Tiny Buddha

Tag: heal

  • I’m Not Broken, and Neither Are You

    I’m Not Broken, and Neither Are You

    “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” ~Marianne Williamson

    I used to have this secret habit of flipping through the DSM—The Diagnostic Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders—and diagnosing myself with every disorder in the book.

    Reading over the criteria for borderline personality disorder, cigarette in hand and eyes wide open, I scanned the diagnosis criteria.

    Frantic efforts to avoid abandonment? Check. Unstable and intense interpersonal relationships? Check. Unstable self-image? Check. Impulsivity that’s self-damaging? Check. Suicidal behaviour? Check. Unstable moods? Check. Chronic feelings of emptiness? Check. Inappropriate and intense anger? Check. Paranoia? Check.

    Oh my god.

    I thought that was an uncanny description of me, until I found antisocial personality disorder.

    Failure to conform to social norms? Yup. Doing things that are grounds for arrest? Regularly. Deceitfulness? Impulsivity? Failure to plan ahead? Oh yes. Irritability? Aggression? Reckless disregard for safety? Lack of remorse?

    Oh my god.

    That seemed spot-on, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compared to when I first read about post-traumatic stress disorder.

    Exposure to traumatic event? Yes. Recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive memories? Oh god, yes. Traumatic nightmares? All the time. Flashbacks? Yes. Avoidance of trauma-related stimuli? Yes! Feeling alienated from others? Persistent negative beliefs about self? Persistent negative emotions? Distorted memory and feelings of blame?

    Oh my god.

    After a few years, I added body dysmorphic disorder, substance use disorder, occasional episodes of manic disorder, and constant rotations between bulimia and EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise classified).

    Admittedly, some of those diagnoses should really have cancelled each other out, but I was more interested in collecting diagnoses like some would collect stamps than achieving medical accuracy.

    All of my self-imposed labels gave me a strange kind of soothing feeling. They affirmed something I already believed, deeply, within me: I was broken. I was in a state of disorder. There was something wrong with me.

    In my scourings, I avoided certain disorders like the plague. Anxiety, for example, and depression. Anxiety didn’t seem like a very “cool” thing to have and depression just didn’t seem plausible because I was so violently self-destructive, never stopping to rest for a moment unless I got infected with mono or West Nile meningitis (both of which actually happened).

    To an onlooker, these things might have seemed like ploys for attention or misguided attempts at impersonating Hollywood. But, truly, these self-diagnoses stayed more private than many of my tortured war stories. They were something personal. They were just for me.

    Looking back, I realize that the fuel behind my self-diagnosing was an obsessive, perpetual drive to find the answer to a question I couldn’t avoid for more than a few hours at a time: “What’s wrong with me?”

    What was wrong with me, I liked to think, was childhood-trauma-induced permanent damage that, in mixing with my apparently high IQ, had created a sort of “Dr. House” complex within me, making me irreparably and irrevocably screwed up.

    That was a nice story, but it didn’t satisfy the question. A question like “What’s wrong with me?” isn’t just some domestic house cat in the mind. It won’t sit quietly and patiently for most of the day, becoming vocal only if it isn’t fed for too long.

    No, a question like that is a wild, ferocious, insatiable beast that rips into anything and everything in its path, killing simply for the sake of the kill, feeding constantly and ceaselessly on anything that smells like nourishment.

    What was wrong with me?

    By the time I made it to age twenty-three, there were so many answers.

    What was wrong with me?

    The stretch marks all over my body. The pimples on my skin, my back. The little hair growing an inch above my nipple. The moles on my upper back. The fat all over my body.

    What was wrong with me?

    The way I blushed at the drop of a hat. The way I wouldn’t be able to stop laughing when other people did. The way I made jokes that weren’t funny to anyone but me. The way my upper lip twitched when I was nervous.

    What was wrong with me?

    How I had absolutely zero ability to be sexy or act sexy without alcohol, feeling frozen and ugly if anyone ever saw me naked. How I had flashbacks, nightmares, and hallucinations I told close to no one about. How I drank alone.

    How I just couldn’t seem to sustain happiness and, even when I tasted joy for a second, soon enough the drugs would wear off and I’d be right back where I started, wishing for a freedom I wasn’t sure was real.

    All of my happiness, for about ten years, was induced by chemicals and co-dependence. I thought what was wrong with me was that I couldn’t feel happy without buying it or begging for it. I thought I was just that kind of person. I thought it would always be that way.

    I’d love to tell you that I was afraid of being broken and damaged, afraid that past emotional trauma had rendered me dysfunctional, afraid that I was different from other people. Of course, that’s what I used to say and that’s a nice story, but I know now that it was all a big lie.

    You know what I was really terrified of?

    Deep inside of me, there was the awareness that, even if I fit every symptom in the book, I had no excuse to live half a life. Somewhere in there I knew I wasn’t really broken. I was terrified of what my responsibilities would be if I allowed myself to be, truly, whole.

    When I was an addict, a victim, a diagnosis, I had no responsibility to anyone. If your neck is severed and bleeding, you can hardly be expected to open doors for people and make the world a better place.

    Like this, I dodged the responsibility to discover my skills and talents, to serve people, to do something meaningful in the world—all by playing broken.

    Of course, it wasn’t all a giant act. I had been abused. I had been raped. I had been an addict. I had horrible body image issues. I heard voices. I hated myself. Yes, those things were “wrong,” but so is a paper cut. And your body will do its best to heal the paper cut with no further intervention from you, if you let it.

    Yes, I’d been broken, but I didn’t have to keep being broken. For fear of my own greatness, I put bandages on my wounds, letting them grow necrotic for lack of oxygen. I never wanted to get better; I just wanted to get pity, because I was too scared to ask for love. I kept myself sick for fear of my own health.

    I’ll tell you right now that my fear wasn’t unjustified. Now that I’m not playing small anymore, I have more responsibilities than I ever have. I’m trusted with people’s most painful memories, with their deepest secrets, with the chance to support them when they’re on the brink of hurting themselves or others.

    Yes, the responsibility is there, but it’s not the horror show I imagined it would be. I think the only reason I ran from it was because I was so weak from keeping myself broken that I couldn’t imagine how much energy I’d have to help people when I allowed myself to be whole.

    I couldn’t have imagined how fulfilling it is to spread love, give love, be love instead of scrounging for tiny little pieces of approval and acceptance like a thief in the night.

    From what I’ve seen of myself and of people, I believe, without condition, that no one is irreparably broken. In fact, no one is broken. Is having a paper cut broken? Of course not. From the moment you get a cut, you’re already healing.

    And that’s what I believe. I believe we’re all already healing, no matter how great our pain or how serious the offenses against us. We’re built to heal, we’re already healing, and we can all experience this amazing life process—if only we’d get out of the way.

  • Healing the Past

    Healing the Past

    Healing the Past

    Source: Simple Reminders

  • Why Positive Affirmations Don’t Always Work (and What Does)

    Why Positive Affirmations Don’t Always Work (and What Does)

    “Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.” ~Buddha

    My final exam is tomorrow.

    It’s a big one—one that covers a lot of material with a major grade component—and my body is clenched with anxiety.

    I pick up my book, flick through my notes, and scan a few scribbles. The anxiety builds like a wave. Cresting on top of that wave? Negative, self-critical thoughts.

    I’m never going to retain all this material during the exam. I won’t be able to answer the questions fast enough. I have to be a lot smarter to pass…

    I should have studied more. I’m such a loser. Everyone’s gonna think I’m such a failure.

    Fast-forward thirty minutes: I’m sitting amidst a pile of empty candy wrappers and potato chip bags, the aftermath of a stress-induced binge.

    Stuffing my face feels like the only way to numb my fear. For a few minutes, it works. Until it doesn’t.

    I move on, seeking another distraction. Flipping through a magazine? Nope. Music? No way. A walk around the block? Please.

    I decide to drown out my feelings with a few hours of TV. First up? A mid-day talk show with a motivational speaker who is supposedly going to change my life.

    “You can achieve anything you put your mind to,” the guest says.

    “Just tell yourself that you can. When you feel like you can’t do something, think positive thoughts. Use affirmations. Remember: your thoughts shape your reality.”

    Smiling broadly, she encourages her viewers to create a positive affirmation, right then, on the spot.

    I start talking out loud, trying a few affirmations on for size:

    I make beautiful eating choices.

    I have a healthy, strong body. 

    I love the way that I look.

    Saying the words, I feel better. Like, a lot better. I feel empowered, like I’ve found the “magic words” to change my life, at last.

    The happy feeling of “empowerment” continues for several days…until I get hit with a tidal wave of anxiety again.

    This time, it’s not an exam; it’s something else. My computer gets a virus and I lose a ton of crucial work. Then, all of my clothes in the laundry machine mysteriously turn blue! Minor setbacks, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough to send me running to the freezer, scarfing down three giant bowls of ice cream.

    My “positive affirmations” are no match for the overwhelming emotions that I’m feeling. The affirmations are like gentle breezes, compared with a violent storm. They just can’t fight back.

    And of course, my merciless inner critic takes the floor, once again:

    You’re so stupid, you can’t even do positive affirmations correctly. You didn’t say them properly. That’s why they didn’t work. You don’t deserve to have them work.

    Many years, tons of self-help books, and a PhD in psychology later, I finally figured out why my positive affirmations never led to permanent transformation. Because they were, essentially, lies. And lies don’t heal us.

    Only love, self-respect, and honesty can do that.

