Tiny Buddha

Tag: loss

  • He Broke My Heart But Taught Me These 5 Things About Love

    He Broke My Heart But Taught Me These 5 Things About Love

    “Sometimes the only closure you need is the understanding that you deserve better.” ~Trent Shelton 

    I’ll never forget the day we met.

    It was a classic San Francisco day. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue. The sun sparkled brightly.

    I ventured from my apartment in the Haight to Duboce Park to enjoy the Saturday. Dogs chased balls in the dog park. Friends congregated on the little hill. They giggled, listened to music, and ate picnic food. Kites flew high in the breeze. Adults tossed Frisbees in their t-shirts and bare feet.

    And I sat, bundled up in my scarf, zippered fall jacket, warm wool socks, and cable-knit sweater.

    This was summer in San Francisco. I had recently moved to the city at the end of May from the east coast with steamy eighty-degree weather, and now in July I sat on a hill and shivered. The famous saying fit perfectly, “The coldest winter I ever spent was the summer I spent in San Francisco.”

    I decided to venture to a nearby café, a French café called Café du Soleil (The Café of the Sun) and warm up with a hot beverage. I loved their outdoor seating.

    When I arrived, the café was packed. Every seat in the patio and the whole place was taken, except for one free stool at the bar next to a tall, handsome man.

    I sat down next to him with my hot chocolate and commented on how crowded the café was. He smiled and agreed, no longer interested in his salad or his glass of white wine. He was interested in me instead. His eyes sparkled.

    Fireworks!

    He was an artist, a photographer. He was a creative like me. Recently, he purchased his first house in Oakland, which included a lovely garden and was close to his work at a fine Japanese restaurant. Our conversation flowed easily, but from the moment I met him, I noticed a dark cloud over his head.

    “Are you married?” I asked.

    He jiggled his left fingers to show an empty hand.

    “No. No ring,” he said.

    “Kids?” I asked.

    “No,” he said, “but I would like some.”

    Our eyes locked. He sighed.

    “But… I’ll never have kids,” he said.

    I pressed my lips.

    “Oh, I think you’ll have kids one day,” I said in a lulling voice, looking sweetly into his eyes.

    He melted.  He really saw me. His eyes were full of adoration, love, and awe.

    We started dating immediately. It was fun and easy. He came to see me perform in Berkeley and I visited him in Oakland (in Fruitvale where he lived), where it was warmer and sunnier. He cooked me meals at his home with fresh fish and vegetables from his garden.

    Hummingbirds danced in the air when we were together. We drove to romantic rendezvous, danced, and he introduced me to the important people in his life: his best friend and his boss.

    The more time we spent together the sunnier and brighter he became, the happier we both were.

    Later, he admitted that he actually made most of his money selling drugs, followed by bartending, and that photography was only a hobby, not a profession. Also, he confessed that he had an alcohol and drug addiction. This was the reason his previous relationship ended even though they were both in love.

    I became sober before I moved to California. I overlooked the red flags because of our remarkable chemistry. Since I didn’t drink, he only drank one glass of wine with me at dinner and didn’t seem to want another. Because I didn’t do drugs, he never did drugs around me and he never talked about missing them.

    Everything was going perfectly, or so I thought. We never fought. Then Malik took his annual vacation to an event called Burning Man in Nevada while I stayed in San Francisco looking for a new apartment. Burning Man was very popular among the San Francisco locals and I was intrigued, but my sublet was up and I had to find a new place fast.

    Described as the “biggest party on earth” or “the only place where you can truly be yourself without judgment,” Burning Man was where people could party all day and night, dress up in outrageous costumes, see fantastic art and performances, and be completely uninhibited.

    When Malik returned from Burning Man, the storm cloud over his head reconvened above him and overshadowed him. He was jittery and paranoid. In fact, I didn’t recognize him; he became distorted and ugly. His eyes were glassy and darted back and forth like Gollum in The Hobbit. Hunched over, he tapped his fingers incessantly.

    “Everything happened too fast,” he blurted. “I told you, I don’t want to fall. I just wanted to have fun. I didn’t want to fall. I can’t sustain a relationship longer than two years. You want more than that. You should have kids. You’re getting older. You’d be a great mother. You need to have kids while you still can. You deserve that. You’re beautiful. There are plenty of handsome men in San Francisco. Why would you pick me? Pick one of them!”

    “Malik… we are having fun. I won’t let you fall. Let’s glide. Why are you talking about marriage and kids?”

    “You want more. I know it. I see it.”

    “We’ve never talked about the future.”

    “It’s not going to work. It’s over.”

    “Why are you breaking up with me? It makes no sense. Things were good before you left. We never fought. You were only gone a week. You mentioned having fun with a girl. Did you meet someone else?”

    His jaw hung open; his eyes bugged, and he took a large melodramatic step backward and gasped. He was shocked by my directness and accusation. But perhaps he was also stunned by my keen intuition.

    Sure enough, over the magical week, he met a beautiful redhead from Arizona, a single mother, who was interested in doing drugs with him in the desert, to escape her demons.

    They had so much fun together, isolated in a made-up city, laughing in the temptress of the sweltering heat. They experimented with Molly on the floor of his tent and “died together.”  Like Romeo and Juliet.

    I was devastated. Malik was no longer the person I thought he was. I had envisioned a life together. I had imagined traveling the world together.

    He told me he didn’t want me to text him any longer, and I didn’t. But the pain seared inside of me. and I held on for hope that he would see his faults and come back to me. How would he maintain a long-distance relationship with someone he did drugs with in the desert for a week? It made no sense. But that was how much he valued drugs over me.

    I never felt closure. I never felt that I was able to express all of my feelings. I wondered if I had been more vulnerable with him, if he knew how much I cared, if he would have had second thoughts and returned to me. He never came back. He never texted. It took me a long time to let him go. He was a big love for me.

    Looking back today (years later), I learned:

    1. Trust a soulmate connection.

    I felt it deep in my heart. I had met a soulmate. There was no denying it. Even though it didn’t work out, he opened my heart to love.

    2. See the red flags.

    I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I know that you can’t help anyone get over drug addiction. They have to want it for themselves.

    3. Don’t cling to love.

    Don’t cling in a relationship and don’t cling once it’s over for it to return. This was a hard lesson for me because when I love, I love hard.

    I have learned if you love someone and they cannot commit, do not hold on. If you love someone and they don’t want to be in a relationship with you, don’t think that in time, they will come to their senses and see how great you were and regret it and come back apologetically. People sometimes move on fast. Set them free. Holding on only hurts you. Allow yourself some peace too.

    4. Value honesty.

    A relationship without honesty is not a deep relationship. One shouldn’t have to drag it out of someone that they are dating someone else or that they have a drug addiction.

    5. Be with someone who has the same vision of the future.

    If you don’t have the same vision of the future, it’s not going to work. It shouldn’t be assumed that you know their wishes or that you have the same vision. It must be communicated.

    Meeting Malik opened my heart. Even though our time together was brief, it changed me forever. After overcoming the grief of losing a soulmate, it taught me not to settle, that I deserve better, and to trust that I will experience an even greater love next time.

  • If You’re in a Painful Relationship and Considering Estrangement…

    If You’re in a Painful Relationship and Considering Estrangement…

    “I understand the life around me better, not from love, which everyone acknowledges to be a great teacher, but from estrangement, to which nobody has attributed the power of reinforcing insight.” ~Nirad C. Chaudhuri

    I was brought up to understand that family is family.  So I have naturally given great weight to the importance of family bonds. However, what happens when a familial bond breaks? Do you commit yourself to holding on despite the cost, or do you acknowledge the damage and take the necessary steps to sever the tie?

    Personally, I sit somewhere in the middle. Any important relationship deserves an extended amount of effort, patience, understanding, and forgiveness in rebuilding. However, you can only do so much, and there comes a point when it could be in everyone’s best interests to walk away.

    I speak from personal experience. I’ve been estranged twice in my lifetime. Once from my father, which was my choice, and the other time from my sibling, who ultimately made the decision to walk away; I guess I just dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s on it.

    Let me be clear, neither estrangement was a wonderful experience. The process of severing ties is heartbreaking, regardless of the situation that led to the estrangement. It hurts when you feel you’ve been rejected, and it hurts when you know you’re rejecting someone.

    But when it’s the right decision for you, and once the hurt abates somewhat, there is a sense of relief. Although you may never feel happy about it, you’ll feel happier overall for the steps you took in protecting yourself and your well-being.

    As with all life events there is opportunity to learn and reflect…

    In hindsight, there are certain actions I should have taken before the relationships ended, especially when it came to my sibling. Perhaps taking these actions could have prevented the outcome? Who knows? Regardless, these behaviors would certainly have helped me heal quicker even if the end was inevitable.

    If you find yourself struggling in a relationship with a family member—or any type of relationship for that matter—these five suggested actions can help.

    1. Be yourself.

    This is what I kick myself the most about when I think about my estrangement from my sibling. I was never myself. I was always trying to impress them and seek their approval.

    You see, my sibling was a lot older than me; by the time I was two they had already left home. Visits were few and far between, and when my sibling married, there were tensions between my family and their spouse.

    Everything had to be done to keep them happy. We had to tread on eggshells around them to maintain the relationship, and that stuck with me well into adulthood. I believed If I stepped out of line then the relationship would end. So I said what I thought they wanted to hear and acted in the way I felt I needed to act.

    This led to a lot of resentment on my part. No matter how hard I tried, I never felt fully accepted.

    As I saw this would soon impact my own children, I knew things had to change.

    I stopped kowtowing, and within a year they had broken away, communication basically stopped. The hardest thing was knowing that all those years I had presented an unauthentic version of me. I felt I had let myself down. What might have happened if I had just been myself?

    It can be challenging to be yourself when it’s a family member you want to please, but you can’t let the labels they place on you define you. Be who you really are. Yes, you might be rejected, but being someone you’re not is exhausting and likely to lead to more unhappiness. You’re the one who has to live with yourself after all—it’s better to love the person you are!

    If I had my time again, I would just be me, and I encourage everyone to adopt this approach too.

    2. Communicate.

    Relationships all too easily break down when there is a lack of communication. Good communication builds your connection, helps you deal with potential issues early, and allows both parties to have their needs met.

    Too often, we end up shouting, judging, criticizing, or not communicating at all. This isn’t a recipe for a healthy relationship.

    In his book Non-violent Communication, Marshall Rosenberg sets out a framework he created which allows people to express their needs and make requests without any negative behaviors. Using this method can make it easier to ask for what you want, and it also gives you a better chance of actually getting it. It’s a technique I wish I had known a lot earlier, but one that I use now to great effect.

