whisper in my ear, I found out that my father was a barely functioning drug addict who enjoyed cocaine, heroin, and eventually to his demise, crack cocaine (crack is definitely whack).

    As my grandmother would say, we jumped from the frying pan into the fire, and after living with him for not quite two years, he committed suicide when I was just fifteen. Since we had no relationship with my mother and didn’t want one, my paternal grandmother graciously took us in, and I again turned my focus to starting a new life.

    At the tender age of sixteen, I decided that both of my parents were losers and I only wanted to move forward with my new life with my grandmother. I turned my focus toward school but made plenty of room for recreational drinking, experimenting with LSD and mushrooms, and going to metal concerts in the Bay Area.

    I went off to college at eighteen (with a decent GPA, considering), the first in my immediate family to do so, determined that I would be the next cycle breaker by being and doing better than where I came from.

    Until it appeared that I wouldn’t be or do any better.

    I got unexpectedly pregnant with my son when I was twenty (just like my mom) while in college, and this news was not well received by my grandmother, who “thought I was going to be different.” I was still determined to break the cycle, and my grandmother’s comment would fuel years of overachieving in an effort to prove myself (my story of incredible burnout is one for another day!).

    I extended a tentative and boundaried-up olive branch to my mother, allowing her to come to the hospital when my son was born as long as she was sober (amongst other rules). It would take another four years, a second child for me, and a fateful DUI for her to choose sobriety. This was the fragile beginning of deep healing and transformation for me that would take many, many years.

    “As traumatized children we always dreamed that someone would come and save us. We never dreamed that it would, in fact, be ourselves, as adults.” ~Alice Little

    I can share four things that I did (and do) that helped me to come to the place where I am able to have a positive relationship with my mother after all of the dysfunction that defined our relationship for most of my life.

    1. I looked at pictures of my mother as a child and committed them to memory.

    Seeing my mother as a child helped me to view her as more than just my mother. I looked at photos of my mother when she was younger and imagined the trauma she experienced as a child and how much pain and suffering that little girl endured that affected how she evolved into an adult and a parent.

    This practice gave me insight and helped me to develop compassion for her and her journey.

    I learned that I had the ability to consciously choose another perspective, another way of looking at her. Picturing her as a young child and thinking of the experiences she has slowly shared with me over the years gave me a new light and new eyes with which to see her.

    I still use this practice when I need to cultivate compassion for her, as we are not in the same place when it comes to our healing journeys, and sometimes I need this reminder when I interact with her.

    2. I made a conscious decision to let go of my story about the mother I wished she was and my victim mentality around my childhood.

    First, I had to become deeply aware of the story I told myself about my mother and my childhood. Writing in my journal about it helped me the most, knowing that this was my private and sacred place that I didn’t have to share with anyone if I didn’t want to.

    I asked and responded to questions like “Who is my mother to me? How do I feel about my mother? Who did I wish my mother to be? How do I wish things were different when I was growing up? What were the best parts of my childhood? What were the worst parts?”

    Once I developed deep awareness of my thoughts, feelings, and perspectives on my experiences, I made the conscious decision to let go of the story of the mother that I wished I had and how I felt like I was dealt a terrible hand in the parent department. I consciously decided that I was not a victim of my childhood, nor a victim of my mother. I embraced and eventually accepted that all of my experiences helped me to be who I am today.

    On my spiritual and healing journey, I discovered that some people believe we actually choose our parents before our souls incarnate into this life, and that we choose the parents that can teach us the most in our lifetime.

    This idea helped me to look at my mother and my childhood in a different way. I now deeply know that she is the perfect parent for me because I have never liked being told what to do, and she was absolutely the best at teaching me what I didn’t want so I could forge my own path (she always did say when we were kids that “I’m a warning not an example!”).

    3. I let go of the expectations that I had created for her as a mother.

    Society, family, the media, and movies all paint pictures for us about what parents and families should and shouldn’t be. We are both subtly and overtly programmed with certain expectations for how we and others should be and should behave, especially in specific roles, like that of a parent.

    I realized by looking deeply that I had a lot of expectations for how my parents should be that were not realistic and not even fair given who they actually were. Recognizing my expectations and making a conscious decision to let them go allowed me to create space for my mother to just be who she is without me getting disappointed when she couldn’t be or do what I wanted her to.

    4. I created boundaries for myself for our relationship from a place of love and compassion for both of us.

    I looked deeply at what I needed as a conscious adult to have a positive relationship with my mother, and I created boundaries to support myself. It was important to me that these boundaries came from a place of love and compassion for the both of us, with the intention to keep our relationship positive.

    One boundary that has really helped me with our relationship is to be mindful of what we talk about and how I choose to respond.

    We don’t often share the same views on politics, for example, so I’ve set the boundary that we just don’t talk about this. If she happens to say something political that I don’t agree with, I usually just don’t say anything, as it’s really not that important to me to die on that hill (and I try to find a kind way to shift the topic of conversation without engaging).

    My mother feels differently, but I believe that she still has deep healing to do around the trauma she experienced as a child. This topic has become a boundary for me because we are not yet in the place to have deep conversations about this, and that’s okay. I’ve accepted that we can’t go there right now (and maybe never will), so I choose to let it go.

    It also helps me greatly to remember that we are all doing the best we can with our current level of consciousness, and that no matter where we are in the journey, there is always more to be learned. This reminder helps me to cultivate patience and grace with and around my mother (and others).

    While I wouldn’t classify our relationship as perfect by any stretch, I’ve come to learn that there is no such thing as a perfect relationship, but there are times when making an effort to have an imperfect relationship is the perfect medicine for healing.

  • Coming out of Survival Mode: How I Healed and Found Peace

    Coming out of Survival Mode: How I Healed and Found Peace

    “I have come to believe that caring for myself is not self-indulgent. Caring for myself is an act of survival.” ~Audre Lorde

    I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I realized that I no longer needed to fight for my survival, but I do know that it came after several years of prayer, healing, and intensive work. It wasn’t an event, but rather the feeling of peace and calm that comes after a storm.

    For me, the storm dissipated slowly. It was the kind of storm that kept swirling and re-emerging until I finally realized that it would take concentrated effort and work on my part to eliminate the threat.

    By threat, I mean anything in my inner and outer world that was wreaking havoc on my nervous system. This included things on the inside (such as trauma, subconscious beliefs, childhood wounds, and energetic and nervous system damage) as well as things on the outside (people and things in my environment that were having a negative impact).

    When your mind, body, and spirit are under attack for a prolonged period of time, there’s no one solution that will bring you out of the dark. Rather, you must practice a variety of healing methods and make the conscious choice to free yourself from the chains that bind you.

    For me, the freedom did not just come from leaving my unhealthy, toxic, and codependent marriage of nineteen years. It didn’t come solely from the fact that my oldest son finally stabilized and was no longer in danger of losing his life. Nor did it come solely from separating myself from the people, places, and situations that held my nervous system in a constant state of turmoil.

    It was a combination of many things.

    The reprieve came gradually over time, as I learned to listen to my body, understand my nervous system and its relationship to my emotions, and what people and situations threatened my inner peace.

    Each time I would notice that I did not feel safe in my body, that someone’s words or actions were causing harm, or that a relationship or situation was adding stress or creating an imbalance in my life, I would make adjustments as needed.