    When I used to say, “I love my gorgeous body” after an eating binge, it was a lie, because I really didn’t. That particular affirmation wasn’t going to lead to lasting change. That statement was untrue. And sooner or later, my smart lil’ mind figured it out—and angrily lashed back.

    I learned, the hard and slow way, that affirmations need to be scripted with total honesty in order for them to work.

    Like this:

    I am frustrated by my eating habits, but I am learning to treat myself with the respect I deserve. I am learning to do better. 

    I am sad about the fact that I’m still single, but I am learning how to relate with men in a more open, brave, and vulnerable way. I am learning to do better.

    I am scared about handling this big, new project, but I am learning to have confidence in my ability to achieve my goals. I am learning to do better.

    These statements aren’t “empty self-praise” or temporary “mood-boosters.”

    They’re honest, self-respecting assessments about where we’re at, what we’re learning, and what we’re capable of becoming. They are affirmations of truth—and the truth will set you free.

  • The Best Way to Help Someone Who’s Grieving (Including Yourself)

    The Best Way to Help Someone Who’s Grieving (Including Yourself)

    “Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have—life itself.” ~Walter Anderson

    Yesterday marked the second anniversary of my stepmother passing away. I still remember that day vividly; I remember going to work like it was any other day, mulling over life, and then making my journey back home from work. As I walked into my apartment building I received the call from my dad to tell me the news.

    I went inside, got changed, laid on my bed, and sobbed for hours until my flatmate came home and consoled me.

    He then so thoughtfully drove me over to my sister’s place, as he knew I needed to be with my family, and still to this day I am in gratitude to him, as I was in shock and didn’t know what I needed at that point in time.

    The topic of grief is very close to my heart for a few reasons, partly because my family and I experienced grief in so many different forms over the past two years, because I am still in the process of grieving the loss of a relationship, and also because I don’t think it is talked about openly often enough.

    Grief is looked at as this icky, foreign, forbidden feeling when it is a perfectly normal part of life, and something that almost every person has or will experience in this lifetime.

    While different people experience grief in different ways, there are universal themes that we can all relate to, such as the feeling of loss, hurt, and anger; and I am passionate about people feeling and being supported through the grieving process.

    Yesterday I watched a beautiful video on dealing with grief, and the parts that resonated with me the most were around the concept of dealing with and accepting grief, and also how to be there for someone who is grieving.

    When someone experiences grief, whether through the death of someone, or the loss of a relationship, job, or pet, there is no such thing as dealing with it or coming to terms with it.

    The reality is, we actually don’t ever fully accept it or come to terms with it because we feel that if we accept it, that makes it okay.        

    Sometimes we portray to the outside world that we are okay, happy, and dealing with it just fine when, in fact, we might not be. The world wants to see that we are doing okay and getting our “mojo” back because if we’re okay, that makes everybody else feel okay because they don’t have to see us in pain. And ah, the sigh of relief they can breathe.

    Flowing on from this is the topic of how we can help someone who is grieving.

    When someone we know is grieving, our natural human instinct is to try to cheer them up because we don’t want to see our nearest and dearest in pain.

    However, in essence, what we are actually doing is invalidating how that person feels (unintentionally) because we want them to feel better.

    I know from recent personal experience there have been times when I have wanted, needed to talk about my grief to friends and family but have felt forced to suppress it because of the discomfort it may extend onto other people.

    It’s as though there’s a big elephant in the room, which everybody knows is there, but doesn’t feel comfortable enough to look in the eye.

    The most supportive and kindest thing we can do when we know someone who is grieving is to be with their grieving.

    So often we try to change how they are feeling, distract them from the pain, or cheer them up, but the best thing we can do, as a supporter, is to just be with them, however they show up on the day.

    Sometimes this might mean they want to see you, sometimes they might not, and other times they might want to be surrounded by as many people as possible.

    Allow it, don’t fight it, and be okay with seeing that person in pain; you are giving them the gift of healing by doing this.

    Focus on compassion, humility, and presence.

    In times of grief, I encourage you to show up as your authentic self, which in turn gives others the permission to do the same, whether we are the griever or the supporter.

    Whatever the catalyst for your grief, it absolutely must be expressed rather than supressed, whether the loss occurred yesterday, last month, or last year.

    The painful and harsh reality is that we will never get back what we had, but eventually we will form a new normal, and we form that new normal as an expanded version of ourselves.

    Allowing ourselves to go through the grieving process and express whatever emotions arise is a truly beautiful thing, because what’s on the other side of that grief is the ability to see the blessing and lesson; we begin to see the gift of this life we have been left to live and the sheer importance of making every day count.

    So, if I may, I’d like to leave you with this.

    How are you going to make today count, this moment, and this very minute?

  • 6 Secrets to Moving On From Serious Struggles

    6 Secrets to Moving On From Serious Struggles

    “Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you.” ~Unknown

    People who knew me ten years ago would probably expect me to be dead now. They wouldn’t expect me to have escaped my problems. They wouldn’t expect me to have stopped drinking, drugging, taking overdoses, and cutting my arms.

    People who knew me ten years ago saw a scared shell of a girl, terrified of her own shadow and on a mission to self-destruct. They wouldn’t expect me to have turned my life around completely. They certainly wouldn’t expect me to be sharing my story and helping others to let go of their struggles, too.

    But then those people who knew me ten years ago didn’t know that I would find the secret to moving on from my struggles. I didn’t know it back then either; I thought that there was no hope for me, and that I would never be over my woes.

    The secrets to moving on came to me slowly. It took years of suffering from anxiety and alcoholism before I found my solution, but it was worth the wait. Whatever your problems, and no matter how inescapable you think they are, the answers are always universal.

    Here are six secrets to moving on from your struggles:

    1. Draw a line.

    When you’ve decided that you’ve had enough of suffering, of tying yourself up in the same old knots and landing up in the same dead ends, draw yourself a nice mental line to mark your decision. Everything up until now was the part of the problem, and everything from now on is a learning experience.

    Use that mental page break to give yourself new courage and enthusiasm for the healing process. Leave any guilt and shame firmly in the past. Decide that no matter what happens, from now on you will do your best to break away from your negative patterns and never give up on trying.

    It’s okay to screw up, to cry sometimes, or to find it hard, as long as you never move back into that space where you’re not willing to try. Let your attitude be part of the solution to your problems; focus on living, learning, and breaking free. Take at least one extra step forward every time you stumble.

    2. Learn from others.

    When an emotional or mental problem is holding you back, don’t try to cope with it all on your own. If you’ve ended up in a sticky place or a cycle of self-sabotage, your own thought processes and feelings will have aided and abetted you. In order to get out of the hole, you must be willing to learn from other people.

    I have always found that those who have previously been down the same rabbit hole are the best people to give you advice and a helping hand. Hang onto the hope they present, learn their lessons, and see how the decisions they made have helped them to succeed in moving on.

    See the patterns in others’ successes, and look for people who live the solutions. If people appear bound by bitterness and negativity, they’re probably not the ones to help you. Look for those who are truly free of their issues—the ones who you aspire to be. There is no need to struggle alone, when others can help you through.

    3. Try everything.

    When it comes to particular problems, you may need to get specialist help to deal with them. You may feel you have tried so much, without success, to find the solutions to your issues that you will never find an answer. I know that trap; I nearly gave up, myself, on the quest to beat my anxiety disorder.

    Counseling, books, courses, pills, potions, and therapy had not provided any solutions. I had almost given up hope. I am so glad I didn’t.

    The last thing I tried was something I had never considered, and it happened to be the one method that gave me back my life. Try everything; think outside the box. The answer is only irretrievable if you stop looking for it.

    4. Let go.

    To truly move on, you must let go of blame, resentment, and anger. Realize that negative feelings are counter-productive. However justified you feel they are, it is only hurting you to hold onto them. Forgive others so that you can be free to follow a new positive path.

    Forgiving yourself is possibly the hardest part of letting go, but it’s also one of the most beneficial things you can do. Accept that you are only human, and humans make mistakes; it’s how we learn, after all. You did the best you knew how to at the time, and now you’re willing to admit it didn’t work out so well.

    Stop criticizing and chiding yourself. Talk to yourself kindly, like a patient teacher, rather than a harsh taskmaster. Unkind words will only make you feel frustrated and sad, dragging you back into that negative cycle. A warm, encouraging tone will help you get the best out of yourself.

    5. Do what works.

    It sounds so simple, but people do what doesn’t work all the time. They wish things were different, bury their heads in the sand, or use sticking plasters that will come unstuck later on. I used alcohol to numb my anxiety disorder, not taking into account the alcohol dependence, the plummeting self-esteem, and the pancreatitis that would punish me for my choice later on.

    Deal with reality to make sensible choices. Don’t allow anger, self-justification, or feelings of unfairness to stop you from doing the right thing. Sometimes the way we have to constantly battle and the things we have to do to solve our problems may feel unfair, but the alternative is staying stuck in pain and self-loathing.

    Keep your end goals in mind when making decisions. Do what works on a consistent basis and you will eventually escape from your problems, making it worth the fight. The longer you keep doing what doesn’t work, the deeper the hole you will have to dig yourself out of.

    6. Change your mind.

    The only permanent solution to our struggles is to change the mind that creates or perpetuates them. While your problems might not be of your own making, the endless suffering that comes as a result of them is down to the way you use your mind.

    It may not be your fault, but it is your responsibility to work on the way you think if you want to be free.