    It’s a four-step process:

    Convert judgements to observations.

    So rather than saying, “You never listen to me” (quite an emotionally charged statement), you would say, “I see you checking your phone when I try to talk to you,” which is more factual and less likely to trigger a defensive response.

    Say how you feel.

    Express how you’re feeling without blame or judgment. Instead of saying, “I really needed you and you weren’t there,” express your feelings like this: “I was feeling really alone.” This is a powerful way of expressing ourselves and taking ownership of our feelings.

    State your needs as they relate to you and your values.

    So rather than saying, “You need to change how you treat me,” you would say, “I have a need to be respected as a human being.”

    Ask for what you want.

    Start with “Would you be willing/like to…?” For example, “Would you be willing to put your phone down when we have a conversation?” Framing your request in this way gives the other person the freedom to say no, meaning they don’t feel forced or pressured and in turn more likely to say yes.

    Here’s an example of the four-step process all put together:

    “I see you checking your phone when I try to talk to you. I feel frustrated. I value being listened to. Would you be willing to put down your phone when we have a conversation?”

    3. Stand strong (even when you’re scared).

    As a recovering people-pleaser, I used to shy away from standing up for myself. I would choose to agree rather than confront. Life was more peaceful when I just smiled and nodded. But this is not a healthy strategy.

    With my father, I needed him to acknowledge and take responsibility for his actions. With each attempt to broach the subject of his behavior toward my mother and me, there would be denial, false accusations, and even aggression. Fear would make me back down.

    But you have to stand strong, even when you’re scared. If an issue is important to you, don’t allow for it to be brushed under the carpet to fester. Facing issues head on allows you the opportunity to resolve them. It provides you (and them) with clear boundaries and makes repeat behaviors less likely.

    4. Accept your part.

    Nobody is perfect. Relationships are two-person territory. It would be so easy for me to look back and put everything on my sibling or on my father, but that would be inaccurate. I have to accept my share of accountability too. We all do.

    I should have spoken up. I should have acted differently in certain circumstances. I should have been honest about how I was feeling. People aren’t mind readers after all. This isn’t about accepting all of the blame; it’s just about acknowledging your part. It helps you grow as a person.

    5. Forgive and let go.

    Firstly, you need to forgive yourself. You’re a human being after all, we all make mistakes. Show yourself the same compassion you readily show to others.

    Secondly, when you’ve had time (which may include therapy) and feel capable, start to forgive the person, even if you’re now estranged. This doesn’t mean you have to forget what happened but more allow the anger, resentment, or any other emotions that don’t serve you to be lifted from your heart.

    I find writing a gratitude letter (listing what you found good about them and your time together, plus anything you’re grateful to them for) really helpful in the process of forgiving and letting go. It helps to refocus on the good side of the person (and your relationship) rather than the negative.

    Remember, we feel hurt because we loved and cared deeply, two important components of a happy life. Letting go allows us to move forward to what is right for us. Use what happened to personally grow and build a better life.

    Every life event, good or bad, has something to teach us…

    I’ve grown so much from my own experiences and use those learnings to positively affect all the other relationships in my life. There is always hope for reconciliation, but for now, I’m at peace with where I’m at, and I hope you will be too.

  • What If There’s Beauty on the Other Side of Your Pain?

    What If There’s Beauty on the Other Side of Your Pain?

    “The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” ~Albert Einstein

    “I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to be here. I can’t do this. It hurts too much. It’s too hard.”

    I’m curious how many times I’ve heard these words over my lifetime. From different people, ages, genders, ethnicities, and walks of life. The words the same, the heaviness no different from one to the next. Hopelessness has a specific tone attached to it. Flat, low, and empty.

    Being the child of a parent who committed suicide, there is a familiar inner fear that washes over me when I hear these words. A hyper alertness and tuning in, knowing it’s time to roll up my sleeves.

    As a psychotherapist, there is a checklist that goes through my head to make sure I ask all of the right questions as I assess the level of pain they are experiencing.

    As a human, a warm wave of compassion takes over as I feel around for what this particular soul needs.

    After asking the typical safety questions and determining this person is not at significant risk of ending their life, I ask, “So what is the end goal here? What do you think happens after you die? Where will you go? How will you feel? What will feel different when you’re dead versus how you feel right now?”

    The answers vary from “It will be dark and nothingness, no feeling, no existence” to “I’ll be in heaven and done with this,” but more often than not they say, “I don’t know.”

    I sometimes question, “Well, if you don’t know how can you guarantee it will be better than this? What if it’s worse? What if you have to relive it all again? What if you are stuck in a dark abyss and can’t get out?”

    More times than not they have not thought this through. They are not thinking about what is next, mostly because what they are really saying is “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

    I get that. We all have those moments.

    Then I dig in further:

    “How do you know your miracle is not around the corner? How do you know relief will not come tomorrow if you allow the opportunity for one more day? What would it be like to be curious about what’s next instead of assuming it will all be just as miserable?

    Since you have not always felt like this, is it possible you may one day again feel joy and freedom?

    If you look at your past, you’ll see you have had many fears and low moments. Did they stay the same or did they change? Most of your fears did not come to be, and if they did, you survived them—you made it through. You may have even learned something or strengthened your ability to be brave.

    If you turn around, you can see there is a lifetime of proof that your world is always changing and shifting. You’ll see many moments when it may have felt like things were not going the direction you wanted, but you’ll likely see an equal number of moments that led you to exactly what you needed. Use those as evidence that your surprise joy may be just around the corner.

    During these conversations, my own curiosity resurfaces. I often ponder if my mother held out a little longer what her life would have looked like. I wonder if another medication would have helped her. Or if the words of an inspiring book may have offered her the hope to keep holding on. Or if the feeling of the sun on her face would have kissed her long enough for her to want a little bit more.

    What if she held on to the curiosity of what was to come instead of deciding there were no surprises or joy left? Would she have felt the bittersweet moment of watching me graduate from high school? Would she have been there to cheer me on when I earned my master’s degree hoping to help people just like her? Would she have held my daughter, her first grandchild, and wept tears of joy knowing she made it?

    Who knows what her life would have been like if she held on for one more day? I will never know, but I am curious.

    I have sat with countless children and adults while they are deep in their pain. I ache for them, cry for them, and also feel hope for them. I wonder out loud what will happen next that we cannot see.

    I’ve seen pregnancies come when hope had left, new relationships be birthed when the people involved were sure they would never feel loved again, new jobs appear out of nowhere at just the “right” time. I’ve seen illnesses dissipate once people started paying attention to themselves, and moments of joy build in the hearts of those who were certain there was no light left.

    The truth is, we don’t know what will happen next, but we know we have made it this far. How do we know tomorrow won’t be exactly what we’ve been waiting for?

    I believe our baseline feeling as humans is peace. The loving calm that fills us when we are in the presence of those we adore. The kind of whole that we feel when we’ve done something we feel proud of and we reconnect to the love we are made of. The way we feel when we are giving love to others and the way we feel when that love is returned.

    I also believe that the human experience is filled with struggle and hardship and challenge. I don’t think we are getting out of it. I believe we are equipped with the power to lean into our pain to let it move through us. To use our experiences as our strength and our knowledge for the next wave of frustration.

    I don’t believe we are supposed to suffer, but rather learn to thrive in the face of hardship and use hope as the steering wheel to guide us through… knowing even though the light may not be right in front of us, it’s just around the corner.

    And the more we employ this faith and our practices that support us, the quicker we are able to return to the peace that lies underneath.

    In the moments of hardship, what would it be like to allow for curiosity? To not only acknowledge the feeling in front of us—and feel it—but to also allow for the possibility of what is to come.

    All of our experiences come with the free will to choose how we will respond to them. With openness and wonder or dismissal and resistance. It’s also okay to feel it all at once. The feelings will pass. They always do.

    The next time you feel stuck in a feeling, or what feels like a never-ending experience, consider thinking: I wonder what will come of this. I wonder what I will gain. I wonder what strengths I will develop and how I will support myself. I wonder what beauty lies on the other side of this pain. Don’t push through it but surrender into it.

    Then allow for curiosity. Be open. You never know what surprises the day may bring. Maybe today is the day it all changes. Or maybe tomorrow. You may not know the day, but you can be ready and open for it when it arrives.

  • Healing from the Conflicting Loss of a Difficult Parent

    Healing from the Conflicting Loss of a Difficult Parent

    “Deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope.” ~Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

    I had a tumultuous and interesting relationship with my father. He was a strong, proud man in his spirit as well as in his physical appearance. In my younger years, I knew my father as the final disciplinarian, the breadwinner, and the patriarch of the family. Even at a young age, I felt disconnected from him and did not agree with his harsh parenting choices.

    While I do not want to speak too much ill of my deceased father, to put it lightly, he was not always the most sensitive individual regarding other people’s emotions or thoughts.

    Perhaps it was my father’s past filled with deep hurt from abuse and alcoholism in childhood. Maybe it was the manipulation techniques he learned being a psychologist to control people. Either way, abuse, particularly emotional abuse, ran rampant in my home.

    During my senior year of high school, he was diagnosed with a serious, life-changing illness. When his job laid him off due to his failing health, his decline became even steeper. My father, the man who was the epitome of control and strength in my family, lost control of all bodily functions and became very frail and fragile.

    Tasks considered elementary or simple became very hard due to his disease. Activities such as unbuttoning buttons, writing a letter, or eating became very difficult. He started to have severe, deep hallucinations, and his weight started to drop rapidly. These are just a few of the many symptoms his disease caused.

    The year before he died, I took a gap year between high school and college to help my mom take care of him. Due to this, I experienced his journey through sickness and death very closely. That year was the “year from hell.”

    Not only was I helping taking care of a dying parent, but we had an enormous bedbug infestation in our home, as well as a flood that wiped out our entire downstairs. It was one of those years that brought me to my knees. My mother, being the only person who went through the experience with me, often wonders how we got through that year alive and/or sane. It was that bad.

    I saw things that truly broke my heart and diminished my spirit. I picked up my bleeding father when he fell. I witnessed his severe hallucinations. One night, he got a scary look in his eye and screamed that there were people with guns in the house that were going to kill us. I hid in my room with the door locked, afraid of him.

    My most painful memory was seeing him right before his death when he was going in between consciousness and unconsciousness. I have never seen anything like that before. The memory still haunts me.

    When he died during my freshman year of college, I thought I would be fine. I had spent a year watching him decline, so I could just move on, life as normal, right? The grief would not hit me. I had already worked through all of that. BOY, I was in for a wild ride.