    This meant setting firm boundaries around who and what I was allowing into my headspace and heart space. This meant releasing people, places, and situations that were no longer healthy for me or serving me in a positive way. This meant working in therapy to heal childhood traumas that were still living in my body.

    For starters, I left a long-term relationship that, on the surface, seemed to provide stability but, in reality, kept me in a constant state of anxiety, resentment, and emotional chaos.

    The relationship was a textbook example of two unhealed people recreating their childhood wounds with one another, with no awareness of what they were doing. The impact trickled down to our children, who unfortunately suffered the negative consequences of their parents’ wounding.

    It wasn’t until months after our divorce, when my oldest son was diagnosed with PTSD, that I realized the environment I had been living in was not only toxic but also abusive. Sadly, the relationship with my former partner so closely resembled the patterns and behaviors I had witnessed as a child that I had somehow normalized them. I hadn’t put the puzzle pieces together soon enough.

    In fact, the moment that I read my son’s psych evaluation results, I was hit with the reality that I had lived in that kind of environment (chaotic, unhealthy, toxic) for most of my life. In my childhood and then later in my adult life.

    I was shocked.

    Why hadn’t I connected the dots before? The reason I felt anxious, the reason I was crawling in my skin, feeling on edge and unable to relax or find stillness, was because my nervous system had been under attack by the very people who were supposed to make me feel safe.

    I had been existing in survival mode for as long as I could remember.

    From that point forward, I made a pact with myself to never go back to people, situations, or environments that created chaos inside. I promised myself I would do whatever it took to protect myself from further harm, regain my stability, and break the cycles of toxicity and abuse that had been passed down through my lineage.

    These are the methods I used to free myself:

    • Subconscious reprogramming
    • EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing)
    • EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) Tapping
    • Brainspotting
    • Meditation
    • Somatic healing
    • Energy healing
    • Boundaries
    • Cutting Relationship Cords

    To some, my methods seemed extreme, selfish even. And in some ways, they were. But not in the typical way one would think.

    The fight to find my peace was only selfish in that I cared about myself and my well-being so much that I was not willing to stay stuck in cycles of suffering any longer. Nor was I willing to pass my wounding along to my children.

    I had a choice, and I chose myself. I chose my peace.

    And I would do it again if the time ever came.

    To anyone who is struggling with the suffocating feeling of living in survival mode, please let this be your reminder: you must choose yourself. You must do something, because doing nothing will only keep you in the eye of the storm.

    Even if it means letting go of close relationships, or removing yourself from certain environments, the hard decisions you make will eventually create the peace and freedom you seek in your life.

    Of course, leaving people and places behind is going to hurt. It’s going to cause some discomfort. But remember, you cannot heal in the same environment that is harming you.

    You have to be willing to get radically uncomfortable for a period of time until your nervous system stabilizes and you are able to invite healthier, more supportive relationships into your life. Once you are able to look in the rearview mirror at your distant past and see that you have left behind all the things that were harming you, you will realize it was all worth it.

    You will be proud of yourself for having the courage to take these brave steps. You will be proud of yourself for taking your happiness into your own hands. You will be proud of yourself for choosing YOU.

    Make peace your priority. Your nervous system will thank you. Your children will thank you.

    Sending you love.

  • How to Heal from Rejection (Without Getting Down on Yourself)

    How to Heal from Rejection (Without Getting Down on Yourself)

    “This is a moment of suffering. Suffering is part of life. May I be kind to myself in this moment. May I give myself the compassion I need.” ~Kristen Neff

    The handsome man I was dating sat on the easy chair to tell a difficult story. We were in my loft, and he was avoiding eye contact. I studied the symmetry of his jaw as he spoke.

    “I did something stupid,” he said.

    I thought he was confiding in me. Maybe this intimacy would bring us closer. Maybe his eye had wandered but he was choosing me. I leaned in.

    There was someone else, but not in a way I ever would have guessed. The ugliness of his admission was at odds with my glowing perception of him.

    Adding to my cognitive dissonance, at the end of his tale I was stunned to hear the words, “and that’s why I can’t see you anymore.”

    My hands shook. I set my wine glass down on the coffee table. We’re all flooded with stress hormones during separations because we’re social creatures. My body felt like it was drowning. I had daydreamed this man would be a buoy to reach for and hold me in safety during life’s challenges. Instead, he put on his coat.

    “I’m sorry,” he said, with genuine sentiment. Then he left, slipping away into the night, leaving me alone on my sofa in the riptide of emotion.

    I was at once disappointed, disheartened, sad, betrayed, and scared to be alone. Yet in light of his revelation, I was also relieved.

    I’d been broken up with before, but this time there was no punishing blame put upon me, and the shame was all his. For the first time I could see rejection as impersonal. It had nothing to do with my worth, value, or actions. It was about where he was at in his life, the recognition that I wasn’t in that same place, and the fact he didn’t want to take me.

    Nor did I want to go there. His story was that he lost his cool while DJing a wedding on the weekend. A woman kept pestering him to play a song he’d already played. When she became irate and shouty he spit on her.

    Her friends called the police, who charged him with assault. Spitting on someone is a criminal offense. It’s also disgusting and degrading. Now he was dealing with the legal consequences, something he was taking responsibility for on his own.

    My brain said, “This breakup is for the best,” while my body processed the rejection as a bereavement. Our fun concert dates, record shopping field trips, and song sharing were over. He was gone, and so was the hopeful promise of our budding relationship. The indulgent illusion and fantasy of early-stage dating evaporated in an instant.

    Alone on my sofa I wrapped myself in a fuzzy blanket, sipped wine, and watched a movie. I don’t remember which one. I was numb. But after that my rejection coping veered off the usual script.

    The Old Post-Rejection Story

    There’s a standard RomCom break-up montage—you know the one. The star of the story gets dumped then self-destructive. She gets drunk, sends the messy message she shouldn’t, wallows in her pajamas with unkempt hair, and eats pizza and ice cream until a bestie intervenes. Then she hits the gym, regains confidence, gets a new look, and is all set for a surprising meet cute with someone else.

    But what if after a rejection you could skip the self-sabotage?

    To sail through rejection, you’d have to see it as not personal, as I did with my crush. You’d also need to know it’s not perfect by perceiving people and situations as flawed, the way things really are. And you’d need to accept that nothing’s permanent and not be attached to outcomes. You would go in and out of relationships like a graceful butterfly, with no ego, expectations, fantasy, or old baggage.

    In other words, you’d be a learned Buddhist, or Eckhart Tolle. I don’t know about you, but I’m nowhere near there yet in my conscious evolution.

    But there’s another way to process rejection as an adult that also sidesteps the hapless drunken humiliation and numb hiding. It’s so simple we don’t do it, or if we do, we don’t apply it enough. We have to love ourselves.

    Why Loving Ourselves Heals

    It’s taken me a long time to learn that self-love is not just cheesy sentiment. It’s more than a positive mental attitude or a meme from RuPaul’s Drag Race. Active self-love is self-soothing, and for those of us who’ve ever felt inadequately comforted, seen, heard, or understood (i.e., virtually everyone), this concept can be hard to grasp.