    My own mind-set kept me stuck for many years. It refused to acknowledge the good and was responsible for a lot of negative emotions and responses. It was only by practicing over and over to refocus my mind that my feelings, and responses to life, became more positive.

    Watch what you’re feeding your mind, as well. If you’re feeding it a diet of dross and negativity, don’t be surprised if it’s not all that helpful. Educate yourself, and surround yourself with good, supportive people.

    Your mind and attitude are ultimately the things that can keep you stuck—or end your struggles. Learn to use them wisely, and you can overcome any problem, no matter how serious it seems. Having a supportive mind makes it much easier for you to see clearly, and to be happy and content, even in a life where challenges crop up.

  • Dealing and Healing After Loss: 9 Tips to Help You Get Through the Day

    Dealing and Healing After Loss: 9 Tips to Help You Get Through the Day

    Woman Silhouette

    “Our strength grows out of our weaknesses.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

    If you don’t know where to start, start anywhere. I keep telling myself that every time I am stuck.

    Well, I’ve been a widow for year and a half, and I am twenty-four years old. Maybe that’s the way to start here.

    My husband had cancer. We tried to enjoy the time before his passing as best we could, so he would die with memories, not dreams. And I guess that the fact that he died content is quite an accomplishment in our relationship.

    But it doesn’t change anything in my sorrow. People keep telling me that I am young, I have my life ahead of me, I should forget, move on, stop mourning, take anti-depressants, and usually they add that I will find somebody else and be happy again.

    This advice makes me sad because I am struggling to live “here and now,” not in the future. I want to live every minute of my life in fulfilling way. And to be honest, I’m kind of scared of the future and I don’t have the possibility to live in the past.

    My whole life changed. There is no way to prepare for loss of the loved one. But I had to be functioning in this world, even when my soul was screaming for help.

    I didn’t let myself break down. I was wearing a mask of a strong, independent woman that deals with everything. I work, study for my master’s degree, have hobbies, and take care of my family. I seem “normal.”

    But deep down, I was broken to pieces. I still am. But that’s okay. I just build myself again like a puzzle. I see those puzzle pieces more clearly now—who my real friends are, what really matters, and what I care about in my life. I have my priorities straight and now I have to build myself up.

    I was searching in books and on the Internet, talking with my friends, other widows, and in therapy, trying to discover what I should do to get through the day more happily. I was looking for help creating peace—just for me, not for the mask I put on for others.

    Here are some tips that help me keep going and be peaceful with myself, beyond the mask.

    1. Write about your feelings.

    I keep writing in my journal about my life. I am introverted and I don’t like sharing my sadness with everyone around me. Occasionally, I let my brother-in-law read it. I write about my husband, how I miss him, and what makes me smile or cry in my day. It’s a way to organize the stuff in my head.

    When you make time to explore your feelings in writing, it’s easier to process them.

    2. Make acceptance your goal.

    Keeping a journal helped me move toward acceptance. I stopped asking, “Why him, why me, why us?” I wrote it down so many times that I lost interest in searching for an answer that I couldn’t figure out. I just accepted it. And the same thing happened with many things I repeatedly wrote down or said out loud; I just sorted them in myself and could focus on other things I had to process.

    You may not feel you can accept what happened right now, but keep it as a goal in your mind and you will slowly move toward acceptance and inner peace.

    3. Find your “flow” activity.

    Music describes how I feel and it makes me comfortable just to listen to the emotions of other people. I keep singing, too. I’m not so good, but for three or five minutes, I am myself.

    I sing the emotions with my mind, heart, and body and it makes me feel alive and whole again. It’s possible to find this state of mind in other activities—sewing, painting, cooking, composing music, or creating anything else.

    Fully immerse yourself in an activity or task that makes you feel whole.

    4. Stay physically active.

    I started jogging/running every day. I prefer night runs, where I clear my head. I never liked running, but my challenge is to put on my running shoes and go outside every day. I don’t mind the weather or if I run 600 m or 15 kilometers—it’s about me, my thoughts, and my body.

    Aside from this, I do martial arts, but yoga has also helped me to stay focused and relaxed within my body and mind.

    Exercise in the way that feels good to you. It helps in your fight against sadness and depression.

    5. Keep your balance and take care of yourself.

    Usually my life deals with extremes. To work it out, it’s about learning time-management and putting everything in balance—time for myself (relaxation, reading), for school/work, time for nourishment (keep eating properly), for exercise and hobbies, time to socialize so I don’t isolate myself (meeting friends and family, volunteer work), and time devoted to my health (doctor’s appointments, for body and mind).

    Balancing your assorted needs can have a huge impact on your life. Balance isn’t always easy, so don’t stress about it. Just keep trying.

    6. Seek uplifting information.

    I don’t watch/read bad news, or at least I try to avoid them. I look for entertainment in my low moments (videos with cats help). I also used to read books about widowhood just to know that I am “normal” in my behavior, in my feelings.

    I needed confirmation because I thought I was going crazy. Now I prefer to look for the positive instead of focusing on the depressing things in my life. I search for humanity and beauty in life and focus on my appreciation for those things.

    Nurturing a sense of gratitude can help you survive some of the sadder days.

    7. Give yourself permission not to be okay.

    I had to figure it out by myself. Nobody else could tell me. I now know that I don’t have to put on a mask, to pretend and be strong. I just have to let myself experience my feelings and accept that I am not okay. I have to let myself cry for days. I know I will always climb up again after I am done. I always find a reason to keep going.

    Sometimes we are our own worst enemy. Don’t be hard on yourself for feeling down. Give yourself a break.

    8. Keep your mind, senses, heart, and soul open.

    Every day, every minute of my “here and now” world, I try to keep open to experiences and people. I have learned how to sew on a sewing machine and do sign language. I’ve started conversations with sad strangers just because I want to cheer them up for a while.

    Little everyday tasks like these get me out of my comfort zone. And I try to be grateful for things I haven’t seen before.

    Appreciate the beauty of the ordinary, because you already know that nothing lasts forever.

    9. Let other people be there for you.

    Widowhood and grieving are not contagious, but some people act that way and distance themselves. Mostly, they just don’t know how to respond, to help, to exist nearby.

    Of all the things that have helped me, I am most thankful for people that have supported me with their presence (face-to-face, through e-mail, or on the phone). I am grateful for the ones that took me to dinner/coffee and let me talk about what I miss the most about my husband. Or just gave me a hug.

    I wish for everyone who is going through something like this somebody who understands. Who is there for you, even when you say “I am okay” but tears are falling down. You are doing okay. In your own unique way.

    Photo by mrhayata

  • Make Peace with Your Past: Find the Good and Embrace the Lessons

    Make Peace with Your Past: Find the Good and Embrace the Lessons

    “It’s not the events of our lives that shape us but our beliefs as to what those events mean.” ~Tony Robbins

    Daughter of an alcoholic. Welfare recipient. Teenage mother. Non-college attendee. Poor decision maker. Unhealthy relationship participant. Financial disaster. Evictee.

    All of these statements described me. They also propelled me into action, transforming me into an over-achieving perfectionist. Yet they still weighed me down because I felt like I had to constantly prove I was better than my past—better than the circumstances from which I came.

    It took a lot of effort.

    It took a lot of energy.

    It was a burden.

    I gained a lot of knowledge, built a tremendous skill set, and developed expertise. I was successful on the outside, but on the inside I felt like nothing more than a fraud. 

    I avoided events where the question of what college I attended may surface.

    I avoided situations that would put me in the company of highly educated people, for fear that their vocabulary would be beyond my understanding and I would appear stupid.

    I avoided conversations about any topic that I did not feel a level of expertise in discussing.

    I avoided talking about my past and my history.

    Avoidance became a whole new skill set—one that I executed with a level of mastery. At some point I began to realize this game of charades was not in alignment with my core values of honesty and integrity.

    I began to realize that the energy I was putting into creating a false image of myself was taking away my ability to live my life fully and openly.

    I began to realize that in order to move forward, I had to come to terms with my past, to extract the good, to carry forward the lessons learned, but to leave behind the all of the garbage I’d outgrown.

    Good like…

    The kindness and generosity shown by to me strangers, neighbors, family, and friends when I was in the greatest need. The people who cheered me on and believed in me when I did not believe in myself. The few who knew my biggest, darkest secrets and loved me anyway.

    Lessons like…

    Understanding that no matter how much you want something for someone else, the only person you have control over—that you can change—is yourself.

    Accepting the fact that when you blame other people for what is wrong with your life, nothing is ever going to get better.

    Realizing that no matter how bad a situation seems in the moment, someone else is surviving, sometimes even thriving, in much more difficult circumstances.

    And also…

    What you believe about yourself and your limitations will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

    And, it doesn’t matter how “successful” you seem on the outside if you are miserable on the inside.

    When my perception shifted, so did my life. Today I embrace who I am—all of me—the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

    I am grateful for all of the experiences I’ve encountered.

    I realize that I was judging myself far more harshly that anyone else ever could.

    I let go of the belief that I had to hide from my past.

    I let go of the belief that I was “less than.”

    I let go of the belief that I was not worthy.

    I no longer pretend.

    I share openly and, in claiming my story, it not only helps me but also helps others on their journey. It gives them the courage to share their truth, to stop hiding and start living.

    Recovering perfectionist. Student of life. Woman of strength. Overcomer of obstacles. Seeker of growth. Embracer of truth. These are the descriptors I’ve added to my life story. The rich and messy truth of my past makes possible the true success of my todays.