    I had spent the last year going through an incredibly difficult experience and because of what I had been through, my maturity was way beyond the normal eighteen-to-twenty-year-old. I struggled to fit into a party school college environment. The things college kids cared about at this point seemed so trivial to me. I was busy thinking about the impermanence of life and funeral plans; my friends were thinking about rush week.

    I fell into the deepest depression of my life. I was in so much pain that I felt the only way out was to not be present on this earth. I would pray that when I went to sleep, whatever existed “up there” would take me and I would never wake up. Getting through the day felt like running a triathlon. The only time I felt solace was when I was asleep.

    So how did I get here? How did I go from being the most depressed I have ever experienced to sitting here at a coffee shop peacefully typing away?

    I want to share some of the most important tools that helped me through my grief journey and helped me through my depression. While they all may not work for you, I am hoping that at least one of them will help you find peace. Most importantly I want to stress, over and over again, you are not alone. There is a light to the end of the tunnel, as cliché as it sounds.

    Be gentle with yourself.

    When I was working through deep trauma and grief, I was surprised how my body reacted. I did not realize that while I was processing what had happened on a surface level, my subconscious was processing the experience as well. Due to this, I was incredibly tired and emotional all the time. I needed so much sleep and time to decompress.

    Giving my body and mind the time I needed to process what I had been through was incredibly important. Working through difficult experiences mentally and emotionally is not a sprint. It takes time. Being gentle with myself and not rushing my healing journey was very helpful in the long run.

    Find a skilled mental health professional ASAP.

    My partner recently asked me what was the best thing that has happened to me in the past ten years. I told them it was my mom getting me a skilled and powerful therapist at sixteen.

    I know there is therapy shaming that goes on in a lot of circles. I have witnessed people who are in the mental health field who refuse to get therapy. While they believe in mental health for other people, they believe they do not need anyone to help them even though they are struggling deeply.

    Speaking as someone who has spent her entire life researching mental health and intends to make it my livelihood, let me just say this once and for all: Everyone, no matter how healthy or “woke” you are, can benefit from seeing a skilled mental health professional.

    Being able to share your problems with a trusted individual, who is educated and trained to handle trauma and difficult situations, is incredibly healing. Therapists will give you techniques and tools to move through your difficult situations and will be a non-judgmental place to hold space for you when processing painful life circumstances.

    That being said, I often tell my friends that finding a therapist is like finding the perfect sweater. Not everyone is going to fit. People have different techniques, energy, and listening styles. Let yourself explore and what is best for you and do not be discouraged if it takes a few people to find a positive fit.

    Share your story.

    The power of sharing your story is profound. The opportunity to claim something that has happened to you and express it to people who will hold space for you is an incredibly healing and cathartic process. When I was able to express what I was feeling, I felt like those feelings did not have power over me anymore. I felt liberated.

    As a caveat, I learned that it was important to carefully consider whom I chose to share my story with. I chose people who I was confident had earned the right to hear my story. So if I knew that Aunt Sally was going to brush my story aside or tell me that my feelings weren’t valid, I didn’t share my story with her. She had not earned the right to be a witness my experience.

    My life journey and experiences are beautiful and valuable. It is an honor for me to share them.

    Depending on your environment and support group, you may want to get creative with who you choose. I know that not everyone has a group of supportive friends or family members. If you fall into this category, I strongly suggest you look for other avenues such as grief support groups, national helplines, group counseling, talking with a mentor, and/or reaching out to a counselor. No matter your situation, you are never alone. There are people out there trained and ready to help.

    Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

    When I was in my deepest pit of grief and depression, feeling gratitude seemed impossible. I truly felt there was nothing to be thankful for in my life. My friend recommended that I start writing down ten things I was grateful for everyday when she heard how much I was struggling.

    I did not write down huge things. I wrote about the little joys in life. No matter how sucky things were, there was something that made my life easier every day. Sometimes it was the fuzzy blanket that was draped over me to keep me warm. Or the trashy T.V. show I was binging that made me laugh. Or even though I declined, the invitation that my friend sent to ask if I wanted to get coffee with her.

    The other thing I started making myself to do in the morning was writing the three things I was looking forward to each day. When I was at my deepest point of depression, sometimes the things were incredibly small. However, writing down what I was looking forward to pushed me forward even when I felt overwhelmed. This may seem like a small thing; however, practicing gratitude daily is still one of my most helpful tools to stabilize my mood.

    Be open to receiving alternative forms of help.

    I have always been resistant to taking anxiety/depression medication. This was due to some uneducated biases in my past that I have worked through at this point in my life. However, processing my father’s death and the grief that followed while at college was incredibly painful. I remember being so depressed in the mornings, I would stare at my dorm room ceiling and pray that I would just die. Getting myself out of bed was even harder.

    My therapist suggested I get on depression medication, but I was resistant. Finally, one day my mother said to me, “Angela if your best friend was in this much pain and medication may help her, would you shame her into not taking it?”

    “Of course not,” I thought. “I would absolutely encourage her to take it. Who knows, maybe it could help?” Once I said those words, I knew what I had to do.

    I went to a psychiatrist and he set me with a low dosage of depression medication to make me feel comfortable. You know what? It tremendously helped. In fact, if I hadn’t taken this medication, I do not know if I would be writing this article for you today.

    I write this not to try to push anyone to take a certain kind of medication or to try certain forms of healing. However, I do encourage people to try new ways of healing from your experience. If you have gone through an extraordinary painful experience, sometimes it is going to take more intense measures to get back to a new normal.

    Find a sense of community.

    If this experience, or even 2020, has taught me anything it is that we are not meant to live these human lives alone. It is incredibly important when we are going through difficult times to surround ourselves with people and environments we can lean on and that can support us.

    For me it meant dragging myself to a grief support group every Wednesday, even though I was drowning in homework and had so many things going on in my life.

    It meant pushing myself to go out with my friends who loved me, even when I didn’t really feel like it or felt too sluggish.

    Community for me was making me go to the Unitarian Universalist Church on Sunday. Sure, I did not know anyone and I sat alone; however, I felt deep comfort in a room where people were just focused on spreading love.

    If I needed alone time, I by all means took it. However, making intentional time to spend time with people who made me feel comforted and loved was incredibly important.

    Remember that this is a season, and your pain will lessen over time.

    I remember when I was at my worst point with depression, I truly did not believe it was going to get better. I was in such a dark place that I literally could not even fathom that I would feel like myself again. People would tell me I would be happy again and I would roll my eyes. They didn’t understand how much pain I was experiencing.

    The pain was telling me there was no way I would get through this experience. I would feel this unhappy forever. I was permanently changed. I felt like I had dropped down so low into the pits of it, that there was no way out. I felt helpless, stuck, and alone.

    However, fast forward four years to now, I want to say that those people who told me it was going to get better were absolutely correct.

    Sometimes when working through deep depression or deep trauma the brain can play little mind games with you and tell you things will never get better. I promise with all I have and all I am that at some point you will see the light again. You will be so glad you stuck through the pain and appeared on the other side.

    A Note on Grieving a Toxic Person in Your Life

    Sometimes when we experience the death of a toxic or abusive person in our lives, we have mixed emotions. This is something that is not talked about, and something I really struggled with in my healing journey.

    Let me be clear, I did not want my father to die, and I did not want him to feel pain. I would never wish that on anyone. However, he did cause a tremendous amount of pain in my life, and this, in turn, has caused sometimes conflicting emotions for me when processing his death.

    Sometimes when I miss him, the memory of him slapping me across the face would pop up in my mind. Or when he would emotionally manipulate me over and over again to get what he wanted, and I would finally concede exhausted from the games. It is still hard for me to process and talk about these experiences.

    I want to stress that if you have a similar experience of someone dying who was a painful person in your life and you feel mixed emotions, you are not alone. You are not a bad person. Or evil. Or sick. You have received trauma from an abuser, and it is natural to be angry with them, whether they are dead or alive.

    The emotions and feelings you are processing are valid, and most importantly, they are okay. I am not going to sit here and pretend that I have all of this figured out. To be honest, the complex grief stuff, I am still working through. However, what I can do is hold witness to your feelings and remind you that whatever you are feeling is not strange or a reason to be ashamed.

    With closing this article, I want to express that all these suggestions above, I still implement them into my life even though I am not depressed or feel much grief anymore. The things I learned to help me through the journey of grief, trauma, and depression help me be a happier individual now.

    Maybe I had to go through that experience to learn that, or maybe I would have figured it out eventually without it. One will never know. However, I do know that I have never felt more liberated in my life, and I am truly thankful for those painful years. They led me to my beautiful life today.

  • Why They Wanted to Deny She Was Buddhist in Her Eulogy

    Why They Wanted to Deny She Was Buddhist in Her Eulogy

    “Live and let live.” ~Unknown

    So there I was, sitting in front of the Zoom meeting, when it happened. The overwhelming grief just hit me like a freight train. And no matter how much emotional training I tried to dig into, or self-help tricks I tried to muster up, nothing could stop the train in that moment.

    The emotions flooded over me and forced me to stop and break down with the simple, plain, beautiful, and powerful truth: I miss my friend.

    I had been so busy in this new Covid world, gathering up pictures of her for her obituary, corresponding with her family about who was going to speak and what was going to be said. Emailing back and forth with the person who was graciously designing the obituary, overseeing whether the eldest members of her family even knew what a Zoom meeting was, let alone had the equipment and technological know-how to participate.

    Everything was done via email and text, and sometimes phone. I guess I didn’t realize how much this allowed me to stay disconnected and busy.

    A brief tug of war occurred when one of my friend’s other good friends mentioned how an elderly aunt, a reverend at a local community church, decided that it would be in bad taste to mention that my friend was a Buddhist.

    Even though she had grown up in a Christian home and family, she practiced Buddhism for the last thirty years.

    “Just don’t mention that part,” she said.

    I was almost insulted.

    “But she was a Buddhist,” I blurted into the phone.

    “Yes… but… her family isn’t. And her aunt doesn’t think it’s a good idea to bring it up.”

    I felt my face getting hot. I had spent quite some time calling around to see if I could get a Buddhist monk to agree to say some prayers for my friend as we celebrated her journey in her next life. Then it took some more time to find one who knew how to work Zoom.

    A kindly monk in Brooklyn had agreed to do so. He also mentioned that, for the next month or so, they were doing daily prayers for the deceased, and that he could include my friend.

    “No, just the service will be fine,” I answered, mentally checking this off of my to-do list and not wanting to create the altar that was required to participate.