    I didn’t fully appreciate self-soothing until a few years after that breakup with the handsome spitter, when I moved to a new city by myself. In the lead up to the move I was so busy planning and packing I didn’t fully feel my myriad feelings. It wasn’t until I arrived and unpacked that I grieved the loss of my friendships and familiar comforts I’d grown used to. It was like I’d broken up with a whole city.

    Then, facing the pandemic on my own, without my full support network, I took a deep dive into neuroscience, reading everything I could about resilience, anxiety, and burnout. In the process I discovered Kristen Neff’s groundbreaking research on fierce self-compassion.

    I learned the reason rejections and losses are so painful is that the separation triggers all the times we’ve felt bereft before. We feel this in our bodies, which sound alarms. We typically react with fight, flight, freeze, or fawn reactions, and our minds spiral. We might blame or shame ourselves, twisting “this isn’t working,” “things change” or other impersonal reasons into harsh feelings of “I’m bad,” “I’m unworthy,” or “I’m not enough.”

    If we act with self-love and compassion instead, we acknowledge the pain and sadness we’re feeling. We comfort ourselves like we would a sobbing small child—with soothing actions that calm down our activated nervous systems.

    What We Get Wrong About Self-Love

    In adulthood our attempts at self-soothing too often numb the pain instead of healing it. We blanket ourselves in escapist binge watching or video games. We reach for another glass of wine or something stronger. Or we overwork to exhaustion. Sitting with difficult emotions we’d rather avoid is too uncomfortable and scary.

    But the worst thing we can do is to take our raw, unprocessed emotions and lash out at someone else. That’s when feelings turn into reactivity and abusive behavior, like spitting on someone or harassing them with tirades of vitriol. That’s when hurt people lose it and hurt others.

    That means the corollary is also true: the best thing we can do for ourselves, families, friends, partners, communities, and the world is to feel our feelings fully and ride them, surf-like, to shore. To do that we need to be present and aware and know how to take care of our emotions through self-soothing. That’s healing.

    Self-Love Practices That Really Work

    Self-soothing is about being in your body, not checking out or judging yourself harshly. I’m still a novice at self-soothing, but so far, the methods that work for me are:

    -Wrapping myself in a self-hug, or rubbing my upper arms

    -Breathing in quickly and then releasing a long, sigh-like exhale at least three times

    -Standing up and shaking out my hands, shoulders, arms, and legs, or dancing it out

    -Taking a moment to notice as many details as I can about where I am (colors, sounds, smells)

    -Breathing in steam from a hot cup of tea or a warm bath

    -Listening to calming music

    -Lighting a candle to watch it sparkle

    -Going for a walk

    -Doing gentle yin yoga

    When I try to think my way through rejection I either spiral into rumination or shut down. Telling someone what happened can help make sense of it and provide validation. But the only words that truly salve the sting are loving reassurances we tell ourselves, like: “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” In this way, repeating positive affirmations can help too.

    Remember It’s a Process!

    One important thing to know about self-soothing is that it takes time! In our rushed, busy-is-better culture we don’t gift ourselves with time-outs enough. That’s why we’re so often on the edge and reactive. But self-soothing in the moment we feel the first sting of rejection completes the stress cycle faster. It takes less time to heal by self-soothing than we’d normally spend ruminating, numbing, or fuming.

    And when you soothe yourself, you might see new ways to connect with others. I didn’t date the handsome spitter again, but by not taking our breakup personally I didn’t build up a wall of shame or blame against him either. We became friends and continued seeing concerts together until I moved to my new city.

    Everything changes. Along with the best, the worst things are always going to happen. Loved ones leave or die. Opportunities are fleeting. Material possessions break or fade. There’s grief in losing the familiarity of a home you once lived in, even when it’s time to move on. Remember you’ve still got yourself to live with.

    Loving yourself is a reason to keep going, find joy wherever you can, and attract more love. Loving yourself is the rescue buoy that’s always there. It’s the soft soothing comfort and calm power you’ve always longed for.

  • 5 Ways to Heal from a Highly Critical, Controlling Parent

    5 Ways to Heal from a Highly Critical, Controlling Parent

    “You’ve been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.” ~Louise Hay

    When I was growing up, it felt like nothing was good enough for my dad. And all I longed for was his acceptance and love.

    He had this temper that would blow up, and he’d blame me for how he felt. He would outright tell me his behavior was my fault. That if I’d behaved better, he wouldn’t have had an outburst.

    When he told me I wasn’t enough or worthy, I believed him. I was constantly walking on eggshells around him, trying to not annoy him, as his angry words would really hurt.

    The confusing thing about my dad was that he wasn’t like this all the time. Sometimes he was loving, affectionate, and warm, and then in a moment he would switch to cold, controlling, and cruel.

    As a child, I believed to my core that I was the problem. The only way I thought I could keep myself safe was to try and please him and be the perfect daughter.

    I became obsessed with achievement. It started first with my grades and school, and then it was getting the job he wanted me to have. Because sometimes an achievement would get me a crumb of love from him. I would push myself as a child, forsaking rest and hydration at times, so he would see how hard I’d worked.

    But it was never enough for him. He would lose his temper on the one day that I was taking a break, telling me that I would never amount to anything.

    He would even tell other people how awful his family was when he was drunk. It was beyond humiliating.

    Now, at forty-one, these memories with my dad are in the past, but they still haunt me. He has since passed—he took his life fifteen years ago. Turns out my dad wasn’t okay and was struggling with the impact of his own childhood trauma.

    But rather than seeking help, he took it out on his family and himself through addiction and, ultimately, his suicide.

    His controlling, critical voice still lives in my subconscious mind. It’s his voice that tells me to work harder or that I am not good enough, or questions, “Who do you think you are?”

    Even though I consciously know now, as a trauma transformation coach, that his behavior was due to his pain and his words were not the truth, the younger parts of me still believe him. Because those younger parts still feel blamed, shamed, and not enough.

    After his passing, I found myself in relationships where others would criticize, control, and deny my reality, and found myself powerless again, just as I’d felt as a little girl.

    But by investing in various safe spaces, like support groups, therapy, and coaching, I have been able to step away from these relationships or maintain boundaries so that my younger self is no longer triggered by the pain of the past. This has created space for kinder, more loving relationships to come in.

    However, more recently I noticed that even though I’d stepped away from toxic relationships, I had become him to myself. I would speak to myself critically and put myself down. Nothing was good enough, and I would push myself to achieve at any cost, going through cycles of overworking and burnout.

    I would push myself to have the ‘perfect body’ with extreme exercise and diet. But then my inner rebel would push back and sabotage the diet and my health through emotional eating.

    Constantly pushing myself to be better, I realized, unconsciously, I was still chasing his love. His acceptance even though he wasn’t here.

    I had become the controlling critical parent to myself. It was time for me to become the parent I’d longed for and not the parent I’d had.

    Here are the five practices that are helping me to heal from my controlling, critical parent—practices that could help you too.

    1. I ask myself: Am I being kind to myself?

    I have created a pattern interrupter by asking myself, at least three times a day, if I am being kind to myself and, if not, how I can be. I notice my behaviors and inner dialogue and explore how I can shift into kindness.

    For example, if I don’t sleep well, is it kind to push myself with a cardio workout and long day of work, or would it be better to go for a walk in nature and take a slower pace?