    What beliefs are you clinging to that are holding you back? Where in your life are you feeling like a fraud? What are the tough and painful lessons that you can be grateful for today when you look through this new lens of perspective?

    Reflect. Journal. Dig deep and find the answers. It’s in this process—in your truth—that you will find true happiness, success, and self-acceptance. It’s where healing begins. It’s where you will find peace.

  • Forgiving and Letting Go When You Feel Resentful

    Forgiving and Letting Go When You Feel Resentful

    Heart

    “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” ~Mahatma Ghandi

    My childhood was in many ways a nice childhood. I feel like a complete twit to complain about it.  I know other people have gone through so much worse. I’ve read really difficult childhood stories and my heart literally bleeds for these people.

    Growing up I was shy, un-confident, and withdrawn. I treated school mostly like a prison sentence. I put my head down and tried to do my time without falling in with the wrong crowd.

    My parents were, and are, good parents. They provided financially for my brother and I really well.  We had food on the table every evening, and we lived in a nice house. I was never beaten or abused physically in any way, shape, or form. I was lucky.

    I love both my parents so much; I’d do anything for them. However, my love for my parents has led to so much confusion and turmoil inside of me. Why did they never reciprocate it?

    My parents never told me that they loved me. They never hugged me or told me that everything was going to be okay. I can’t even remember being told “well done” or “good job” for something that I did. Instead, on occasion they told me that I was “lazy, stupid, and fat.”

    It would’ve been so easy for them to comfort me occasionally and tell me that everything was going to be okay. Just two minutes of reassurance every so often and I truly feel that I would’ve been a happier kid. My quality of life would’ve been so much greater if I’d received that little bit of love.

    Every day I was scared of school. I felt sad and alone. Anything remotely social would cause my heart to race and adrenaline to fill my little body.

    At night I’d fantasize about having a girlfriend and also having conversations with girls at school. I’d dream about what I’d say to them and how cool I’d be.

    Alas, the next day I’d keep my head down and talk to no one. Every evening I’d be at home playing on my computer, in my room alone, trying to quietly distract myself. 

    Even now, after a decade of working on myself, I occasionally get feelings of fear and self-doubt. “Am I good enough?” I wonder. It has literally taken me years of meditation, self-help, and exposing myself over and over again to scary situations to heal myself.

    I’ve asked my mum several times if she loves me and she tells me “to stop being stupid.” She says that she demonstrates love and that she doesn’t believe in saying things. She demonstrates love by providing for me.

    As a boy and now, I like to receive my love verbalized and given through touch.

    I’m not writing this looking for sympathy. I actually feel a little silly sharing it. There are so many people that have had more difficult lives than me.

    I am writing this as someone who is far more confident than I once was. That being said, my life isn’t perfect.

    Overall, I’m doing great, but this is only after so much struggling, pain, and heartache.

    I definitely could be richer if I hadn’t had to spend many years of my life healing myself. I could be more successful if I’d had the confidence at a younger age to take certain opportunities. I could’ve had more friends if I was more outgoing at school, college, and university.

    My life would’ve definitely been easier without the need for me to constantly struggle against inner pain and fear.

    When things are going well, it’s easier for someone to forgive. When I’m making money and one of my books is appearing in shops it is easy to forgive. “No problem Mum! I love you anyway!”

    It’s easy for “gurus” to preach about how you should forgive when they get up on stage. Of course the guru is happy; things are going great in their life!

    In fact, they have probably rationalized that their success is because of their difficult upbringing.  How much easier is it to forgive a difficult past when you are rich and successful? It definitely takes the edge off things.

    The challenge of forgiveness, though, is when things aren’t going great—when life’s expectations aren’t being met. These are the times when forgiveness is a challenge. Truly letting go can be a lifetime goal, and it’s not easy.

    The first step to forgive is to learn about the person that has wronged you. Find out about their past.  Did their mother or father show them love? Did they feel safe growing up?

    My mum was from an orphanage and was never shown love from her adoptive parents. She was provided for and that was about it. On top of that, my mum was bullied at school because she didn’t have a real family and she was told that she was “stupid, lazy, and fat.” Sounds familiar.

    Most boy bullies were bullied themselves, either by a father or an older brother. When you look into their past and background, it will then be possible to understand that person.

    The next step is to forgive yourself and realize it wasn’t your fault. No one is born unconfident or shy. These are learned behaviors that are developed from our environment.

    It would be completely unreasonable to blame myself for anything. I felt scared and alone, and I did what any child would do, withdraw.

    The final step is to forgive the other person. With the knowledge and understanding you have acquired about the other person it should make this a bit easier.

    Wish that person well and, if possible, send them your feelings of love. Resentment and anger only hurt the person that is carrying them around. There is no benefit in holding onto these or having a victim story. Stories are pointless. Let go and live in the now.

    Finally, if you are struggling with forgiveness, remember that you can transform negative emotions into the drive to be a better person and create a better life.

    Experiencing pain makes you stronger, and being wronged by others helps you understand what you believe is right so you can better for the people around you.

    Because of your past, you have an inner drive plus emotional empathy, which allows you to be a truly amazing individual. Your painful experiences have given you gifts. Use your courage to explore them.

    And if you find you’re still struggling with forgiveness, don’t give up or lose heart, because tomorrow is always a new day.

    Photo by Nicole Abalde

  • Dealing with Pain or Abuse: You Can Let It Destroy You, Define You, Or Strengthen You

    Dealing with Pain or Abuse: You Can Let It Destroy You, Define You, Or Strengthen You

    Strength

    “When something bad happens you have three choices. You can let it define you, let it destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.” ~Unknown

    When I was twenty-four, leaving my ex was my “something bad.” It was about as bad as it could get.

    After four years of dating, I was certain marriage was right around the corner. Our lives were completely intertwined. I knew he wasn’t a great guy for me, but that didn’t matter because I truly believed I was ready to take the next step.

    One night changed everything.

    I found his drugs, confirming what I had suspected all along: his attempts at recovery were just an act. Admitting to flushing them initiated the scariest experience of my life. Immediately, he searched for his pills and destroyed my apartment when he couldn’t find them.

    When he finished looking, he came after me next, verbally and physically terrorizing me as if he had not already proven his anger. I broke free from his grip and fled, in search of help. This wasn’t our first incidence of violence, but enough was enough.

    I was tired of living alone in silent abuse.

    First, It Defined Me

    When I say that night changed everything, I mean it. Aside from the major life change, something shifted in my mind. I was no longer Akirah, but rather a single, lonely, and abused victim who would never find happiness.

    The abuse diminished my self-esteem, leaving me very little to rely on for healing. Low self-esteem made it easy for me to define myself as a victim. And I preferred it that way because doing so allowed me to remain focused on him.

    This continued for several months until I eventually grew tired of defining myself by my abuse. Unfortunately, being myself did not feel like a feasible option, as I had no clue who I was anymore.

    For four years I skipped out on traveling and making new friends because of our relationship. I never made even the tiniest decision without considering his feelings first. Recalling all the sacrifices I made for him gave me a sick feeling to my stomach.

    It was too much to think about. I needed to numb the pain.

    Then, It Destroyed Me

    My destruction occurred gradually, progressing with the help of alcohol and men. Every weekend was exactly the same routine: get dressed up, get drunk, get attention. I rarely skipped a week.

    My problem with alcohol was actually secondary to my addiction to male attention. Any hint of male validation caused a rush inside of me.

    A look was good. A smile was great. Wanting my name and number?

    Jackpot.

    I maintained an illusion of confidence because I read somewhere that men are attracted to that. But nothing else could be further from the truth. If anything, I had confidence in what I wanted and who I was trying to be, but certainly not in myself.

    After each short-lived relationship, I would think of my ex-boyfriend, wondering if I had maybe made a mistake. I knew deep down it would never be right between us. I could not imagine living my entire life being abused and controlled.

    So in order to avoid getting back together with him, I would find other men to distract me.

    Because, you know, being alone was not an acceptable option.

    I was destroyed. Yes, the abuse started it, but my refusal to heal brought me over the edge. It took one sentence during an episode of Oprah to change my perspective.

    Then It Strengthened Me

    “You have to walk through the fire of grief.”

    I did a double take.

    Fire? Grief? This advice did not sound enjoyable.

    But nothing else was working. Time was not healing my wounds; hangovers and breakups were becoming exhausting and embarrassing.

    Who was I becoming? Someone who needed to walk through the fire of grief, that’s who. So I tried it. It was terrifying at first, of course, but I tried it.

    My first order of business was crying. Can you believe I would never let myself cry? After deciding to walk through the fire of grief, I knew that needed to change. So I cried.

    Then I joined a support group for other survivors of abuse, which initiated even more crying. It felt awful talking about past violence and abuse, yet comforting to know I wasn’t alone. It was as if each tear gave me strength.

    And with that strength, I blossomed.

    I traveled across the country. I ran my first 10K. I even started wearing my hair in its natural state—my afro.

    My life was moving forward and I was choosing how. It felt wonderful. Hard. But wonderful.

    Strength Was In The Healing

    Yes, abuse is awful, but I don’t regret my experience.* I don’t regret how it temporarily destroyed me either. Because without that destruction, I would have no idea today of how strong I am.

    (Sometimes a breakdown can be the best thing to happen to a person.)

    Whether you are letting your “something bad” define you, destroy you, or strengthen you, remember this: Pursue healing.

    Rather than running away from the pain, feel it. If you’ve hit rock bottom, acknowledge it. If your “something bad” defines you, consider defining yourself as someone in healing instead.