    Not that this was something I really wanted to do—all this planning—but her family was so overwhelmed with my friend’s sudden passing that they asked me and her other food friend to do it.

    I’d never done anything like this before, but of course, I simply felt I had to. That’s what my friend would do—roll up her sleeves and get it done. She was extremely strong-willed, and this was a trait I admired.

    I remember us taking a trip overseas to Indonesia. They had just had a volcano erupt right before it was our time to come. I was concerned about my friend’s ability to navigate in such circumstances (as her health condition was beginning to affect her walking ability,) and halfheartedly suggested we look into the company’s flight insurance to reschedule. But she just laughed it off.

    “We are still going. I’m so excited, I’ve never been! We have to have faith, T,” she said. “Believe everything will be alright, and it will be so. No matter what.”

    Ah, I smiled to myself. Of course.

    Even as one so dedicated to the spiritual path, and believing in what we cannot yet see, I suppose in the face of terminal illnesses and natural disasters, sometimes the “We create our own reality” spiel can seem like the furthest thing away from the truth. And yet, she proclaimed it, in the face of both.

    I was reassured that day, and promptly watched The Secret, to solidify that reassurance.

    And that’s what I loved about my friend. At one point in my spiritual journey, I thought there were only us two that talked like this, believed like this. Of course, as I journeyed into spiritual Facebook groups, I happily learned that to be untrue. But I could talk to me friend about anything.

    She was older than me and had experienced so much in life. At the time I met her eight years ago, I felt like I had hit the spiritual jackpot! She had so much wisdom, and I was ever so willing to soak it all up.

    For example, she was one of the first people in the world to go to an Abraham Hicks meeting before they were well known, and she would recount in detail the power she felt in the room that day as we discussed whether Abraham’s teachings were “real” or not.

    She taught me about meditating and chanting. She taught me that you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge. She taught me that it was important to actually “walk the walk,” every day. Even as that walk became more and more of a struggle for her.

    All of this came rushing back to me as I spoke to her friend on the phone. Really, I was talking to that super religious aunt. Who did she think she was anyway? It wasn’t about her, or me, or any of us! Don’t these people know what a Celebration of Life is!

    “Well, she (the aunt,) doesn’t want anything to take away from God,” her friend sighed.

    “But this isn’t taking away from God,” I shot back. “It’s all God. It’s just a different point of view! And it was very important to her! She got up every day for thirty years at 4:30 in the morning to chant! That’s who she was!”

    My friend’s friend gathered her words carefully and deliberately. “Well… she asked me to minister her service for her, and she didn’t leave me any specific instructions for me on what to do.”

    In that moment, I snapped out of it. I muted the phone and took a deep breath, and then unmuted. “You’re right,” I said. “She did ask you. I’ll ask the monk not to come. You should do whatever you feel is best.”

    The feeling of relief from the other side of the phone was palpable, and my friend’s friend instantly became more chipper. “Great! Okay then, I’ll get to work on the program and I’ll get back to you!” she said.

    After we hung up, I sat in silence. I thought I was fighting for my friend doing an impromptu religious showdown. And I was prepared to roll up my sleeves and go to town. But why? Would it even matter to press this point now?  Especially with people who were completely set in their ways. Especially with such an intricate topic as religion.

    What was I trying to prove? My friend wasn’t like that. She lived and let live. Perhaps some part of me was still fighting for myself to be seen. Our journeys were so parallel, but I thought I had long stopped caring what religious people thought.

    It became clear to me why the universe had the monk mention the month of prayers for the departed; I knew then I’d graciously add my friend to that list.

    For the ceremony, I ended up doing a sweet video tribute of our time in Indonesia, which alluded to the spiritual, culture-loving, and exploring person that my friend was. This was the moment that choked me up during the service (as well as several others). I miss my friend.

    I missed being seen and heard and understood. I miss having an ally and someone I didn’t have to explain my spiritual journey to. I felt it was important for me to stand up to that aunt because that’s who I was too.

    I always said it didn’t matter to me what people practiced, if it’s done in love, if you invite me, I’ll come. It really is all God, so now I get to “walk the walk” in real time. Live and let live.

    Perhaps in letting go, and letting others remember my friend in the way that they chose to, I honored my friend, and what we both learned on our physical journey together, the most.

  • How to Safely Enjoy the Pandemic Holidays

    How to Safely Enjoy the Pandemic Holidays

    “Surreal” is the word that keeps coming to mind. Life has felt like an alternative universe for quite a while now, and it feels even stranger during the holiday season.

    After a year of much sacrifice, reality is requiring us to forgo traditions we hold dear and distance ourselves from people we may feel we’ve already gone too long without seeing.

    And many are navigating the season with a sense of grief—for lost loved ones, lost purpose, maybe even lost hope.

    Maybe that’s not you. Maybe you are full of gratitude for everything you have, and now appreciate even more because of the pandemic.

    That’s also me, on some days.

    Some days I look around and feel undeniably blessed to have my health, my family, and all my needs met.

    On other days, I feel the weight of these long, isolating months and mourn for lost time with people I love and the family celebrations I will miss with my parents and siblings, who all live together, across the country from me.

    You may be in a similar position, oscillating like a pendulum between gratitude and grief. And you may be debating how to approach this season, logistically, mentally, and emotionally.

    Whatever your unique situation, I hope this checklist helps you approach the weeks ahead safely, with peace, hope, and joy, wherever you can create it.

    1. Caution

    This is the big one, and the hardest one to swallow and follow. It’s been a trying year, one marked by loss and heartache for many. We’re tired of it all and want this pandemic behind us—but it isn’t yet. So as much as we’d like to throw caution to the wind and end the year celebrating with all the people we love, we all need to do our part to protect ourselves and the people around us.

    Not the most exciting way to start this list, I know, but just figured I’d get this one out of the way!

    If you haven’t already seen the CDC guidelines for holiday gatherings, you can find them here.

    2. Communication

    As I imagine you’ve experienced as well, different people hold vastly different perspectives on what constitutes “caution,” and some are willing to take greater risks.

    For example, my extended family got together with at least four different households on Thanksgiving—including some who are regularly exposed to masses of people, some without masks—and they will do so again on Christmas. That’s a risk I wouldn’t be willing to take, but I’m also 3,000 miles away, so it’s a choice I don’t have to make.

    If you’re considering gathering with family, it’s essential to clarify where everyone stands, what precautions everyone’s taking in their daily life, and what precautions will be followed on the day itself. Don’t assume you know how anyone thinks unless they’ve clearly communicated it, because it’s quite possible you’d be wrong.

    3. Empathy

    This can be a tough one. When people make choices that may seem reckless to you, or they push beliefs you just can’t agree with, you may feel hurt, frustrated, or even outraged. It’s hard to separate a person from their choices, especially when it involves something as emotionally loaded as pandemic safety, and it’s hard not to take it personally if their choices seem selfish to you.

    I have been here recently, and I took it very personally. I got upset, I criticized, I judged. What I didn’t do is change anyone’s opinion, or in any way better the situation. I realized then I needed to empathize with the people who see things differently than me. Even if I wouldn’t make the same choices, I needed to understand the feelings behind them and focus on that.

    This doesn’t mean we need to condone decisions we don’t agree with, or in any way put ourselves at risk. It just means we accept what we can’t control and choose love over righteousness, however warranted it may feel.

    4. Self-compassion

    Odds are things haven’t been easy for you. Even if you are healthy, have a job and a roof over your head, and haven’t lost any loved ones, this year probably took a toll on your mental health. I know it’s taken a toll on mine.

    You may feel lonely, discouraged, overwhelmed, impatient, or even downright depressed right now. You may also feel frustrated to have to change your usual holiday plans, at a time when you could really use a little extra love, joy, and connection.

    It’s okay to feel frustrated. It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling, even if you know you’re fortunate. It’s hard to be far from people we love, especially around the holidays, and to miss the traditions we value most. Be extra gentle with yourself and know it’s okay if your gratitude is mixed with a wide range of complex emotions.

    5. Acceptance

    I know how tempting it is to live each day in resistance, especially when you’ve lost a lot, or when things seem unfair. I know how easy it is to get caught up in how things should be or were supposed to be or would be, if only…

    What I don’t know is what you specifically have been through or what you’re feeling right now. So please know I am in no way suggesting acceptance is easy, or that I’d be able to do it easily if I were in your shoes.

    I can only speak to the general idea of acceptance, and how it frees us mentally when we stop fighting reality. I know that when we accept what we can’t control, we’re free to focus on the things we can control and make the best of them.

    I also know I feel better about the person I’m being, and ultimately better about life, when I come from a place of acceptance—even if it takes time to get there. I’m lighter, more present, more accessible to the people around me, and more likely to see opportunities where before I only saw unfairness.

    6. Perspective

    As with everything in life, this is all temporary. Things won’t always be this way. These challenges, these feelings, they won’t last forever. We will eventually get through this and will be able to live more freely. Though life won’t be exactly the same for many, we will find a new normal and new reasons to smile as we adapt to life as it evolves.

    It may be hard to see that now. It may seem like this earthquake of an experience will send shockwaves for years, and we’ll never find our footing again. But we are amazingly resilient as people. Odds are you’ve been through some deeply trying experiences in your life, and you’ve come out stronger, wiser, and maybe even enriched for having gone through what you’ve been through.

    Trust that, odds are, you will not only get through this, you will have many more reasons to smile, and many more holidays to celebrate with the people you love. This one year will one day be a crazy story in all of our rearview mirrors, so long as we keep driving, cautiously, on this somewhat treacherous road before us.

    7. Ingenuity

    One of the gifts of any challenge is that we need to be a little more creative, which can in itself be a source of pride and joy. If you’ve ever made a full meal on a day when you really needed to go grocery shopping, you know what I mean! My mother has a special phrase for this: “Not bad for a throw together!”

    Think of this as your throw-together—your chance to do more with less, to find beauty in simplicity, to make the best of what you have and maybe even start new traditions.

    I’m guessing you may have mastered the art of online connection this year. So now take it to the next level. How can celebrate in creative ways with people from afar? And how can you honor the people right in front of you, even if they’re only some of the ones you love?

    As for me, I’m planning to focus on the excitement of my son’s second Christmas, since I think he’ll appreciate it more this year. I’m going to ask my brother to Zoom-watch A Very Brady Christmas with me, since we’re dorks and watch it every year. And I’ll Portal with my family on Christmas morning when they open the gifts I sent them, so it will be kind of like I’m there.