    Or, if I am speaking to myself without self-compassion, is there a more loving way to communicate with myself rather than being nasty?

    Each day I make a conscious choice to step into that kind energy. I treat myself how I wish he had treated me.

    2. I celebrate myself weekly.

    Each Sunday, I reflect on what I am proud of and celebrate myself, even if I’ve done something small, like being consistently kind to myself. I become the cheerleading parent I longed for, and this builds self-esteem.

    3. I use affirmations.

    I affirm throughout the day that I am safe and enough. That I don’t have to prove my worth or people-please. I can just be me. This helps soothe the critical voice that goes into past fear stories.

    I use affirmations to say I love and care for myself. That I am my biggest priority.

    4. I listen to my body and choose to take care of it.

    Instead of pushing myself physically, I ask myself: How should I nourish myself? Or how should I move my body? What shouldn’t I put into it out of love? I check in with myself if I need rest or if a certain relationship or situation is causing me physical and mental stress. I speak kindly about my body rather than shaming it for not being enough.

    5. I reparent the parts of me that are in pain from the past.

    My dad will always be part of my story. I can’t change the past, but I can take care of the different parts of me that were hurt. I can show those parts kindness and love through reparenting and inner-child work.

    My favorite practice is going back in time to visit my younger self. I give her a hug, ask her how she feels, and then do whatever I can to fulfill her needs. I soothe the hurting parts of her rather than getting her to perform and achieve.

    Some days my old behaviors come out, but I use the question “Am I being kind to myself?” to get myself back on track. I also practice self-compassion and forgiveness, as I would never say the things I have said to myself to others.

    —

    If you can relate to what I wrote because you had a similar parent, step into being the parent you wished for yourself. Because a happy, loved, affirmed child is better able to live a happy, healthy life than a bullied child that hates herself. Give yourself the gift of love and kindness and watch your story transform.

  • How Grieving My Parents’ Divorce (20 Years Later) Changed Me for the Better

    How Grieving My Parents’ Divorce (20 Years Later) Changed Me for the Better

    “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” ~Zora Neale Hurston

    At the age of thirteen, my childhood as I knew it came to an end. My parents sat my brother and me down at the kitchen table and told us they were getting a divorce. In that moment, I could acutely feel the pain of losing the only family unit I knew.

    Although my teenage self was devastated by this news, it would take another twenty years for me to realize the full extent of what I had lost. And to acknowledge that I had never fully grieved this loss.

    While divorce is so common in the United States, it is not a benign experience for children or adolescents. In fact, divorce is even considered a type of adverse childhood experience, or childhood trauma, that can have long-term behavioral, health, and income consequences. Children of divorced families have an increased risk of developing psychological disorders, attaining lower levels of education, and experiencing relationship difficulties.

    However, not all divorce is equal and will impact children in the same way. And if the children still feel loved, protected, and supported by the parents following the divorce, this can act as a buffer against long-term harm.

    But in many cases following a divorce, parents are not in an emotional or financial state to continue meeting the children’s needs at the same level as prior to the divorce. In these circumstances, children are less likely to receive the emotional support needed to properly grieve—which is what I personally experienced.

    After receiving news that my parents were planning to divorce, I did begin the grieving process. I was in denial that they would actually go through with it. Then I felt anger that they were uprooting my entire world. And then after the anger settled, I remember pleading with them for weeks to stay together. But I think I got stuck somewhere in the stage of depression, never being able to fully reach acceptance.

    Then, twenty years later, after a series of stressful life events, I realized how much the divorce of my parents still impacted me—and how I still had grieving to do. So, at thirty-two years old, I faced a childhood head-on that I had spent my entire adult life attempting to avoid. And I gave myself everything that the thirteen-year-old me had needed twenty years ago but had never received.

    I gained social support through my husband, friends, and therapist. I showed myself compassion. And after two decades, I finally gave myself permission to grieve the childhood and family of origin that I never had and never will.

    I believe the reason that divorce can be so harmful for children is because there is a prevalent belief that children are resilient and they’ll always bounce back. When provided the right support and care, this may be true. However, children don’t have the emotional maturity to manage their emotions on their own when experiencing such an intense loss. This is particularly true when the divorce precipitates or is accompanied by other types of adverse childhood experiences.

    Since divorce can oftentimes lead to intense upheaval and disruption in the family structure, this makes children more susceptible to other types of trauma. Financial difficulties, abuse from stepparents, or a parent suddenly becoming absent can all amplify an already distressing situation for a child. And since children are programmed to rely on their parents for survival, what may seem like a mildly stressful incident for an adult could feel life-threatening for a child.

    I never fully grieved and accepted my parents’ divorce because I lacked the social support I needed to do so. And since the breakdown of the family also led to a breakdown in parenting, I was focused on survival, not grieving. However, it took me many years to realize that my parents were also focused on survival, which can take precedence over ensuring your children are prepared for adulthood. 

    I know my parents did the best they could with the tools they had at the time. But it has been difficult to understand why a parent wouldn’t do everything in their power to shield their child from trauma.

    I was not old enough to understand that it was mental illness and substance abuse that caused a parent’s partner to go into violent rages. My parents had to pretend everything was normal for their own survival—all while neglecting to consider the long-term impacts of trauma during such formative, developmental years.

    To avoid the instability and chaos of the post-divorce homes, from the age of fourteen, I bounced around living from friend’s house to friend’s house. And by the age of sixteen, I had left school and was working nearly full-time in restaurants.

    I didn’t have any plans for my life, but working gave me a sense of safety and an alternate identity. No one had to know that I was a teenager from a broken home living in a trailer park. They only cared that I came in on time and did the job.

    Looking back, it’s clear that my desire to leave school and work was very much a means to gain some control over my chaotic and troubled home life. I felt as though I had to support and protect myself because I had no one to fall back on. And this has been a consistent feeling throughout my life.

    When I began the process of grieving my parents’ divorce as an adult, I realized how many of my beliefs about the world and myself were connected to the aftermath of this traumatic experience.

    My early years instilled beliefs in me that the world is not a safe place—and that I’m not worthy of safety or protection. And it was through the process of grieving that I realized that the thirteen-year-old girl that feared for her safety was still inside me wanting to be heard and comforted.

    I wanted to tell her that she had nothing to fear. But that wouldn’t be the truth. Because the decade following the divorce would be filled with intense distress and tumult. And she would be expected to endure challenges beyond her years.

    While I couldn’t tell her that she would have nothing to fear, I could tell her that she would get through it with courage. And she would become an adult with the ability to love, and a devotion to the health and preservation of her own marriage. And that she would put herself through college and grad school and have a professional career and travel the world.

    I could tell her that some stressful life experiences in her early thirties would open up wounds that she had kept closed for decades. But that she would be strong enough to constructively deal with her past and accept the loss of a childhood cut too short. And that through this journey, she would learn to forgive and show compassion—to herself and to others.

    Grieving my parents’ divorce changed me. I’m no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I’m no longer blaming myself for a truncated childhood. I’m also learning that the world is not as scary and unpredictable as I’ve spent my entire adult life thinking it was.

    I’ve discovered that while there was a point in my young life when I experienced hardships that exceeded my ability to cope, I now have all the tools I need inside of me. And I know that it is possible to reach a point in life where you are no longer focused on surviving but rather on thriving.