    No matter what season you’re in, it’s never over until it’s over.

    So if you don’t feel strong right now, that’s okay. Don’t pursue strength; pursue healing. Because your strength is in your healing. And healing is wonderful.

    Hard.

    But wonderful.

    Plus, you deserve it.

    *Though my abuse was horrific, I did not marry my abuser or have children with him. Additionally, he did not seriously injure me or end my life. Too often I hear stories about others whose choice to safely leave their abusive relationships was tragically taken away from them. It is in their honor that I do the work I do. If you think you might be in an abusive relationship, I urge you to contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline for support and guidance. You are not alone. You are worth healing. 

    Photo by Hartwig HKD

  • 7 Ways to Cope With the Grief of Heartbreak

    7 Ways to Cope With the Grief of Heartbreak

    “Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” ~C.S. Lewis

    Shock. That was the first feeling. Shock and disbelief.

    This isn’t really happening. Denial.

    Look into her eyes. Slow realization. I’m not dreaming. Fear.

    Wave upon wave of torrential sadness. Messy.

    We’d been in a long-distance relationship, and as far as I was aware, everything was inutterably perfect. I was as happy as I’d ever been; I was in love.

    For months, I’d been planning to travel across the country to see her. We talked about it endlessly, fantasized about its possibilities, gazed longingly upon the shimmering sapphire-memories we were sure to make.

    It was as if we were already nostalgic for what we imagined would occur, for what we were certain would be one of the best times of our lives.

    I waited and waited, and finally, the day came. Brimming with excitement and anticipation, I boarded a plane and flew over 1,200 miles.

    Everything seemed to go wonderfully until the third day of my visit. I remember it clearly, how she looked at me with those caring eyes—irises the color of melted caramel—and told me something wasn’t right. She couldn’t explain it, but she didn’t feel the same way anymore.

    Blindsided. I could hardly fathom the truth—that our gleaming vision had been fool’s gold, our immaculate castle a house of cards.

    Perhaps I overlooked something obvious, some subtle-yet-pronounced signal. I don’t know. To this day, I’m still not entirely sure why she ended it.

    What I do know, though, is how it felt. I had invested so much of myself into ideas of a future with her that it was like a piece of my identity had been amputated. The sunlit future I’d treasured had been blacked out before my eyes in a proverbial nuclear holocaust.

    I felt purposeless, stamped out, alone.

    Thinking back now, it strikes me that all people probably experience heartbreak in relatively the same way. Maybe some feel more anger, while others feel more depression, but in general, a sudden loss is like a tsunami of confusion, regret, and sorrow.

    It’s something I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, but if you live long enough, it’s unavoidable. Chalk it up to this peculiar circus we call the human experience—sometimes gravy, sometimes gauntlet.

    I firmly believe that pain is necessary for growth, but that knowledge doesn’t always make it any less crummy when you’re neck-deep in swamp muck. You mostly just press on, search for hope, and let Father Time do as that old adage says: heal the wounds.

    And amazingly, after a while, things do improve. Eventually, you’ll be surprised to notice that you went all day without thinking about it, that you’re enjoying yourself again, that you’re no longer wallowing, that you let go. 

    But in the early stages of the healing process, day-to-day life feels about like staggering seven miles through three feet of elephant ordure.

    If you’re in that place right now, I’m writing this post for you. You’re stronger than you know. Keep going. Things will be better.

    7 Ways to Cope With the Grief of Heartbreak

    In my experience, there isn’t any magical antidote for that immediate, pressing sensation of grief, but these simple steps will make it all a bit easier to swallow.

    1. Know you’re not alone.

    When my girlfriend dumped me, I turned to the Internet to read about breakups. What I found were countless stories of people who had suffered precisely what I had. Reading those stories was therapeutic because I no longer felt so helpless or worthless.

    I felt connected to the billions of other people who’d felt equally awful. I gained respect for my ancestors and my contemporaries, for the strength of the human race. I started to have faith that I too could find the resilience to survive and reconstruct my world.

    2. Take it one day at a time.

    Or, heck, one breath at a time. One moment at a time. When I was down and defeated, I couldn’t imagine how in the world I was going to survive, let alone do all the work that I knew was coming.

    Thinking about the future was entirely overwhelming. I couldn’t do it. Instead, I just concentrated on single days.

    The present was painful, but I stayed there. I stayed with the pain as it ebbed and flowed through the days. And the days crept by, each one a small victory.

    3. Reach out.

    Internet stories can be wonderful, but it’s your loved ones who will be a godsend in times of grief. Don’t hesitate to contact your friends and family immediately when something tragic has occurred. This is why we’re here—for supporting one another, or as Ram Dass says, “walking each other home.”

    I remember calling my mom, dad, and several of my friends shortly after my breakup. They couldn’t make the pain go away, but they listened and said what they could.

    I knew I was cared for. I knew they were concerned. Feeling that love reminded me that I wasn’t worthless. I was still the same me.

    4. Create.

    After she told me the bad news, I felt an eruption of emotion that was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. There was just so much of it. I needed to let it out somehow, so I wrote.

    Writing was a rock, something that had been there before and was still there, something I could turn to. I wrote poetry and letters and stories. Translating the experience into art was a type of catharsis.

    It was a way to channel the energies, to release them, to cleanse myself. Whether it’s painting, singing, dancing, drawing, or sculpting, perhaps you will find solace in an art form as well.

    5. Find comfort in music.

    After the split, I remember sitting in an airport, listening to “Hailie’s Song” by Eminem, crying quietly to myself as oblivious people walked by. Sure, that’s a sad image, but it also felt good to let it out. It was part of my healing process.

    Music was another constant, something that wouldn’t let me down. I think I probably listened to every sad song I’d ever heard. It wasn’t a way to feel sorry for myself (okay, maybe a little) as much as another means of knowing I wasn’t alone.

    It was a way of feeling more poignantly the pain in the songs and lyrics of others, a way of empathizing with them and knowing they understood how I felt too.

    6. Maintain your normal routine.

    This was perhaps the hardest thing to do after what happened—return to my routine. Honestly, I felt like locking myself in a dark room with ten pounds of ice cream and sucking my thumb for the next few months. It didn’t seem possible to return to my day-to-day life.

    But I did, and after a while, I realized that it was my routine that was renewing my sense of purpose. Actually doingthings took my mind off of the hole in my chest and reminded me of my value.

    7. Believe.

    It takes a certain measure of faith to fall into a black hole of pain, grope around aimlessly for a while, and eventually emerge. My situation felt devoid of anything positive. It seemed like there was nothing to hang my hat on.

    But somewhere, deep within me, I managed to find the courage to believe that things would be better again. I believed that life would not forsake me.

    I believed I could weather the storm, and after a few months, the horizon didn’t look so bleak anymore. I began to leave the past where it was meant to be—behind me—and to find satisfaction in the present.

    Reflecting on Now and Then

    I think about her some days. I read the letters she wrote to me; sometimes a song reminds me of her, and sometimes, for no good reason at all, that face I knew so well inexplicably materializes in my mind’s eye.

    I still feel the slightest pangs of sadness, a sort of vague wistfulness for a future that never was with a person who was so dear to me. I imagine her out there somewhere, living out her sunrise-to-sunsets, and I wonder if she remembers me too.

    But then I smile, because I’m okay. I experienced the bliss of unconditional love, and it brings me joy to remember it. I’d never take it back, not for anything.

    I’m at peace now, with her and with what happened, with myself and with this moment.

    I hope she is too. I hope she’s happy and without fear, smiling that beautiful smile.

  • Learning to Love and Live Again When Life Gets Hard

    Learning to Love and Live Again When Life Gets Hard

    “The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow.” ~Unknown

    It’s when you’ve woken up with a full day ahead of you after only two hours of sleep.

    It’s when there’s nothing for you to do but sit by your friends as they deal with tragedies and all the hard stuff life throws at us.

    It’s when you don’t know how to handle the situations in your life that are anything but black and white.

    It’s when you feel utterly helpless and powerless as you watch someone you care about aching with the deep soul wounds that only come from losing the person that comprised the other half of their heart.

    It’s when your own heart feels as though it’s been crushed beyond recognition over and over again.

    It’s when your path is entirely unclear and you don’t know if the next step is solid ground or off a cliff.

    It’s when you’re not sure if the decisions you’ve made are the right ones.

    It’s when sometimes you realize they weren’t.

    It’s when it looks as though the world is irrevocably falling apart.

    It’s when it seems like people are becoming more and more disconnected, lonely, and afraid.

    It’s when you feel as though there’s no way you can even begin to help fix any of it.

    It’s when you realize that, in spite of it all, you really are smart and strong enough to make it through step by agonizingly slow step.

    It’s when you realize that just when you thought you had nothing left to give, you find you actually have everything left to give and more.

    It’s when you want to give up on it all, but find that one thing that drives you to keep going.

    It’s easy to love and give and feel happy and alive when things are going well, when we feel as though the world is our oyster. But what happens when life feels as though it’s caving in with a spirit crushing weight?

    Over the course of forty-eight hours I found out a friend died, two of the people closest to me are supporting their moms as they contend with cancer, several friends are struggling with family issues, and all the while I’m attempting to balance out fourteen hour work days as a counselor at a residential high school, but just wishing I was home to be with everyone.

    It reminds me a lot of when I was working out and training for hours on end. There would come times when I felt exhausted, burnt out, and desperately wanted to quit. But then I remembered my goal.