    8. Mindfulness

    So here we are. At the end of a strange, painful year, staring down months more of uncertainty and potential stress and struggle. No one would fault us for looking back—it’s like there’s a massive multi-car pileup behind us; it’s hard not to gawk. And no one would be surprised if we anxiously looked ahead, worrying about the potential for more accidents down the road.

    But right now, many of us are sitting safely in our cars, with heat and music and at least one person we love to play car games with and pass the time.

    I realize this isn’t true for everyone. You might not have your needs met right, and you may feel unsafe in your home. If that’s you, please know there are resources out there to support you. You can find some here and here.

    If that’s not you—if, like me, you’re relatively fortunate and have a lot to appreciate and enjoy if you choose to be present—make the choice. As best as you can.

    If it’s hard, be good to yourself. Then try again. Try to see the beauty right in front of you, even if you have to look a little harder. Try to hear the magic in the music that’s playing even if you wish you could belt out the lyrics with someone who’s far away. Take some deep breaths, take an inventory of everything that’s going well, and then just let yourself be here, in this moment, enjoying whatever’s here to be enjoyed.

    —

    I think one of the gifts of especially trying times is that we’re reminded of things that are always true, but we often forget: That life is short, nothing is guaranteed, every moment with the people we love is precious, and each day is ultimately what we make of it.

    I know it’s easier for some than others to make the best of the life they’re living, because life is different for all of us. But I also know when I remember these things, I feel a lot more present, peaceful, and alive. And that’s the best way to appreciate the life we’re currently living—to choose to fully live it.

    —

    To help us all be a little more mindful, I’m currently running a holiday sale for my newly launched Mindfulness Kit, which includes four aromatherapy-based products for peace and relaxation and three FREE bonus guides for daily calm.  

    For a limited time, it’s available for $29 (usually $45). I know many of you have already gotten a kit for yourself and for holiday gifts for friends and family. If you haven’t yet, this may be the perfect time to give it a try or gift it to someone who could use some relaxation and relief. I hope it brings a little serenity to you or the people you love!

  • What Helped Me the Most When I Thought My Life Was Over

    What Helped Me the Most When I Thought My Life Was Over

    “What I’m looking for is not out there, it is in me.” ~Helen Keller

    I used to think that life should be easy, and if it wasn’t easy, then I was doing it wrong.

    I’m older and wiser now, and I’ve learned that if it is hard, that means I am probably doing something right.

    I had a good childhood. I had a loving family, plenty of opportunity, and I excelled at whatever I put my mind to. But I was a high-anxiety kid, and a relentless perfectionist. As I grew older, that need to have everything flawless impeded my ability to be happy because I didn’t like myself very much.

    When I got married, I felt like I had added a notch to my self-worth belt. As someone who didn’t have a whole lot of self-esteem or love for herself, when someone else loved me, it was just what I needed to feel validated, or so I thought.

    But that wore off too.

    Then, I had kids, which was amazing—I love being a mom. But there was still something missing. I was happy enough, but I didn’t feel alive. There was this little whisper the whole time that said you are not where you’re supposed to be.  

    I felt this urgency to figure out how to be happy, but at the same time, I didn’t. I was happy enough, and there was that guilt. I should be happy. I was so blessed with two beautiful children, a husband, a gorgeous home—you know, the American dream. I’m a terrible, selfish person if I’m not thankful for everything I’ve been blessed with.

    And life was comfortable. It wasn’t what I had dreamed of, or as beautiful as I had thought it would be, but everything was “fine.” And the comfort of “fine” and certainty seemed better than the unknown.

    And then it happened.

    That whisper turned into a very hard and abrupt shove into another lane, as if I didn’t get the hint the first time.

    I could have taken it as a punishment for not being one hundred percent happy with where I was at, and, I suppose I did for a while. But now, I know it was the universe trying to tell me something, and it wasn’t whispering anymore.

    The universe was now yelling at me, loudly.

    The lane-changer happened the day I discovered my husband of seventeen years had been cheating on me with another man.

    The life I knew—the life that I was happy enough with—was gone in an instant on a hot, sweaty July day.

    I did not handle it gracefully. I was an utter hot mess for months and months. The better part of a couple of years, really.

    But I made it through the other side into my “new lane.” and I want to share a little bit about what helped me get here, and what helped me be truly happy here.

    The reason I was so devastated when I was thrust into my new lane is that I had been clinging to this vision of the life I thought that I should be living—the life that was “normal.”

    I was attached to so much—having a husband, having children, having a home, doing married-people-with-kids things. I could have never imagined my life a different way. In fact, it was scary to imagine my life differently.

    As I got older, my world shrunk. My comfort zone got bigger.

    When the crisis with my marriage happened, I tried to hold on tightly to everything that had just crumbled in front of me. But there was nothing left to hold on to –I was experiencing complete groundlessness.

    That attachment to the way things had been was all I had. I didn’t have a ton of self-love, or “I’m okay on my own” mentality. My identity was “we” with my partner for nearly twenty years, and I didn’t know how to function as a “me.”

    I had taken the little things, and the big things for granted.

    So what helped me survive this?

    Someone asked me this after I was feeling like my life was back on track, and after really thinking hard about it, three things came to me.

    Gratitude, mindfulness, and self-love.

    I’m often amazed at how succinctly I was able to boil down these lessons into a few things that were the tipping point for me to find myself, and my happiness again.

    Start with Gratitude

    Focusing on what we are grateful for is a super-simple and powerful tool that is often overlooked. We have access to gratitude at all times, and it is absolutely free. How’s that for a deal?

    Practicing gratitude on the regular has a ton of benefits. Focusing on what you’re grateful for has been shown to increase self-esteem, make us less self-centered, improves health, helps us sleep better, improves our relationships, and… gratitude makes us happier. Boom!

    Remember, gratitude is a practice. The more you cultivate it, the more you will feel it. Stick with it and try these simple ideas:

    1. Make the decision to be grateful. It all starts here.

    2. Keep a gratitude journal. Putting pen to paper (or a gratitude journal app if that’s more your speed) is a great way to get in the habit of focusing on the good things in your life, rather than the not-so-good things. Aim to write down at least 3 things you are grateful for every day.

    There are other neat ways to do this too, such as sharing something you’re grateful for at the dinner table each evening, or keeping a gratitude jar, in which you write what you’re thankful for on slips of paper and drop them in the jar.

    3. Create visual reminders of things you’re grateful for. Maybe a vision board? Or just a journal filled with images you love. If you’re an artist (or even if you’re not!), an art journal can be fun!

    4. Think of ways you can show your gratitude in everyday life, like doing something nice for a homeless person because you are grateful to have a roof over your head

    5. Think about how you can be grateful for the setbacks you’ve had—it’s hard, I know, but I promise you can find a silver lining in anything if you try! Journal about them.

    6. Think about how you’d feel without something. How would you feel if you had ZERO family or friends? Or if you hate your job, how would you feel if you didn’t have a paycheck?

    Next, Practice Mindfulness

    I know, I know. Everyone talks about how mindfulness will help you be happier.

    That’s because it works.

    The benefits of practicing mindfulness are many. Personally, in terms of the quest for happiness, I think the greatest thing that you can learn being mindful is how to observe your thoughts without judging them.

    Have you ever tried meditating, and found thoughts popping in and out of your head like a whack-a-mole game? And, if you’ve been in that space, have you been hard on yourself for not being able to meditate “properly”?

    There is not a right or wrong way to meditate. You will have thoughts that pop into your head and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. The point is to notice the thoughts and let them be there without any judgment (good or bad).

    Starting to pay attention and notice your thoughts is a huge step toward seeing which thoughts and patterns are getting in the way of your happiness. And then, once you begin to notice those thoughts and patterns, you can start to form new ones that will better serve you on your quest for happiness.

    Finally, Treat Yourself Like You’d Treat Someone You Love

    Once you’ve become more mindful of your thoughts, you might notice that your inner critic can be quite nasty sometimes, telling you you’re not _______ enough or not worthy enough.

    Chances are, you’d never speak that way to your children, best friend, or partner. So why on earth do we say such horrible things to ourselves?

    Think about it this way: Your inner critic has a lot of information that it has assimilated over the many years of your life. Some of it is helpful, and some of it just isn’t.

    I used to hate my body. I was not nice to myself at all.

    One day, it occurred to me that I would never say the things I said to myself to my daughter, and as someone who spent much of my adult life struggling with an eating disorder, I certainly did not want to pass that on to her.

    I committed that day to work on talking to myself like I would talk to my daughter. To caring for myself like I would care for my daughter.

    That started with telling myself I was worth self-love and self-care.

    The second step was noticing when my inner critic was telling me that I was not worth that love and care.  Once I was able to notice those thoughts, I was able to start replacing them with more helpful thoughts and words.

    Is any of this going to happen overnight?

    Nope.

    Happiness is something we all spend an awful lot of time looking for, and this feeling of peace and contentment that we all hunger for seems pretty elusive sometimes. But remember, it is in you. You already have everything you need inside of you. These three practices are some pretty simple things that you can do to start your journey toward happiness using what is already inside you.

    Everything is a process. You don’t get from point A to point B overnight. It’s the little things that you take the time to do every day that get you there. If you stare at a blade of grass, you can’t see it growing minute-by-minute, but when your lawn needs to be mowed, you can be pretty sure it grew a lot!

    The end result will come, but you must have patience. You must be grateful for the process to learn and grow. And during the process, you must treat yourself with love, kindness, and respect.

    When you can embrace this truth, you are sure to end up in a beautiful place, and one day, you too, will live from a place of happiness, purpose, and fulfillment.

  • What Helps Me Get Strong When Life Gets Hard

    What Helps Me Get Strong When Life Gets Hard

    “It’s time you realized that you have something in you more powerful and miraculous than the things that affect you and make you dance like a puppet.” ~Marcus Aurelius

    In 2016 I was about to graduate with high honors from a top university. I had mastered Mandarin. Eleven months before graduation, I had secured a job from a reputable accounting firm. I was in a stable relationship with one of the most gorgeous girls on campus. Life doesn’t get any better than this for an international student 1o,000 miles away from home.

    Slowly, things began to change. Three months before graduation all three members of my family fell gravely ill. When I wasn’t awake talking on the phone with them, I was awake worrying myself into insomnia, anxiety, and stress.

    Two months before my graduation, the recruiter who’d agreed to hire me wasn’t returning my calls nor replying to my emails. I started to entertain loads of self-deprecating thoughts. Little by little, I was descending into oblivion.