  • Change Made Easy: How to Get Unstuck by Doing What You’re Already Doing

    Change Made Easy: How to Get Unstuck by Doing What You’re Already Doing

    “Don’t wait for your feelings to change to take action. Take action and your feelings will change.” ~Barbara Baron

    You are stuck because you are waiting to want to do the things you know you need to do to get better. You aren’t doing the things you know you need to do because you don’t want to feel bad, but you already feel bad. You are already doing what you don’t want to do. Why not choose to do something that you don’t want to do that will actually move you forward?

    If you are waiting to want to do the things that will create change, you will remain stagnant.

    I was stuck in misery and self-hatred for most of my life. I knew there were things that would help, like diet, exercise, and therapy. I also knew that there were parts of myself that I was afraid to acknowledge or confront. Like how selfish I could be, or how poor my attitude was about almost everything, or how I felt used by men when I too was using them.

    We all have a shadow side; we all have shame and guilt. We are all perfectly imperfect. When I stopped running and trying to hide these parts of myself, from myself and others, it gave me space to heal and nurture myself. It created space for me to take one small step to take control of my mind, which then led to another step, and so on.

    What you need to start doing depends on your level of depression, misery, or disconnection with yourself and spirit.

    If you are at the point where you can’t get out of bed because you hate yourself and your life, then start with mirror work. It’s not easy for most of us to look into our own eyes in the mirror. We have to face ourselves instead of focusing on other people, and this can bring up a lot of self-judgment. But over time, as we say loving words to ourselves, it becomes easier to challenge that judgment.

    Start with something simple. Simply place your hand on your heart and tell yourself, “I am trying to love you.” “I want to learn to love you.” “I love you.” Repeat this over and over.

    If you need a friend to come over to pull you out of the bed, then call and ask a friend.

    It might feel like you’re the only one struggling, and you might fear that asking for help means you’re weak, inferior, or a burden. But no one has it altogether. And people want to help, but we often don’t know how or what to do. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s brave and takes courage to ask for help. Give yourself props for having the courage to ask for help.

    Creating a better life for yourself does not require you to make big changes all at once. Consistently doing small things is what will move you forward. But you might even resist the small things.

    Let’s say a friend suggests you try painting, journaling, going for a walk in nature, meditating, or stretching. More than likely, you’ll say, “I don’t want to.” More than likely, you have received this advice before. I would pick the suggestion you have heard most frequently or the one you feel the most resistant to.

    Let’s use painting, for example. Your knee-jerk reaction might be to say, “I am not an artist” or “I am not creative.” That’s a lie. That is your mind trying to keep you where you are because that’s what the mind does. Even if you are in a bad spot mentally, the status quo feels comfortable to your brain. It is what your mind and body are familiar with.

    We are all creative beings with an unlimited amount of knowledge that resides within us. We have the ability to heal ourselves. To reconnect ourselves to something greater than our mind and our thinking. You have that power within you, but you have to take a different approach to what you are already doing, and that means doing what you don’t want to do.

    Ask yourself: What is the smallest step, the smallest thing that I don’t want to do, that will move me forward?

    For me, it was committing to three minutes of daily meditation, which I knew was an achievable goal. I found that once I got into the practice, I usually ended up spending more than three minutes. In the beginning, I often felt uncomfortable and restless, but after a couple months I started to really enjoy it. Sometimes my heart feels expanded, my mind has only positive thoughts, and it feels like pure bliss.

    I now spend ten to twenty minutes a day in meditation. Once that became a habit, I added to it.

    Meditation has helped me pause and get curious about my thoughts instead of getting carried away with them.

    For example, let’s say I have the thought “OMG, he has not called me in two days. He must not like me. I suck. No one is ever going to choose me. I am so boring. Maybe I should text him. Wait, no, don’t text him…”

    Mediation has given me the ability to hear the first thought—“OMG, he has not called me in two days”—and stop it right there.

    I learned, with consistent practice, to pause and change the course of my thoughts.

    So now my internal dialogue would sound like “He is probably busy, but if he doesn’t like me, that’s okay too because I like me. What is something I can do in this moment that will bring me joy?”

    Mediation has also helped me create space for hidden parts of myself to come forward and for creative ideas to surface. You see, we can only have one thought at a time. If you are constantly ruminating, having negative, judgmental thoughts about yourself or others, there is no space for creative, loving, supportive, healing thoughts to come through.

    I have been on the road to recovery and healing from trauma for years. There were times when I felt frustrated and would spiral back down, but by making things I don’t want to do habits, I’ve changed my life. All by committing to taking simple, small steps.

    Commit to one tiny thing that you don’t want to do, that you can do every day, for a hundred days, and see what happens. Be prepared to have your mind blown.

  • If You Stuff Your Emotions Down: You Gotta Feel It to Heal It

    If You Stuff Your Emotions Down: You Gotta Feel It to Heal It

    “Sit with it. Sit with it. Sit with it. Sit with it. Even though you want to run. Even when it’s heavy and difficult. Even though you’re not quite sure of the way through. Healing happens by feeling.” ~Dr. Rebecca Ray

    I’ve spent much of my life resisting my true feelings.

    Anger made me feel wrong. Sadness made me feel weak. Neediness made me feel “girly.” Love made me feel scared.

    I became an expert at hiding when I was feeling any of the above.

    Some people numb their feelings with alcohol, drugs, shopping, or sex. I numb with control. Being in control. Exerting control. Maintaining iron-will control over everything in my life, including my emotions.

    The thing about the  illusion of being in control is that it really only works for so long before emotions bubble up to the surface, erupt like a dormant volcano, and explode onto someone or something unintended. And trust me when I tell you, that ain’t pretty.

    One of the most famous quotes of every twelve-step program is: “You gotta feel it to heal it.” As someone who absolutely hated feeling anything that made me uncomfortable, this was the best advice I’d ever heard and the single most important tool I started using over the years to heal from anything in my life that was hard.

    It was in that twelve-step program for an eating disorder I had many years ago where I learned that all my ‘self-control’ tactics were an illusion.  If I would just allow myself to feel “it,” whatever “it” was, I could make peace with a lot of things, including myself.

    My mom was the role model I grew up with. Strong. Resilient. Positive and always in control. I strived to be like her. Positive and happy no matter what life threw my way.

    We were raised to not be weak, negative, or ungrateful because (we were told) somebody out there had it worse than us. The way through life was to remain positive. I mean, if she could do it, why couldn’t I?

    But I was different. More sensitive. Overly sensitive. A tad too empathetic. A chronic people-pleaser who didn’t like to rock the boat or risk anyone not liking me. When I had big feelings, I thought it best to push those feelings right down.

    Anger got me into trouble and cost me my childhood best friend. Sadness and tears (especially if, God forbid, they happened in the workplace) were “unprofessional,” I was told. And being anything but positive cramped my Supergirl vibe because people had gushed to me my entire life how “strong and resilient” I was, and I wanted to live up to their perception of me.

    But pushing down my feelings led to things that, for periods of time, wrecked my life: Depression. Anxiety. Secrets. Migraines. Illness. Chronic fatigue. Binging. Purging. Lies. And ultimately, not feeling I could be who I truly was and still be loved.