    I remembered that the pain and discomfort were temporary, and the strength, endurance, flexibility, and functionality I was gaining were invaluable.

    While working out seems like an insignificant comparison to major life events, the psychological training is the same. What you tell yourself in moments that seem unimportant is what reemerge when things get hard. As the quote goes, “You don’t rise to the level of your expectations, you fall to the level of your training.”

    You don’t grow when things are easy and effortless. You grow when you’re being challenged—sometimes beyond what you think you’re capable of handling.

    We carry ideas of what we think loving and living are until something comes along and redefines how we see it all. Sometimes it redefines it by making it appear as though it’s completely broken or entirely gone.

    But you know what the beautiful part of it all is?

    Just because we think something is broken doesn’t mean that it can’t be mended in some way.

    And just because we think we can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. The world around us reminds us of it all the time. Even the sun, moon, and stars silently show us that they exist even when there’s too much in the way to see them.

    It’s not easy. It’s really, really hard. In fact, sometimes it looks nearly impossible. How are we supposed to gather our scattered bits of resolve to rebuild the will to keep moving forward when all we really want to do is curl up and hide from the world?

    It’s those times we have to step aside and heal in whatever way we can, and in that time, remember (or find) what it is that keeps us going.

    It’s when we think we have no reason left to love, and sometimes when we question our very existence, that we have to allow ourselves to find and create a whole new beauty from what may have felt like (and maybe was) an end.

    As Cormac McCarthy wrote in All the Pretty Horses, “…those who have endured some misfortune will always be set apart but it is just that misfortune which is their gift and which is their strength.”

    If we are open to the lessons from our hardships, misfortunes, and tragedies, they will inevitably build within us an increasingly unshakable compassion, understanding, and love.

    Losing so much of what I’ve loved and watching as friends contend with their own losses, I’ve learned that when it seems things couldn’t be any worse, that’s when it’s most important to gather every last bit of will and heart and forge the faith to keep believing that love and life are worth every single moment.

    Even those that break our hearts.

    It’s in those moments when we have to learn how to love and live again.

    “It’s times like these you learn to live again. It’s times like these you give and give again. It’s times like these you learn to love again.” ~Foo Fighters

  • How to Find the Motivation to Change Your Life When You Don’t Feel Capable or Worthy

    How to Find the Motivation to Change Your Life When You Don’t Feel Capable or Worthy

    “Eventually you will come to realize that love heals everything, and love is all there is.” ~Gary Zukav

    Following a path of personal development isn’t easy. Oh, it’s rewarding and can be life changing, but it can also be confusing, challenging, and scary.

    What if you take the wrong path? How do you know which piece of advice is right? Can you still get the results you desperately want, even if you go against some of the assumed wisdom?

    One such piece of wisdom is that people should make changes in their lives and their behavior for themselves, not for others. That’s always been the standard advice from friends, magazines, and TV “experts.”

    But what if you don’t feel ready, worthy, or capable of making the change for yourself? What if you feel so confused and scared that you don’t know where to start?

    I formerly struggled with loving myself enough to take those initial steps toward finding a way out of my own depression and anxiety.

    Then I realized that sometimes the love we have for other people, particularly for our children, can give us the motivation to start on the journey—even when we are lacking the love to do it for ourselves.

    Like many people, I struggled with feeling like I was wrong, deficient, and “not good enough” for a long time.

    You know how for most people, those anxious teenage years full of self-doubt and awkwardness pass with the arrival of their twenties? For me, those feelings didn’t disappear. If anything, they accelerated. Feeling unsure of myself turned into something darker and more entrenched.

    I spent my twenties shuttling between depression and its twisted sister, anxiety. By the time I was twenty-seven I was exhausted by it and hospitalized for a brief spell (a “little rest,” as my mum euphemistically described it.)

    Depression had become a part of my identity. To my mind, it wasn’t a condition I experienced; it was part of who I fundamentally was: a person broken beyond repair.

    I tried counseling but found it painful and not something I was ready for. So then I tried drama instead—intense relationships with men who tried to love me better, and I them.

    I tried medication and it helped; it lifted my mood enough so I could function.

    But the thoughts and the moods just receded; they never fully went away. The depression didn’t let go; it was always on the edges, threatening to return.

    I’d sense it. There it was snapping at my heels, reminding me that all was not well: I was not well.

    And then, everything changed. Thirteen years ago I had my son. A beautiful, smiling boy, who rocked my world and kicked my self-perception off its axis.

    That’s the thing with kids—before you have them, even though people tell you about the oceans of love you will experience, you just don’t get it. But once my son was in my arms, I got it. I really, really got it.

    I loved him in a way that blew a hole in my self-loathing and everything I’d taken to be true.

    I sat with him in my arms, perfect little fingers, toes, nose, eyelashes—perfect everything. The waves of fear and love I felt took my breath away.

    A terrifying set of questions gnawed at my mind: What if I couldn’t do it? What if I couldn’t protect this perfect little being? What if I actually damaged him? What if my deficiencies, my failings, my brokenness affected him?

    I would do anything for him. He needed me to be the best I could be. I knew that I had to get better; I hadn’t had the strength to do it for myself, so if I couldn’t do it for me, I would do it for him.

    That’s what gave me the push, the kick, the boot up the backside I needed.

    I didn’t have the answers for how I was going to do it, but I certainly had a lot of questions:

    • Why do some people seem able to soar through life and others struggle?
    • How come some people can see the good in themselves but others can’t see their own strengths at all?
    • What makes people happy, and is it possible to increase how happy we are and how often?

    Answering those questions took quite a while—thirteen years and counting. Once I took my first faltering steps along that journey to find those answers, so many things opened up for me.

    I’ve had therapy, returned to learning, studied with some amazing teachers, become an NLP Master Practitioner, completed a Master’s degree in coaching, not to mention read every personal development book I could get my hands on. I’ve sucked up positive psychology research, taken up yoga, learned how to practice mindfulness, and made understanding my brain and moods a priority.

    It might have started out as a way to sort out my own head so that I could be a better mum, but it’s blossomed into something more profound. The ripple effect of the journey is immense. I teach, write, and share what I’ve learned and will continue to do it so that others can get it too.

    I know I’ve moved from a place of great darkness to huge possibility and light. The depression that snapped at my heels has gone; although I’ll always be watching out for its return, I’m confident I have the tools to deal with it if it ever does.

    Above all, I am grateful beyond words to my son and to his little sister for showing me what love really is, for showing me that I was capable of giving such love and worthy of receiving it. They unlocked the door for me to start really loving myself.

    What started out as something I did for someone else, turned out to be the most loving thing I’ve ever done, for both of us.

    It doesn’t really matter who you’re starting out on this journey for—just start it. If you do it with a desire to learn, grow and heal, and feel happier, you will get there.

    Don’t feel guilty about taking time for yourself or investing in things that will help you to get there.

    When you feel better, are kinder to yourself, and no longer spend hours a day wrestling with your own demons, you free up so much time, energy, and love to give back to those around you.

    You might feel scared. You might feel guilty for wanting to take an hour to read that book, or visit the gym, or attend that course. You might think you’re not worthy of it.

    You might feel that being a good person is about focusing all of your energy on your loved ones and ignoring yourself. But I want to tell you that’s not true. The best thing you can do for your loved ones is sorting your own stuff out.

    • Give your kids a role model of self-compassion.
    • Show your niece that it’s okay to be gawky and unsure of herself.
    • Show your dad that it’s good to take time out and take a rest when he’s feeling overwhelmed.

    Show your loved one’s a model of choosing happiness and hope over depression and despair.

    The greatest gift that we can give to those we love is to show them that they can learn, grow, and evolve—and that they are in control of that.

    I don’t care why you do it. If you can do it for yourself, that’s fantastic. But even if you’re initially doing it for someone else, you might just learn along the way that you’re worth making the change for after all.

  • Embracing Pain: Life’s Gifts Often Come Wrapped in Sandpaper

    Embracing Pain: Life’s Gifts Often Come Wrapped in Sandpaper

    “The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow.” ~Unknown

    “How did you get so wise?” My friend’s voice on the other end of the telephone line was genuinely curious.

    I took a moment to think, wanting to be just as sincere in my response as she was in her inquiry. I felt the words climb up from the depths of my heart and ride a breath of truth as they passed through my lips.

    “I cry a lot,” I finally responded.

    Believe me, I wish there was another way. On my personal journey—and there are surely others who walk a similar path—life at times sweeps me up in a wave of utter brokenness, and washes me onto new shores of beautiful transformation, grounded wisdom, and unconditional love.

    There is a longstanding slogan in Alcoholics Anonymous that pain is the touch point of all spiritual progress.

    Somehow our moments of deep despair and gut-wrenching desperation serve as evolutionary portals to a higher level of grace and resolve. The breakdown itself is the gateway to the breakthrough.

    Don’t get me wrong. I do not go chasing after anguish like an adrenaline junkie with a death wish. Just because turmoil shows up as an unexpected guest at my front door that doesn’t mean I graciously invite it in for tea and cookies.

    I avoid pain—internal and external—whenever possible. I’ve given birth to two beautiful children and both times I asked for the labor-numbing drugs. If I so much as stub my toe on the bedside table or get into an spat with my husband, I reach for my favorite quilt and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for comfort.

    I have heard there are two types of pain in the world—welcomed and unwelcomed.