    Finally, the big day had arrived. It was my graduation day. Pretending that everything was fine, I put on a big smile and went to the ceremony. Needless to say, there was a fire of frustration and anxiety raging inside. Soon I wouldn’t be able to conceal it any longer.

    The atmosphere of the auditorium was filled with laughter and excitement from relatives, teachers, and students. Deservedly so. That day marked the end of countless sleepless nights, embarrassments, exams, and reports. To everyone, it was like the end of a forty-hour marathon in the Himalayas.

    Paradoxically, the smile, chatter, and exhilaration of my classmates and their loved ones only added to my woes. I became more and more anxious with each minute that passed.

    Suddenly, I was reminded of all the pains my mom had gone through to get me to where I was. When my dad left her because she didn’t agree to abort me, she took it upon herself to move forward with the pregnancy and raise me.

    Without a proper job nor a stable source of income, she did everything in her power to ensure that I had a solid education. I would have given anything to have her celebrate such a happy moment with me.

    Fearing that I may embarrass myself and spoil my classmates’ happy moments, I left in the middle of the ceremony and rushed back home. I locked myself in my room and cried my eyes out for hours on end.

    I came to a point when I couldn’t eat, sleep, or enjoy any activity. For the first time, I was experiencing what psychologists call “anhedonia.” No beautiful movies, social gatherings, or sports appealed to me. As I isolated myself, I became more and more lonely.

    On November 10, 2016, at 10pm, the only person that was around during those troubling times decided to put an end to our relationship. Normally, that would have been just another breakup. But to me, it was a breaking point!

    Given the grief and pain I was enduring at that time, I had no mental steam to cope with another rejection. The pain that was already eating my soul became even more unbearable. That night and the seventeen days that followed, all I could think of was to simply end it all.

    The Turning Point

    Eighteen days later, on November 28, 2016, I decided to open up to a pastor and her wife. For the first time, I counted all my pain and griefs to this couple who gave me their undivided attention for three hours non-stop.

    That night, I went home with a renewed sense of hope. It felt like a big weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For the first time in eighteen days, life seemed to have more potential for joy than it ever did.

    Back to my room in front of my computer, a video by Nick Vudijic on how to overcome hopelessness made its way through my screen as if by magic.

    Halfway through the video, a feeling of resentment and shame was washing all over me.

    How could someone without limbs have such a positive outlook on life? I understood that there must be more to happiness and peace of mind than the challenges of life.

    I was determined to find out what I needed to do to help me navigate life’s difficulties without losing any sense of pleasure or hope. In the subsequent months, I would discover what it takes to turn disappointment into achievement, desperation into inspiration.

    Focusing on Your Blessings

    I’ve heard it said that counting your blessings is an effective way to deal with challenges of life. It sounded too good to be true to me—and incredibly difficult. How can someone count their blessings when they’re obviously in a total mess?

    Still, I took a piece of paper and challenged myself to write ten things that I was grateful for. Within minutes I was all worked up writing positive aspects of my life that had previously eluded me. I may have been anxious, but I wasn’t hospitalized, I had a roof over my head, I had friends that cared for me. My mom may have been sick, but she was alive.

    It became clear to me that my attitude toward my problems was clouding my judgments and preventing me from seeing the beauty of life. I realized that no matter what you are going through there are always a thousand reasons to be happy.

    I’m not saying that feeling down or frustrated is unnatural, that you shouldn’t feel sad when you are going through hardships. Rather, regardless of how dark a situation is, there is always a silver lining. You simply have to search for it.

    I don’t expect you to agree with me. All I’m asking is that you put this claim to test and prove me wrong. You have nothing to lose but a world of peace and relief to gain the minute you put pen to paper counting your blessings.

    Put Your Problems in Perspective

    As I continued to write my blessings first thing in the morning and before retiring at night, the happiness and peace of mind I experienced became contagious to anyone I came in contact with.

    People from all walks of life became attracted to me in ways I never dreamed of before. They were looking for my advice on how to cope with their own life challenges.

    Gradually, it dawned on me that some of these people were going through troubles that were way bigger in magnitude than my problems.

    I will never forget how much pain one young student felt when she told me the story of her parents. At twenty-four, she found out that her parents had an open marriage and her mother was seeing another man aside from her father. Neither of her parents dared to tell her until she found out herself.

    People in Asia, where I live, are very conventional, and most families would not openly live this type of arrangement because of how it would be perceived by society. The shame and betrayal she felt were so disheartening that it affected her studies, her mood, and her sense of self. She was devastated!

    As she counted the story, I got overtaken by emotions, lost all professional composure, and began to cry right in front of her. After this incident, it became clear to me: No matter what problems you are going through there are people with similarly painful or even bigger problems out there.

    I decided to put my own realization to the test. In addition to counting my blessings, I began to experiment with two additional ways to put my problems in perspective.

    First, whenever I feel overwhelmed by a problem, I put the problem I’m facing at number ten on a piece of paper. I then strive to find nine worse problems that I could be facing right now.

    Similarly, when I’m facing a problem that feels insoluble, I put my problem at number ten on a piece of paper and strive to find nine others who are going through much bigger problems.

    Looking at my problems in this light provided me an excellent and effective way to build a strong sense of humility. Yes, it is absolutely important to see the light that shines through the darkness, but it’s equally important to acknowledge that the darkness may not be as dark as you imagine it to be.

    Putting your problems in perspective and realizing that you are not as unfortunate as your distorted thoughts make you believe, will be a valuable asset in helping you take constructive actions toward solving your problems.

    The Power Question

    As I developed a sense of gratitude and humility, I realized I needed to do more to come out stronger from those challenges. Counting blessings and putting problems in perspective may be effective in the mental plane, but they won’t make problems go away.

    As I continued my journey reading, reflecting, and finding means to solve my problems, I came across a famous quote by Epicurus: “Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempest.” The depth of the meaning of this quote made an immediate and profound impact on me.

    I became convinced that everyone must have a set of skills to respond to life’s challenges. I asked myself, “What inner strength do I have, or do I need to develop, in order to face this problem?”

    Oftentimes, when the going gets tough, we ask ourselves blame questions such as: “Why me?” “Why is this happening to me?”

    Or we may simply criticize ourselves by discounting our strengths. “I must be really stupid.” “I’m doomed.” “I’m never gonna make it…”

    By asking yourself this power question, you change your perspective and find what it takes to help you out of the rut. You don’t blame, whine, or criticize—you get going!

    Asking myself this simple question helped me understand that I could use my life stories to empower others, either in writing or through my speeches, workshops, and seminars.

    At the time of this writing, I’m proud to have impacted the life of thousands of young people throughout Asia. I’ve witnessed students, new hires, and even managers develop a positive outlook on life as a result of those stories.

    I never would have done any of this had I asked myself the power question.

    No matter what you may be going through, I challenge you to ask yourself: What inner strength do I have, or do I need to develop, in order to face this problem?

    Does this mean I’m problem-free right now? Absolutely not. Much like the clouds in the sky, problems come and go, but I’m no longer tossed around like a piece of wood on a stormy sea.

    I’ve developed the mental maturity that allows me to bend without cracking, and to adjust my sails with the whirling wind of anxiety, worry, and stress.

    Today, I’m living a life of meaning and boundless joy. I’ve regained my appetite for living. The most meaningful of all my gains is the utmost satisfaction I experience helping others awaken their inborn geniuses. Writing this article is a direct example of this commitment.

    It took me three years of applying these principles before I could see any tangible results. Beware of the get-happy-quick scheme. Anything valuable takes time. Your happiness is no different. A combination of a willing heart, a bias for action, and patience are all you need to live your life of happiness and meaning.

    If you count your blessings, put your problems in perspective, ask yourself the power question, and take consistent daily actions to strengthen your mind you will get results beyond your wildest imagination.

    Who knows? Maybe next time, we will enjoy an article from you!

  • How to Best Comfort Someone Who’s Grieving

    How to Best Comfort Someone Who’s Grieving

    “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” ~Vivian Greene

    Compassion is one of humanity’s greatest gifts. During times of suffering, such as following the death of a loved one, sufferers rely on the empathy of others to survive their ordeal. Yet, too often when someone is grieving, we do little more than offer an “I am sorry for your loss” because we are fearful of accidentally increasing their pain.

    Speaking as someone who lost her husband unexpectedly after just over three years of marriage—and who has counseled many people who have lost loved ones—I understand both personally and professionally how it feels to grieve deeply.

    All grievers appreciate the compassion offered them, but there are some expressions of sympathy that are more helpful than others. Here are five don’ts (and dos) for people wanting to comfort grievers.

    DO talk about the person lost, don’t assume bringing up their name or stories about them will make the sadness worse.

    What hurts me most is when people do not talk about my husband Jim. There were a lot of people who thought bringing him up in conversation would hurt me or intensify my sadness. The opposite was the case.

    I would tell them that I love talking about Jim and I always will because that is how I keep him alive and with me. I enjoy hearing a funny story about him or a memory of him that someone is eager to relive.

    Many people wanted to be there for me—even to reminisce about Jim—but since they did not know what was appropriate, they did nothing. As I suffered through the pain and shock of losing him, the last thing on my mind was who I had not spoken to recently or who might be available for a fifteen-minute talk.

    Grievers are not in a psychological state of mind to reach out to anyone, so please reach out to them. We need all the support we can get.

    DO ask questions, just don’t ask open-ended questions.

    One of the most common things you hear while grieving is “Do you need anything?” Or “How can I help?” These are the most stressful questions you can ask a sufferer. They’re heartfelt and have the best of intentions behind them, but for someone who is already overwhelmed with grief, shock, anxiety, etc., making decisions is very difficult.

    For example, food is one of the most stressful things when you are grieving. Sounds ridiculous, but it is true. Every client I work with who has lost a loved one says that food elicits the same stress with them.

    One of my clients is blessed with a family member who makes peanut butter protein balls so that my client will satisfy her nutritional needs without having to cook herself.

    My life was made so much easier by friends and family who brought me food already prepared. All I needed to do it was put it in the refrigerator until I wanted it. It was one less thing to worry about.

    So if you are going to ask a griever if they need anything, make it a simple choice: “Do you want soup or salad?” Or give them a multiple-choice question—A, B, or C.  They will still need to make a choice, but it will not be based on open-ended options.

    DO offer to get together, but don’t assume the person suffering will want to do the same things they have done in the past.

    Meet the sufferer where they are and not where they once were.

    Jim and I loved road trips to football games and live band performances. Today I can only enjoy those things with people whom I feel very safe.