    And like every human being that walks this earth, I wanted to be able to be me and still be loved.

    So I started to do work on myself. And that work, let me tell you, was hard. But as one of my very favorite authors, Glennon Doyle, likes to say, “We can do hard things.”

    The hard thing for me was surrendering to the discomfort, the judgment of others, the judgments I had about myself, and owning the truth of who I was and how I actually felt about things.

    So I went to therapy. I signed up for yoga/meditation retreats. I dove deep into spirituality. I prayed and sat in silence for hours listening for God and then writing what I heard Him say.

    I traveled to Peru and then Costa Rica, where I was introduced to sacred plant medicine, and purged out all the feelings I didn’t realize I had been carrying for years in ceremonies that literally changed my life. Wisdom and visions guided me to make changes I don’t think I would have had the courage to make on my own.

    If you’re brave enough to step outside your comfort zone and try different things to open your heart and hold a mirror up to yourself, you’ll uncover one simple truth: You’ve got to feel whatever it is you’re running from to heal that thing for good.

    For those people who think I have it all together all the time, I want to set the record straight…

    None of us has it together all of the time. And to believe that you should, that there is anybody in this world who has “it”—whatever “it” is—together all the time, well that’s the very thing that’s causing any of us to feel sad, angry, overwhelmed, depressed, anxious, (fill in the blank with whatever emotion you think you shouldn’t be feeling today).

    I have it together most days. And others I’m completely overwhelmed.

    I’m sometimes sad for no reason at all.  But still, I allow myself to cry.

    I feel sorry for myself some days, knowing that somebody out there has it worse than me. But I no longer try to shut that feeling down. I let it come. Feel it. Let it pass.

    We all have something in our lives that makes us feel sorry for ourselves. Let’s stop declaring to the world “I’m fine” when we really aren’t and, instead, accept it’s just a feeling—and feeling anything other than fine is not admitting we’re weak or pathetic, but human.

    I get angry. And when I do, I  don’t make myself out to be a villain because of that anger. I just ask it what it’s trying to show me about myself or someone else and then I listen to it. I approach it with compassion instead of judgment. Maybe I have a right to be angry. Maybe someone is doing something hurtful, and the anger is inviting me to stand up for myself, or walk away, or learn how to set a boundary.

    Every feeling we have is trying to teach us something. I’ve learned to listen to the teacher and ask, “What are you trying to show me?”

    I’ve been through loss. Betrayal. Divorce. Depression. An eating disorder. All things that others have been through. We all have our things we need to heal from. Mine aren’t any harder or less hard than yours.

    But you can heal. You can be happy even if you’ve been through something sad. You can be you and still be loved. But you’ve gotta feel it to heal it if you want to get there.

    I’m grateful for all of my life. Not just the good stuff.

    I’m grateful for the hard things. The hard things are what have shown me who I am, what I’m made of, and pushed me to create the best life possible for myself and my children. The hard things pushed me to heal things that needed to be healed for decades.

    If sharing my story encourages just one person to find the courage to do the hard things to help them heal… well then, the hard things, in my opinion, have been totally worth it.

  • How I Reframed Letting Go So I Could Move on from My Painful Past

    How I Reframed Letting Go So I Could Move on from My Painful Past

    We are truly free when we let go of the thought that the past could or should have been any different than it was. This is so hard.

    The challenge is born from our desperate need to validate our feelings and experiences. It often feels like we are invalidating ourselves if we let go of the thought that the past should have been different. We have been through hell, experienced things most people don’t know about, and it initially feels so devastating to think of just letting it go like it never happened. Where is the justice in that?

    I know; I have been there. Honestly, I still have moments where I pick up this thought and carry it around for a while because it just feels like the right thing to do. To honor myself and my experiences, I have to stay connected to the injustice of the choices that others have made—choices that dramatically impacted my life and created immense amounts of pain.

    After almost nineteen years of marriage, my husband, my high school sweetheart, told me that he was gay and had never been attracted to me.

    I promise; I know pain. I spent weeks wrestling with myself, trying to think of all the things that could have happened, or maybe should have happened, to avoid the situation that was causing me so much pain.

    Things like wishing I had paid attention to the red flags when we were dating, listening to my therapists over the years when they tried to get me to work on the issues between my husband and me, wishing I had never met him or he had been honest with me (which would have been the best for both of us, as I’m sure the lying hurt him as well). So many things I wish I could change. It seemed insurmountable at times.

    For months I didn’t even want to consider accepting my reality. This felt like the most invalidating thing I could do. The rejection I experienced over the course of my marriage is not something I would wish on anyone.

    Was I surprised when my ex-husband told me he was gay? This is hard to answer. I knew something was wrong. I knew I felt crazy and invisible and ugly. The number of nights I went to bed in tears over being invisible to the man I married was too many to count.

    Now that I finally get to live in truth, how do I move forward? There is a twenty-year mountain of grief I am stuck carrying. I personally find this reality the worst: other people’s choices can cut us to the core. Others can hurt us, and the only way to live a healthy, fulfilling life is to be connected to other people.

    I can’t tell you the countless nights this reality has kept me awake. I want more than anything to live on an island all by myself. For years I convinced myself I could be fully self-sufficient. I will earn my own money and take care of my own needs. I don’t want anything to do with being close enough to people for them to lie, cheat, and hurt me again. I wish this worked. I wish there were a way, but I am here to tell you there is not.

    You can go that route; believe me, I have tried. It only brings more emptiness and pain. The truth is, we are hardwired for connection. We are mammals. We have to have others to survive. Those who are thriving have deep, meaningful, loving relationships. They feel the greatest highs and the pain of the deepest lows when someone breaks trust. This is the human experience. Unfortunately, some of us have experienced deeper levels of pain, but what I know for sure is that we are all capable of healing.

    I have had to reframe what letting go means. It will never mean that my ex-husband’s choices were okay. I will never say the pain was worth it or not that bad. Living in a catfished relationship for twenty years will never be okay. There will always be days I feel the pain and grieve the past. Thankfully, those days are getting further apart, but they definitely still happen.

    Letting go is feeling the grief of my reality so I can accept what I cannot change. I cannot change his lies. I cannot change my choices to believe them. I cannot change that I abandoned myself and my needs for the sake of him and our kids. I cannot change any of that.

    I can feel the deep, tormenting pain and grieve that pain until it stops tormenting me. When I allow myself to feel, to sit in those feelings for as long as I need to, I validate myself. I am not waiting on the day when he or anyone else validates my experience.

    No one will ever know the true depth of our pain. The days we sat in our closets and wept or cried ourselves quietly to sleep. We can validate that for ourselves, though. We can share our stories so others know they are not alone in their pain.

    I know many of you reading this know my pain. Your story might be different, but your pain is not. If you feel stuck in moving forward, please know that the greatest gift you can give yourself is to fully feel all your feelings. “Go there,” as they say.

    You don’t need to do it alone. Allow a therapist, mentor, or trusted friend to sit with you while you feel the depths of all your feelings. There is freedom on the other side. I promise. It is not perfect; my grief is not forever gone, but I am free. I am free of his choices, and I am free to create a life I didn’t know I could dream for myself while I was still tied in his web.