    Suffering is defined as unwelcomed pain. I am beginning to understand that, like enduring labor, the more I am able to stop resisting pain’s vice-like grip and breathe through the ark—noticing its build, peak, and subsiding—the less of a hold it has on me.

    Just like birthing my babies, on the other side of the pain is the promise. Some of life’s greatest gifts come wrapped in sandpaper.

    Here are a few of the treasured insights I have received on the other side life’s tribulations. I hope they renew your strength, affirm that you are not alone, and shed a hopeful light on your dark moments.

    Pain strengthens you. 

    In order to build a muscle we lift the weight. But first there is a breaking and bleeding of the capillaries. The healing of the wound is what develops the muscle; injury precedes strength.

    Pain refines you.

    It takes pressure to make a diamond and fire to purify gold. Nothing cleanses the soul like a good cry. Tears wash away the impurities of fear and attachment and clear the channels for love to freely flow.

    Pain lightens the load.

    Growing up my mother would often say, “When you are down to nothing, life is up to something.”

    Navigating painful moments can feel like squeezing yourself through a tight corridor. There is no room for excess baggage. At the peak of agony I have learned to let go of the “stuff” in my hands—my stories, my fears, my judgments—in order to hold on for dear life.

    Pain qualifies you. 

    Nothing qualifies a person to step up to a big vision for their life like pain. When I count the cost of the rejection and disappointments endured on the journey to living my dreams, it creates a worthiness and grounded resolve that my toughest critics cannot chip away.

    Pain connects you.

    One tragedy unites people in a far deeper way than a thousand moments of laughter. Falling apart independently and collectively healing has launched powerful, life-changing movements like Mothers Against Drunk Driving (M.A.D.D.). Pain becomes purpose when it is shared.

    Like the peaks and falls on a heart monitor, the valley low moments are just as much a confirmation of life as the mountain highs. Lean into pain’s sting. Allow yourself to be placed on its potter’s wheel and transformed into all you can ever hope to be and more.

    Remember, life is never happening to you, it is always happening for you. Always.

    Photo by sue jan

  • Letting Go of Your Past Suffering to Feel Peaceful and Free

    Letting Go of Your Past Suffering to Feel Peaceful and Free

    “Letting go give us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    I stood alone in what had been my childhood bedroom, staring at the dresser with a familiar discomfort. My fingers clutched at the handle of the second drawer from the top and pulled hard, straining from the weight of its contents.

    I reached in with both hands, the drawer with its quarter inch plywood base teetering dangerously on the edge of the frame, and lifted them out, one by one.

    Unicorns, fairies, rainbows, mystical maidens, all disappeared as I placed the journals into the cardboard box I’d asked my mother to bring to me.

    She watched wordlessly as I carried it through the house and to the front door, then said simply, “I have to say, I’m not sorry to see those go.”

    In that moment, my mother was keenly aware of something that had eluded me for most of my life. And now, at the age of 28, I was ready to let go of something I had always been attached to, something that had caused me so much pain throughout all of the years I had been writing in those journals: my former self.

    Writing has always come naturally to me. As an only child and a classic introvert, I found it far less intimidating to share my thoughts with a blank sheet of paper than with another human being. 

    I began to journal actively at the age of twelve, filling page after page each night with my tales of prepubescent woe.

    I continued this practice until I was halfway through college, dedicating over a dozen spiral-bound volumes to a verbose body of work seeking to prove my hypothesis that my existence was pointless and that nobody loved me.

    My writing habit was far more destructive than therapeutic. It was much easier to validate my own negative emotions than it was to challenge my perceptions, ask others for help, or work to make meaningful changes in my life.

    The more I wrote about my problems, the more I allowed them to consume me. My suffering became my identity, and I didn’t know who I was anymore without it. 

    During high school, I sunk into depression and surrounded myself with other deeply unhappy people. For four years, we alternated between bonding over how miserable we all were and turning against each other in predictable cycles of emotional manipulation and abuse.

    Every night, I sat alone in my room committing all of the day’s events to paper. I chose to not only relive these painful experiences, but to continually remind myself of them.

    Mercifully, high school is designed to end. When it finally did, I cut off connections to my high school friends, but the shame that had allowed me to form those friendships followed me to college.

    It graduated with me, accompanied me to work every morning, and multiplied exponentially after the end of my first long-term relationship at the age of 25.

    It would take three years of therapy and endless support from the loving souls I now choose to surround myself with for me to realize just how much of my own suffering I have caused.

    For the better part of my life, I have chosen to view the world through a negative lens. I have resigned myself to feeling like a victim of my circumstances, instead of applying that energy to changing my perception of them.

    That night, I carried the box of journals home with me, ripped the pages from their bindings, and fed them to my shredder in small digestible stacks. I forced myself to avoid the temptation of rereading what I had written, and returning to the past.

    Watching the brightly colored words slowly disappear between the blades, I felt no remorse, only a deep sense of freedom. Ten years of writing filled four garbage bags, and their last measurable impact on me was the trip I had to take to the dumpster.

    It took me 28 years to release the attachment I felt to my journals, but I’d like to share what I learned from the process:

    Release the judgment you feel toward who you were in the past. 

    I no longer judge the young girl who worked so hard to define herself on the pages of those journals. I wish I could write to her now and tell her that she is loved, and that she does not have to wait for things to get better—that she already has everything she needs to be happy.

    I wish I could show her all that she has to be grateful for, and tell her that I am proud of who she is, and who she will become.

    Know that you are not betraying yourself by moving on.

    I have often been afraid to stop talking or thinking about the past experiences that caused me suffering because I mistakenly believed that they were a part of me. I have to keep reminding myself now that my desire is to live in the present, not the past.

    While those experiences—along with the ones I remember more fondly—have helped to shape who I am today, they are not my identity.

    It is unnecessary for me to feel any more guilt releasing them than I do giving away a shirt that no longer fits me. Remember that you are more than the sum of your thoughts and experiences, and that while you do not need to judge them, these are things that often tie you down from being in the present moment.

    Share the experiences that cause you shame with people you love and trust.

    I have not always found it easy to trust other people, and in the past, when I was not burying my emotions in my journals, I was putting my trust in people who did not treat it with much care or compassion.

    However, I am grateful for those experiences because they allow me to recognize that I am truly fortunate for the loving and compassionate relationships I have today. I have become friends with people who encourage me to share myself with them, who do not judge me for the things I think and feel, and who support me through the process of release.

    In a world where it is all too easy to form superficial connections, I encourage you to take the time to cultivate your real-life relationships. Focus on sharing raw, human emotions with a friend or partner, and on listening to them with all the passion you desire when you are sharing.

    In addition to helping to build trust between you, the courage you show in being open and vulnerable may allow your friend or partner to release one of their own burdens. There are very few things that are more rewarding and life affirming than being present in that way for someone you love.

    Photo by @Rayabi

  • Helping Others Helps Us All: We’re All in This Together

    Helping Others Helps Us All: We’re All in This Together

    breaching

    “Pain is not a sign of weakness, but bearing it alone is a choice to grow weak.” ~Lori Deschene

    I, like many of you I’m guessing, am a wanderer. A student of the soul. At times it can be a bewildering path. Most days I give thanks for the adventure. Many others I wish for clarity and certainty.

    But though I am a wanderer, I am not aimless: I have a path as deep and true as any other. I simply have no map to guide me, only my intuition, and the myriad teachers that cross my path: people, places, books, ideas, synchronicities.

    I have learned to trust my inner senses. When I am on my path, my life feels good and right; off it, I am aware that I am scrambling through the undergrowth and finding my way at the edge of cliffs.

    For a long while I wondered what this path actually was. What was it that defined some actions as “right” for my soul direction, and others “wrong”? Especially when many of them seemed to appear synchronistically, out of the blue, and were counterintuitive.

    The idea of a “path,” or what Lao Tzu calls “the Way,” works for me.

    It’s as though there is a channel through life that is “right” for each of us to take. An invisible highway of least resistance in the midst of white noise, which resonates at the same frequency that we do and seems to draw us forward, exerting some sort of magnetic pull.

    When we are on it everything makes sense, we find flow better, we feel right in ourselves, we have a sense of something larger than our own small ambitions guiding us.

    I have begun to see that the path, this invisible pull to our souls, is in fact our own personal way to wholeness: our own unique healing prescription.

    Our path, I have learned, takes us through the experiences, thoughts, and meetings that will heal every aspect of our selves, even, and especially, those that are hidden from our conscious awareness.

    The words “whole” and “heal” come from the same root. To reach wholeness, we must heal from the wounds and distorted vision that life and our perceptions have wrought on us.

    Therefore, each healing path must be unique, as each of our woundings is unique. And yet they each share many similarities, because in the end we are all humans and our stories cross over.

    This is the part that many of us miss. We are so focused on “finding me,” on healing ourselves, that we walk on our individual paths looking down at our feet. We forget the fellow travellers around us. And this is where our ability to fully heal is lost, because we cannot do it alone.

    The emphasis in Western medicine, the self-help and personal development movements is very much on the individual. “You’re the most important thing in your life” messages have trumped the greater truth, which is that we are tribal creatures and herding mammals.

    We are only as strong as our weakest members. The fate of us all lies in all our hands.

    If you see a group of migrating birds, a shoal of fish, or a herd of wildebeest, there is a constant communication going on between them. They move as one, navigating canyons and predators.

    They listen for the calls of others, and they listen to the instinct within. Both guide and steer them. Both have equal weight. But the overriding aim is to find the path and stay on it together, to find the safe way, the yielding way together—to get through together.