    Many people just assumed that because I enjoyed it previously that I would naturally fall back into it again. It doesn’t work that way. Joy is a difficult emotion after grieving because you almost feel guilty to be happy. Maybe some people cope with their grieving that way, but the vast majority I have encountered do not.

    I would much rather spend the day outdoors in nature quietly, or have friends phone me and say, “How about we come over and watch a movie? You don’t have to entertain us or get dressed. Stay in your pajamas.” 

    DO leave the small things out of conversations, don’t bother the griever with trivialities.

    Grieving or not, if a friend or family member is facing a major problem in life, you want to help them, regardless of whether you are suffering. Life is about helping one another whenever it is needed. That is, when it is a legitimate problem.

    For example, I no longer have any patience for pettiness. I do not care about the traffic or the weather, or about the rude checkout lady at the supermarket.  Jim died two and a half years ago, and it is still a struggle climbing out of bed and getting through the day. With that kind of daily battle, I have no tolerance for those mundane conversations anymore. And I guarantee you I am not alone.

    Do yourself and the griever a favor—if your problem is nothing more than an irritant, speak to someone else about it.

    DO be open and patient with outbursts and breakdowns and don’t judge.

    Just because a griever looks better after a few weeks or months does not mean he or she is no longer suffering. It simply means they are getting better at improving their appearance. The suffering on the inside continues, and the daily struggles remain even though they are unseen by the public.

    Little stresses can derail us. For example, due to a rain delay, the Michigan-Michigan State game was running late, and living in Colorado, the local channel switched to the Colorado game. You would have thought I lost my dog. I called my brother (hysterically) and he took care of the issue in five minutes.

    You feel as if you have overcome so many challenges already that the frustration at not understanding what is going on around you sends you spiraling. It’s why you can only approach life one day at a time.  So resist the urge to judge another’s progress or choices. Sufferers really are doing the best we can.

    —

    In closing, it is so important that you remain who you are. Don’t try to change how you act or interact in fear of how you will make the person grieving feel. Just be who you are for them and remember that normalcy is not a goal let alone a destination. Their lives will never be the same again, but your consistent presence and authentic support will make the grieving process just a little less overwhelming for them.

  • Healing From the Painful Cycle of Loss and Abandonment

    Healing From the Painful Cycle of Loss and Abandonment

    “You have not been abandoned. You are never alone, except by your own choice.” ~Jonathan Lockwood Huie

    Loss is never an easy experience. However, it is a part of life, so we need to accept it and find ways to cope with it in order to keep moving forward.

    Whether someone dies or chooses to end a relationship, loss hurts and can leave us feeling abandoned and potentially leave deep wounds and scars.

    I recently read something that suggested abandonment is a type of trauma, and it can cause symptoms similar to PTSD when the abandonment issues from our past are triggered in the present. When those emotions are triggered, we go into fight-or-flight mode.

    I experienced a great deal of loss early in my life, and it created issues around abandonment, trust, and insecurity. Although most of the loss was through the passing of loved ones, I also experienced abandonment as a child and young adult from people close to me, who were alive and well and a significant part of my life.

    It began when I was only seven and my mom discovered she had a brain tumor. She passed away when I was ten. My dad was never honest with me about how seriously ill she was and the fact that most likely she was going to die. I was always told that mommy was going to be okay.

    Even though I know now that he was trying to protect me, it was the start of many repeating patterns in my life. Patterns of loss, abandonment, and deception.

    Was anyone ever going to be honest with me? Was anyone ever going to genuinely love me and stick around?

    I lost many other family members between the ages of ten and twenty-four, culminating with my dad. Our relationship had become strained over the years after my mom passed, mainly because his new wife, who he’d brought into our lives shortly after my mom’s death, seemed to have little compassion for a young girl who had lost her mother.

    She and her daughter became the new priorities in my dad’s life. I felt abandoned at a young age by the one man who I believed would be there for me after losing my mom.

    As I progressed into my teenage years and early twenties, I was looking for love and security anywhere I could find it. When I did find it, I tried to hold on way too tightly, so tightly that I often lost what I had.

    After my teenage years, I continued looking for love, for security, and for someone who would be open and honest with me; someone I could trust 100%. I wanted someone who would put me first. I was looking for someone who would finally prove to me that I was lovable and worth fighting and sticking around for.

    Over and over again, I looked outside of myself instead of learning how to find the love and security I so desperately wanted within myself.

    I have been in various relationships since the age of sixteen, starting with a seven-year relationship that felt like another huge loss when it ended. Not only did I lose him, but also his family, which had become a surrogate for my own. There were a few short-term relationships after that, and then I got married at twenty-seven after dating someone for two years. We separated five years ago, officially divorced three years ago, and after that I went into another relationship.

    All the loss and deception I experienced early on in life have created various fears, fears I now know I’ve created. A fear of being alone (which is why I’ve gone from relationship to relationship), a fear of not being enough, a fear that someone is going to leave me again in some way, a fear that people are not going to be honest with me.

    We all have our own experiences in life and our own stories. The important thing is what we do with them. Do we take them and learn from them, or do we take any gut-wrenching experiences we’ve been through and play the victim, wanting others to feel sorry for us?

    I will admit, I did play the victim for many years, and I wanted anyone and everyone to feel sorry for me. Many people told me that I was a strong person despite everything I had been through, but it took me many years to see that for myself. At one point when I was younger, I did see it, but then it got buried for quite a long time; however, I am now slowly finding it once again.

    I’ve been taking a deeper look at my life and the things I’ve been through, specifically when it comes to love and relationships.

    I’ve come to realize that I have attracted the same type of man many times. I believe this is based on the initial abandonment by my father, who couldn’t seem to be emotionally available for a young girl who had lost her mother and instead dove right into something new in order to not have to truly face it himself.

    When I look at some of the most serious relationships I’ve had in my life to date, I see they were all with men who were emotionally unavailable. Men who lacked empathy and compassion and who didn’t know how to be there when I was truly struggling. Much like my father.

    I realize that I’ve had this belief that if I could convince just one emotionally unavailable man to change, truly care, and be there for me—to heal the wounds of this little girl—then somehow it would make up for the hurt I experienced as a young child who felt alone and hurt and deceived for so many years.

    I thought that if I could just change one man, this would take away all the pain I had in my life for all these years. The pain that was like a knife in my heart that someone just kept twisting and turning, leaving an open wound that could never heal.

    There were times when I did things that didn’t feel right to me, just so the man I was with would love me and stay. I was not being authentic to myself, just so I wouldn’t be abandoned and alone.

    I was not learning the lessons I needed to learn, so what do you think the universe kept providing? Men who were emotionally unavailable or deceptive. Men who I could not fully trust, men who had no empathy, men who left me feeling unsafe and insecure, men who I changed who I was for.

    Finally, my eyes are starting to open. I see now that until I heal these wounds within me, on my own, I won’t find satisfaction in any relationship. I need to discover my path to healing, to being whole and complete, in order to have the relationship I truly want.

    So that is exactly what I am currently working on. Healing those childhood scars, learning to love myself, realizing that I am enough and that I deserve so much more than I’ve experienced up until now. 

    I know that I deserve honesty and respect, care and compassion, and a man who makes me a priority in his life. I just turned fifty last year, and although part of me wishes I could have figured things out a long time ago, I believe everything happens when it is meant to, and I am okay with that.

    We all learn the lessons we need to learn at different paces. It may be a long road, or it may be a short one. It may be easy, or it may be hard.

    One thing I can assure you of based on my own personal experience: the universe will continue to provide the opportunity to learn the lessons you need to learn until you finally come to that moment of clarity. A moment where it all becomes crystal clear, like a lake on a still, quiet day. A day when you have an awakening and can finally begin to move forward.

    And then, you will move on to your next lesson, because in life there will always be something to learn. If we aren’t learning, we aren’t growing.

    So, if you’ve been struggling with something that seems to be repeating itself in your life, take a look at what you’ve been through and see if you can find a cycle or a pattern there. Think back to where this pattern first began, most likely in your childhood.

    Try to step outside the emotions of your current situation and see the deeper work you need to do to truly heal so you can create change in your life. That might mean healing from early abandonment, like me, so you stop choosing people who will reject you. Or it may mean recognizing your worth as a person so you stop sabotaging yourself. Whatever your pattern, there’s one constant: you. The first step is to acknowledge that self-awareness is truly key!

    Then dig down and find your strength; it’s in there! Make a decision that you are going to learn your lessons, break that pattern, and find true happiness in your life. We all deserve that!

  • How to Be Your Own Best Friend When You’re Grieving

    How to Be Your Own Best Friend When You’re Grieving

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

    Your best friend just lost her husband and her mother within five days of one another. Her husband was terminally ill. Her mother was eighty-six. You don’t know how she is going to get through this. You know that she was assuming that after her husband died, she would console herself by spending time with her mother. But that is not how it is going to work out.

    Your best friend is grieving. Doesn’t she deserve your compassion? And by the way, by best friend I mean you. You are grieving, and you need to treat yourself with compassion. How do I know? Because in November of 2014, my mother died and then five days later my husband died. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the day, let alone a month, or a year, or beyond.

    I quickly learned that I needed to be my own best friend, to wrap myself in self-compassion.

    Understand your limitations, while gently pushing beyond them.

    Being self-compassionate includes being self-aware and empathetic.

    For example, during the first two months after Mom and Ed died, I would reach a certain point in my day where I was just done, mentally and physically done for the day. The problem was that, initially, this was at about 4 p.m. At 4 p.m., I felt like I could not do one more thing. I also knew that it was far too early to go to bed.

    When I felt like I could not do one more thing, I would pick just one more thing to do and then, after I completed it, I allowed myself to be done for the day. Next, I would meditate. At first, I could only meditate for a few minutes, and it was a major sob fest. But that is okay, I needed those tears.

    Include the people in your life who will help you regain your strength. And stay away from those who drain your energy.

    Being self-compassionate includes minimizing the amount of time you spend with people who drain your energy. This is a great rule for us to follow at all times, but now it is even more important. You are running on empty both physically and emotionally, and you need take care of yourself first. Remember put your own oxygen mask on first!

    Trust your intuition. A friend who I had fallen out of touch with learned that I was navigating the death of my mother and my husband. The good news for me is that she had forgotten my address. I say that because she began bombarding me with messages about how she needed to come be with me. I needed someone to come take care of me, and I could not be by myself.

    In the past, I had watched her method of taking care of others, and while she meant well and had a heart of gold, she was loud, and she was overbearing. Her way to take care of someone was to take over every aspect of their life. As an introvert, all I wanted was quiet. I could not imagine having someone in the house with me, telling me what was best for me.