    The work is scary, hard, and only for the courageous and brave. There are so many people who are here to cheer you on and stand beside you while you do the work. Be brave and start the journey of letting go. You are worth it.

    —

    I recently heard someone say that compassion is the intersection of love and suffering. I feel like I carried suffering around for so long, and I know that my ex has too. My ability to truly let go and be free came when I was able to also see my ex’s suffering and lovingly let him go.

    I met him with compassion. It wasn’t easy. Compassion didn’t come quickly, and some days it is still hard. We were both raised in a culture that valued being good and loyal over happy and seen.

    Our tragic story is the product of valuing rules and goodness over love, happiness, and self expression. I know we are not the first generation to suffer from this mindset, but I pray we are the last.

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

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

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

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

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

    So, let me start with the backstory.

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

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

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

    Needless to say, I was devastated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • 10 Ways to Calm Anxious Thoughts and Soothe Your Nervous System

    10 Ways to Calm Anxious Thoughts and Soothe Your Nervous System

    “Everything you want is on the other side of fear.” ~Jack Canfield

    Freezing in fear is something I have done since I was a child.

    My first home was an unsafe one, living with my alcoholic granddad. Once upon a time, I didn’t know life without fear.

    I learned young to scan for danger. How were everyone’s moods? Were the adults okay today? I would freeze and be still and quiet in an attempt to keep myself safe and control an eruption.

    Unknown to me, between the ages of conception and seven years old, my nervous system was being programmed. The house I grew up in was shaping how safe I felt in my body.

    Living in a house with domestic abuse and alcoholism and losing my beautiful grandmother, who cared for me at five, was enough to make that foundation within me shaky.

    I learned to be on high alert, scanning for danger always, and became incredibly hypervigilant and super sensitive to the moods of others.

    Sometimes this superpower of mine kept me safe as a child. My dad wouldn’t always lose his temper if I was quiet enough. My mum would be available to me if I sensed her mood and provided her with comfort.

    As I grew, this superpower of mine caused me issues.

    I would worry all of the time about the thousand different ways something could go wrong.

    I couldn’t enjoy the moment and what I had right now, as my brain would be scanning for the next problem.

    I couldn’t sleep.

    My anxiety was like this monster in my mind, consumed by all the what-if scenarios, and as a result, I just couldn’t move forward.

    Life didn’t feel safe. Even though I no longer lived in an unsafe environment, my body and my brain were still there.

    This anxiety stopped me from applying for new jobs, challenging myself, dating, healing from the past, changing, and growing.

    I would be frozen by the fear of all that could go wrong. I felt stuck, frustrated with myself, and full of self-hate for living a life that made me miserable.

    The penny dropped one day. I finally realized that this fear was all in my head—99% of the things I worried about didn’t manifest into reality. My anxious thoughts didn’t make anything any better, but they were ruining what I had right now.

    Here are the ten steps that have helped reduce anxiety, fear, and overwhelm and help foster a life of happiness.

    1. Give that anxious, worrying voice in your head a name.

    This creates separation between you and the voice. You are not your thoughts. This is a voice from your ego concerned with survival, and you have the choice to listen or choose a more empowering thought. However, this voice could be sensing real danger, so listen to see if it is a risk to you right now or a potential risk that could happen.

    If real, then of course take action after some deep breaths. Otherwise, continue with the steps.

    2. The minute you hear the voice, recognize it is a sign that your nervous system is dysregulated and moving into fight-or-flight mode.

    Then choose to pause and take a few deep breaths. Coherent breathing can help calm down this response. This means take deep breaths in through your nose, inflating your belly for five seconds, and exhale while deflating your belly for five.

    3. Create a list of tools you can use when your mind and body are about to go down the what-if train.

    This might mean lying on the grass, dancing to your favorite song, EFT (emotional freedom technique) tapping, doing a yoga pose, or journaling to discharge fear. The minute you notice the voice, do something off the list.

    4. Repeat a mantra to calm your nervous system.

    Find a statement that helps calm you down and repeat it when the anxiety voice is back. My favorite is “If X happens, then I will deal with it.”

    5. Get in the present moment.

    What can you hear? What can you see? What can you smell? What can you feel? I like to get outside when I do this. Feel my feet on the grass and take in the moment.

    6. Place your hand on your heart and remind yourself you are safe.

    It probably doesn’t feel that way. But feelings aren’t facts, and your thoughts can only hurt you if you let them.

    7. Notice if you have moved into a freeze state.

    When we first start to worry, our nervous systems go into fight-or-flight mode, and adrenaline and stress hormones pump into our bodies. Then when it all feels too much, we freeze. We’re literally not able to do anything and go into despair.

    You can find the tools that work for you to move from freeze and slowly back up to fight or flight and then up to your calm state. It is a ladder with freeze at the bottom and calm at the top. (It’s called the polyvagal ladder.)

    You can split the list in point three into what helps you through freeze and what helps you out of fight/flight. A great way out of freezing is movement. Even five minutes of jumping jacks will get those stress hormones pumping. Then do something to calm you down, like deep breathing.

    8. Choose to trash the thought.

    Is this something that is a worry for another day? Imagine putting it in a trash bin. Or you can even write it down and put it in the bin physically.

    9. Start to notice your mental state throughout the day.

    Are you calm or triggered by worry? Are you frozen? Or is your heart pumping so your stress response is turned on and you are in fight-or-flight mode? What tool can bring you back to calm or move you up the ladder?

    10. Write what you are grateful for in this moment.

    Noticing what’s going well right now can disarm fear.

    Slowly, these steps can help you to regulate, discharge fear, and allow your nervous system to heal. You may not have been safe as a child, but you have the power to feel safe now.

    You have the power to change your circumstances and remove triggers that are recreating that feeling of unsafety.

    Your fear in your body could be very real and giving you information that maybe a particular relationship, job, or environment is not safe for you. Take notice and make baby steps to create a life that makes you feel safe, as this is the foundation for happiness. Give yourself what you longed for as a child.

    Yes, hypervigilance may be something that got programmed into your nervous system young to help you survive, but you don’t have to let it hold you back now.

    Changing, growing, and healing can feel scary and unsafe, but as you take those baby steps to create a healthier you, your confidence and self-esteem will grow. Your brain will get new evidence that you are safe, and those worrying thoughts will slowly disappear. A new worry may come, but then you can just repeat the process.

    These steps helped me stop living life small and in fear and allowed me to go after my big dreams—finding love, progressing in my career, and even buying a house.

    Anxious thoughts no longer hold me back. I just watch them with curiosity and know the steps I need to take to move through them. I took back the power I lost as a child, and I know you can too!

  • You Can Be the Cycle Breaker: 9 Ways to Heal After Childhood Trauma

    You Can Be the Cycle Breaker: 9 Ways to Heal After Childhood Trauma

    “It’s up to us to break generational curses. When they say, ‘It runs in the family,’ you tell them, ‘This is where it runs out.’” ~Unknown

    I never even knew what I experienced was trauma. It was my normal. I was born into a world where I had to walk on eggshells, always on high alert for danger.

    I held my breath and always did my best to be good and to not cause an eruption of my dad’s temper. He literally controlled my every move through fear. I agreed to anything just to feel safe and to please him.