    One day last week, feeling frustrated at myself and the seemingly disparate roles that I could not quite reconcile, I had a realization of immense clarity; I could not let go of any of them because they were all actually different facets of the same thing: healing.

    The internal guidance system that leads my work as a writer, teacher, editor, and artist; my roles as mother, daughter, partner, and friend, are all one big journey of healing myself, and sharing that process with others for their own healing.

    My instinct to heal and to help others heal are equally strong driving forces that determine my whole life.

    This is what I love about all of my heroes: their dedication to healing, and their willingness to reflect on their pain and share what they have learned.

    Then I zoomed out and saw it from a much larger perspective—that this is some human instinct, a basic herd instinct—the need to help to heal the herd, to keep us all together, all moving in the same direction. 

    Like the race that an African tribe does, the aim of which is not who wins or runs longest or fastest, but that everyone finishes together.

    Sue Monk Kidd reflects on this herd healing in her beautiful book, Dance of the Dissident Daughter.

    She recalls watching a nature program about whales and seeing these behemoths throwing themselves out of the water and crashing down on their backs.

    The narrator shared that naturalists believe that breaching, as it is called, might be their way of communicating when the seas get rough. A spectacular way of creating strong vibrations in the water, marking their route so that the others in their group would not get lost.

    She reflects on how women do this too, an example that I feel applies to all humans:

    “Women must have the whale’s instinct. When we set out on a woman’s journey we are often swimming in a high and unruly sea, and we seem to know that the important thing is to swim together—to send out our vibrations, our stories, so that no one gets lost.”

    So here we are, the waters are rising on this precious Earth of ours, the storm waves crashing. Many of our global population are tired, have lost our bearings. But the instinct is strong. Many of us who are aware of the need for healing are calling out, breaching: “This way, this way!” we call.

    We share our stories, show our healing, so that others might find their way onto the path of healing too. So that person by person, community by community, country by country we might find a better way to live. So that we can find healing for our whole herd, and a path, a way through.

    Sometimes I doubt myself. I wonder why I do my work. But now I know. I do it for me just as much as I do it for you.

    I speak or paint or write or dance with One Billion Rising, because I am adding my vibration, which is the most basic thing I can give. Because I yearn to the depths of my soul to be healed. To be free from suffering. To see those I love and those I don’t know free from suffering too.

    So I ask you, every time you feel the instinct rise, like a whale breaching in the center of your soul, with the urge to reach out and share words of love, gratitude, kindness, forgiveness, appreciation, hope, and healing, do it.

    Every time you feel the desire to give a stroke, kiss, hug, gift, or smile, but you think it makes no difference, or that you don’t have time, do it.

    It matters. More than you could ever know.

    In fact, it’s really the only thing that does.

    Photo by Nesbitt Photo

  • Start Healing the World: Take Responsibility for Healing Yourself

    Start Healing the World: Take Responsibility for Healing Yourself

    “The practice of forgiveness is our most important contribution to the healing of the world.” ~Marianne Williamson

    We all have the fundamental desire to create an ideal world, where everyone is healthy, happy, and free of suffering. The habitual tendency we all have is to look around us, find out what’s wrong with the world, and then try to “fix” it.

    While it’s true that horrible things happen around us everyday, to transform the world we all experience, we have to start with ourselves. We can only create change in the world if we first start with our own individual healing.

    When we heal a part in ourselves, we also heal that part in the world. In order to heal we must utilize the power of forgiveness.

    I recall a night many years ago when I finally fully recognized how much I had been hurting myself with my persistent negative self-talk.

    I used to believe that I wasn’t good enough to have and enjoy the type of life that I wanted, that I wasn’t attractive enough to meet the kind of man I dreamed of, or that I would never reach the ability to fulfill my potential.

    Based on observing my mother, stepfather, and grandparents from an early age, I learned to feel guilty for all the good, as well as all the bad that occurred in life. I also learned to blame others, and that life is supposed to be a struggle. (more…)

  • Dealing with Loss and Grief: Be Good to Yourself While You Heal

    Dealing with Loss and Grief: Be Good to Yourself While You Heal

    “To be happy with yourself, you’ve got to lose yourself now and then.” ~Bob Genovesi

    At a holiday party last December, I ran into a friend from college who I hadn’t seen in twenty years.

    “What’s going on with you? You look great!”

    “Oh, well… My mother passed away and my husband and I divorced.”

    “Oh Jeez! I’m so sorry,” he said. “That’s a lot! So, why do you look so great?”

    Perhaps it wasn’t the greatest party conversation, but I did with it smile.

    “It was the hardest year of my life, but I’m getting through it and that makes me feel good.”

    Sure, what he didn’t know was that I had spent many weeks with the blinds closed. I cried my way through back-to-back TV episodes on Netflix.

    I knitted three sweaters, two scarves, a winter hat, and a sweater coat.

    I had too many glasses of wine as I danced around in my living room to pop music, pretending I was still young enough to go to clubs.

    And at times it was hard to eat, but damn if I didn’t look good in those new retail-therapy skinny jeans.

    Another friend of mine lost his father last spring. When he returned from the East Coast, I knew he would be in shock at re-entry. I invited him over for a bowl of Italian lentil and sausage soup.

    As we ate in my kitchen nook, he spoke of the pain of the loss of his father, and even the anger at his friends who, in social situations, avoided talking to him directly about his loss.

    Looking down at my soup, I said, “Grief is a big bowl to hold. It takes so many formations, so many textures and colors. You never know how or when it will rear its head and take a hold of you. Sometimes you cry unfathomably, some days you feel guilty because you haven’t cried, and in other moments you are so angry or filled with anxiety you just don’t know what to do.”

    Grief is one of those emotions that have a life of their own. It carries every feeling within it and sometimes there’s no way to discern it. (more…)

  • Making It Through Pain That Seems to Never End

    Making It Through Pain That Seems to Never End

    “Feelings are real and legitimate.” ~Unknown

    I’ve been thinking about pain lately.

    It’s come up for me more now since my sister, Susie, has been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.

    Susie and I are close in age—just 15 months separate us—and close in friendship and love. So I worry about her.

    She’s an electrician and needs to be able to use her hands on a daily basis for wiring, splicing, drilling, and all of the other myriad things electricians do.

    But, of course, her hands are right where the arthritis has chosen to reside currently.

    She told me that some days the pain is so intense that she has to use both hands just to hold her toothbrush.

    So I became curious about pain. How do we manage it?

    I started to observe my own bouts with pain.

    When I’m working out and I’m gasping for breath and my body hurts.

    When my cat reaches out her paw lovingly toward me and accidentally scratches me in her attempt to get some chin scratches.

    When my hip flexor injury flares up and makes it almost impossible for me to lift my leg to get into the car.

    I watched myself and realized something.

    I could manage these painful moments because I knew they were going to end.

    My workout would end and I’d get my breath back and be able to rest my body.

    I could put some ointment on my arm where my cat scratched me.

    Taking ibuprofen greatly eased my hip flexor issue. (more…)

  • Recovering from a Difficult Childhood: How to Reclaim Yourself

    Recovering from a Difficult Childhood: How to Reclaim Yourself

    “Our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world as being able to remake ourselves.” ~Mahatma Gandhi

    Recently, I had one of those flashes of insight that burn away the illusions I learned as a child in a dysfunctional family and help me see myself in a new light. I saw through an invisible belief that I’ve held for a very long time—the belief that I am not in control of my life.

    Standing in line in the grocery store and twiddling my thumbs, my monkey mind ran through the list of what I could be accomplishing if I didn’t have to wait in line doing nothing. And like a bright gift from above, an idea flew into my mind: If our thoughts create our reality, then I could be creating my next experience of reality right then, while I waited.

    In that moment, I realized that even when I feel like I’m not in control of a situation, by letting go of resistance and choosing to create the next situation with my thoughts, I can be more in command of what happens in my life.

    I grew up with no understanding whatsoever that I could create my life the way I wanted it to be. My father was very rigid in his beliefs and actions, and my mother was very impulsive. Consequently, my world swung back and forth between needing to follow rules and regulations, and suddenly having the rules change mid-stride so that I had no idea what to do next.

    I carried the assurance that life could fall into chaos at any time into adulthood, and though I have consistently moved forward in my life, I have never felt truly in control, because of the way I grew up.  (more…)

  • How Accepting Your Pain Can Help You Heal

    How Accepting Your Pain Can Help You Heal

    “Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    My partner, Ruth, and I were not happy.

    The inside of her mouth was covered in sores, she couldn’t swallow well, and she was exhausted. The chemotherapy was ravaging her body. Something had to be done.

    When her oncologist, Dr. Patel, came into the room, he perched on his little rolling stool and looked up at her Ruth where she sat on the exam table with her legs dangling.

    She railed against the chemotherapy and what it was doing to her. I seconded her sentiments silently with frequent nods and frowns.

    After some time, Ruth finished her diatribe and crossed her arms, daring Dr. Patel to fix this invasion into the very lifeline of her system.

    His expression had never changed during her speech. He looked at her intently, listening carefully, but his eyes were soft with care and concern. Now those eyes looked deeply into hers.

    “Ruth, don’t resist. Don’t resist the chemotherapy. Allow each drop to enter your body in a healing way and do its work. Resistance does not help you; it only saps your energy. In your treatment, in your work, in all places in your life—don’t resist. Go with whatever comes rather than struggling against it.”

    Ruth and I looked at each other and then back at Dr. Patel.

    Don’t resist? (more…)