    I grew up with the example from my mum and my grandmothers that women were submissive to men. That men could do whatever; get drunk, not pay bills, blame, shame, and abuse their wives, and they would stay no matter what.

    They would allow their children to be hurt, as men were on this pedestal. I didn’t grow up in a violent home, but there was always the threat of it.

    It was the words that really haunted me for decades. They diminished my self-worth and self-esteem.

    I was terrified of men as a result. I unconsciously stayed single as an adult because the belief I had deep within my unconscious mind was that men were not safe.

    Any men I met reconfirmed that belief. I was determined that I wouldn’t bring children into a home like the one I grew up in. But I was not attracted to healthy men, so staying single kept me safe.

    This belief and my need for safety kept me very lonely. I just didn’t trust myself to not repeat the cycle I grew up watching. Especially since any men I was drawn to had some subtle abusive tendencies or emotional unavailability like my dad.

    I so wanted to be loved, but I was scared. So I began to take baby steps to become the cycle breaker in my family. My dream was to have a family, but I wanted a home that was safe and nourishing, with no tolerance for abuse.

    But I had no idea what that was. It was normal for me to experience the silent treatment or verbal abuse if I didn’t do as Dad wanted. He would be loving at times, giving me a crumb of love if I performed as he wanted.

    A crumb of love was normal for me. Having no boundaries and getting walked all over and treated badly was normal for me. I had to go on a healing journey to heal the wounds of the past and discover what normal and healthy actually was, as I had no idea.

    Here are my top tips for becoming a cycle breaker.

    1. Understand the generational trauma in your story.

    As small children we blame ourselves for how we are treated, but there are many reasons why our parents behave the way they do. It’s not our fault.

    Look at each parent and grandparent and review what traumas, big and small, they experienced. Look at the country your family is from to understand the bigger traumas your grandparents experienced like wars, poverty, political issues, etc. What happened in each person’s life to make them feel unsafe?

    It’s likely that your parents and grandparents didn’t seek help and therefore remained stuck in survival mode. This is the place in which you were born and brought up.

    This exercise helps you to understand their story. You don’t have to forgive them if you don’t want to because you deserved way better. But they brought you up the only way they knew how. They didn’t know how to regulate their nervous systems and take care of themselves, and that is what they taught you.

    2. Reparent your inner child.

    Take a close look at what you experienced as a child from birth to age seven. These are the years when your brain and nervous system were being developed. Your brain was taking in information on what was a perceived ‘threat’ and what felt unsafe.

    For example, I grew up around a lot of arguing, so raised voices overwhelm my body with fear. This is a childhood wound.

    Rather than being frozen by that fear in my adult life, I now reparent my inner child. I visualize going back in time to the memory where I felt unsafe or afraid and giving my inner child what she needed. Maybe some reassurance, validation, or love. I just let her know she is safe.

    This calms down the nervous system and helps heal wounds of the past.

    3. Review the family survival plan.

    We all have a survival program, as do our parents. For example, my dad learned to shout and control when he felt unsafe or his nervous system was dysregulated; I learned to be frozen and please in attempt to feel safe. We didn’t have any choice but to use these survival programs as children. We needed them.

    But as adults they could be causing us issues with loving ourselves, having healthy relationships, and maintaining our overall well-being.

    Take a moment and reflect on each family member’s survival programs. What is each person doing or what did they do during your childhood when emotions were triggered or that feeling of unsafety was intense?

    These behaviors are learned, not genetic! The first step is becoming aware of the behaviors that are not actually helping you to survive but are keeping you stuck.

    Examples of behaviors that are a nervous system response are:

    • Fight – control to connect and rage to feel safe e.g., narcissistic, explosive, controlling, entitled; a bully, a sociopath; demands perfection
    • Flight – perfect to connect and be safe e.g., OCD; adrenaline junkie, busy-aholic, workaholic; rushing, worrying, overachieving; compelled by perfectionism
    • Freeze – avoids connection and hides to be safe e.g., dissociative, hiding; hermit, couch potato; achievement-phobic, relationship avoidant
    • Fawn – merge with others to connect and grovel to be safe e.g., codependent, slave, doormat, domestic violence victim, parentified child, little adult, people-pleaser, relationship addict

    4. Work on behavior change.

    Once we’re aware of our unconscious toxic behaviors we can begin to take baby steps to change them. As we take small steps every day, over time, we’ll create new positive habits.

    First, we need to look at the behavior we are trying to change. For example, people-pleasing, which is a fawn nervous system response. We could introduce a new habit to pause for a half-hour before saying yes to someone. In this pause we can do something that makes us feel good and then make a decision if we authentically want to say yes instead of doing it just to please others.

    5. Get support.

    When we stop using old behaviors to numb feelings, pain from the past can rise up. When we sit and feel our feelings, they can pass in ninety seconds. But at the beginning this can feel scary and overwhelming.

    Create a support system to help you. This might include therapy, coaching, support groups, or working with a mentor. It doesn’t matter how you get support, just that it makes you feel safe. Working with people who are healing on the same journey can be helpful, as they can share tools with you.

    6. Cultivate daily practices to heal nervous system.

    This is one of the most important steps. A daily practice provides a moment in your day when your nervous system feels calm. Pick activities that make you feel safe and at ease. We are all different, so what works for one person may not work for another.

    Start small with just fifteen minutes and build as you need. You could try breathing, meditating, dancing, listening to your favorite music, journaling, repeating affirmations, or lying on the grass as examples.

    When you introduce a daily practice, you will notice what is triggering you to move you out of your calm state. Is it overworking? Or a particular relationship? When we are unconsciously moving through life we can’t tell!

    You can then start to bring in tools to help you calm your emotions when you get triggered. Maybe breathing or reparenting your inner child to get you back into balance rather than falling into old behaviors.

    7. Practice self-compassion.

    The transition from old toxic behaviors to new healthier behaviors is imperfect and bumpy. You may regress. You may get frustrated with yourself. Be kind to yourself through it all. You’re trying to unlearn generations of behaviors. Your subconscious mind does a lot of behavior automatically; it takes time to reprogram it, but slowly, you will notice you are getting there.

    Celebrate every tiny win, like “I did my breathing today,” and notice how these new behaviors make you feel.

    8. Learn to love yourself.

    When we grow up in dysfunctional families, we are desperate for external validation, as we may not have received this growing up. But all that love we want from others, we can give it to ourselves. By speaking to ourselves with kindness and love. By validating ourselves. By taking care of ourselves, mind, body, and soul.

    If you are great at loving others but not yourself, imagine your inner child and visualize yourself taking care of them. Nurture them, hold them, and show them love.

    9. Clear away beliefs that are not yours.

    We hold a lot of beliefs from our families. For example, a belief that I got from my childhood was “failure is not an option” because it was quite literally unsafe to fail! When I noticed that voice in my head a few times, I realized this was not my own but my dad’s.

    My belief is different. Failure is a part of growth and healing. This belief feels much better in my body, so I repeat this often with my hand on my heart to embed it.

    What beliefs do you hold that are not yours? What is a more empowering belief to support you and your journey? Repeat it as often as you can so it gets embedded in your subconscious mind.

    —

    No matter what you experienced in the past, you can create a different future.

    Join me and become a cycle breaker. It’s where the happiness is at.