    Tell your inner critic to be quiet.

    You would think that during a time such as this, your inner critic would just be quiet. But that’s not what inner critics do, is it? Your inner critic might be telling you things like:

    “You should stop crying so much.”

    “Why aren’t you crying more? What’s wrong with you?”

    “You should be able to concentrate on your work.”

    “You should be more productive.”

    “You should, you should, you should…”

    There is no such thing as should, there is only what is. Pay close attention to what you are feeling.

    Don’t use self-compassion as an excuse for self-destruction.

    Being self-compassionate is not a free pass to being self-destructive. It does not mean that it is okay to eat a pint of ice cream every day or to drink a pint of vodka every day. Keep an eye out for self-destructive behaviors.

    You still have responsibilities, and you will handle those responsibilities. This is the time to really sort through the difference between what are nice things to do and what are required things for you to do. Paying your rent or your mortgage, let’s call that required. Going to an event because someone said it would be good for you, let’s call that optional.

    Being self-compassionate does not mean you never do anything difficult. The day comes when you need to go back to work, or interact with the public, or attend social functions. Be aware of your limitations.

    Keep an eye on yourself.

    You are going to have days where all you want to do is stay under the covers. This is normal. Allow yourself a day to mope. However, do not allow yourself to spend seven days a week under the covers.

    Most days you want to get out of bed at a normal time and get dressed. Groom yourself, whether you are leaving the house or not. Eat healthy meals. Resume your exercise routine. Keep in touch with the right people, the people who do not drain your energy.

    If you are having severe difficulties getting up and getting dressed and handling day-to-day living, then get help. Seek out grief support groups and counseling. Ask trusted friends for help. Nobody said you had to go through this alone.

    Allow grief to be a part of your life. 

    I found that I was able to return to instructing and also to attending classes within a week. On my way to teaching, I would cry in the car all the way to class. When I was in front of the class, I was able to concentrate on my students and, for that short period of time, I was able to forget about my sadness.

    Once I left the classroom and got back in my car, I would cry all the way home. I learned to keep a good supply of tissues and eye makeup with me at all times. And I learned not to judge myself for needing to cry.

    About two months after, I was scheduled to travel to teach a corporate class across the country. I went, because I thought it might be good for me to leave the house and because I believed that I could be sad anywhere.

    I was right; in some ways it was good for me, and it was true, I could be sad anywhere. Living my life was not about denying the grief, it was about supporting myself in a way that I could get back to the business of living, and, for me, the business of living included making room for grieving. 

    Don’t impose an end date on your grief.

    Even while I was teaching others how to plan and schedule and meet deadlines, I began to realize that there is no specific timeline for grief. There is no magic date on which your sadness expires. As you move forward your days will be different. Your grief will change from a sharp stabbing pain, to a dull ache. Do not let anyone tell you when you should ‘get over it.’ Everyone’s path is different.

    Please be your own best friend.

    You are the one who knows yourself the best. Be kind. Do not use your own self-talk to say things that you would not say to others. Your best friend is grieving, and he or she above all others deserves your compassion.

  • What I Learned About Love and Grief When I Lost My Cats

    What I Learned About Love and Grief When I Lost My Cats

    “Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” ~Anatole France

    Unconditional love.

    The thought of my cats envelops me with warmth whenever I think of them.

    Why? Because we’re so connected. It’s an ethereal thing. Beyond words. Beyond reality. Beyond rationality.

    When I’m holding them, I feel so spiritually connected. They stretch out as I start to scratch their backs, signaling that they like it. A welcome sign I should continue.

    They stare with their mysterious eyes. Their stares are hard to read. Yet, they tell you a lot of things. They open the flood gate of emotions. Me to them and back. They don’t need to be able to speak. I can understand those tiny meows. Those sighs. Even those imperceptible smiles. And all because of the special bond we have.

    The inner joy they provide is incomparable whenever I play with them.

    They may not be as active as dogs, but it’s the sweetness that melts me.

    The moment I touch them, they start to meld their bodies into mine, telling me not to let go.

    Sometimes they are aloof. Their snobby attitude makes me laugh. Especially when they demand something and I withhold it. I stare back. I tell them “No.” Yet their eyes impinge upon my soul. Saying “no” for long is not an option.

    When I’m not feeling well, they know. They lie down next to me. They stay quiet next to me. They try to take away the illness. They’re sharers and carers.

    It’s a bliss being with them! It seems to be mutual. Indeed, I can’t last a day without my fur babies. Nor they, me.

    A Month to Forget

    Then came that dreaded month in 2013. In October that year, my two most beloved babies died.

    I was devastated. My grief was instant. It was raw. It hurt like hell.

    I started to question the concept of goodness and the fairness of life. How can the universe be so cruel? How can humans cope with the onset of grief that can come upon us so suddenly? Will our lives ever be the same again? Can we ever recover from the all-pervading feelings of grief and get back to those blissful feelings of unconditional once again?

    How can the source of my joy now be the source of my sorrow? How can it be that the reason for my existence is now the reason for my annihilation? How is it that my cure is now my pain?

    Ironic, isn’t it?

    Life is unfair.

    The joy that is given to any of us is always temporary.

    You may say I’m exaggerating. It’s just a cat, a pet, an animal. You can always replace one with another one.

    But I tell you, that’s easier said than done. For those of us who are animal lovers and who are by themselves, having a pet is like having a miniature human. Many people won’t understand this. It may be difficult to comprehend. Hard to accept. But yes, our animals can replace humans for comfort and reassurance in many instances.

    But that’s life. That’s how the circle of life evolves. One is birthed, one dies. It goes on and on and on. And it’s up to us to accept it and move on. At some stage we need to release. To let go. Otherwise we can get caught up in the devastation of loss and grief.

    That’s how grieving is. It is so painful. More painful than the loss of an object or career. It goes beyond physical pain. It’s a forever thing as a piece of your heart goes with them.

    Grief almost killed me.

    But I realized that it’s just a phase. It’s a doorway toward a better place. It’s a key to unlock your hidden courage.

    Sometimes, you have to undergo grief. To release the negativity and allow positivity to enter your life. As they say, you have to empty out so one can pour more love in.

    More than a painful phase, grief can teach you lessons that will add to the missing puzzles in your life. Lessons that will make you stronger; that will make you a better person. That will eventually bring strength and resilience.

    And while on this painful journey, I pondered upon these lessons that changed how I look at life.

    Lesson 1: Cry if you must.

    Never say sorry for crying your heart out. Most of us feel ashamed when we cry. We don’t usually like others to see us when we are crying. Society taught us that crying is a sign of weakness.

    Definitely not.

    It’s an outlet for your emotions. To cry is to release all the negative feelings that are killing your soul. Isn’t it that after crying, we all feel better? As if a huge stone was lifted out of our chest?

    That’s what I learned when my cats died. I cried. I cried a lot. I cried every day. I almost cried everywhere. Whenever I saw cats, tears would fall from my eyes. I allowed myself to be drenched in my tears. It just seemed natural at the time.

    Until the sadness is gone. Until my eyes ran dry. Occasionally, I still cry whenever I remember them. But I was never ashamed of my crying.

    Lesson 2: Every being is precious.

    “Don’t be a fool, it’s just a cat!”

    “Don’t waste your time on those animals.”

    “You can always replace them.”

    These are some of the things I heard people say as I grieved. People smirked. They didn’t laugh at me outright. They thought I was insane to grieve for those beings.

    “What makes them less of a precious being that I should not grieve for them?”

    That’s what I wanted to shout to those who were mocking me at that time. Because for me, every being is precious. Human and animals alike. For me, whoever—or whatever being—made me feel so loved and special, is as precious as a human person.

    My cats, they were so generous in letting me feel the love, the warmth, the joy. They made me feel special. Isn’t that enough proof that these beings are precious?

    And because of them, I learned to see the value of each being. Whether it’s another person, my neighbor’s pet, an old person, or a child. All of these beings are precious. They all play an important role. They all add value to my being.

    I believe that every person or animal we encounter throughout life adds something to our life. All those you bumped into on your life journey create an impact. They create a ripple effect that multiplies into bigger ripples, until all those who are in your circle feel the impact. We are all joined in some way, even if we don’t recognize it.

    Lesson 3: Reality bites.

    I was in denial for quite a time. I kept convincing myself that I’d be fine and that I’d get the hang of it.

    But the moment I was home by myself, the silence almost killed me.

    Where are those naughty meows?

    Where are those tiny fur babies cuddling at my feet?

    Where are those eyes staring up at me demanding attention?

    The thought of these memories haunted me. There’s this big hole in my heart that seemed to widen as the days lingered. Indeed, reality bites. As days went by, the pain got more intense. The feeling of missing them tore me apart. Reality certainly had bitten hard.

    In a painful situation, denial can make you feel good but only temporarily. Denial does not alleviate the reality of what is. It will bite you so hard and so deep that it can’t cure pain anymore. Sooner or later, you need to face reality. Feel the heartache.  Feel the overwhelming pain and sadness of loss of part of your soul. But you must not let the venom of reality kill you. You’ve got to allow a cure to surface.

    Lesson 4: It’s okay to not be okay.

    You don’t owe anybody an apology just because you don’t feel okay.

    In the midst of this painful phase of grieving, life had to go on. I needed to go to work. I needed to go out. I needed to do my chores. And, I needed to continue breathing.

    There were times I survived the day being okay, but there were times that I was stopped by the dreaded feeling of being not okay. How I wished I could just feel these things when I was safely at home. Or, during the night before I went to sleep, so that no one could see my weakness.

    Most of the time, this feeling paralyzed me, to the point that I could not continue my work or what I was doing at the time. Sometimes I could not speak. If I pushed myself to socialize, I ended up offending someone. Good thing my loved ones understood what I was going through.

    I tell you, it’s okay to not be okay. You’re not the only person who has felt this way. Acknowledge it if it comes. Welcome it with open arms. Then allow it to dissipate in its own time.

    But here’s the thing. The feeling of not being okay will eventually be temporary. By all means immerse yourself in the feeling, but do not allow yourself to wallow in self-pity, such that you cannot recover.

    Lesson 5: Grief itself is medicine.

    People tend to ignore this stage. When they’ve lost a loved one, they act as if nothing has happened. They act as if they have already recovered. Well, it’s okay to have that attitude. But I tell you, it is better to allow yourself to experience grief.

    Grief can be your healing pill. Just like a pill, it tastes awful at first, but as you progress, you’ll get the hang of taking it. Somewhere in your subconscious, it will register that the pill of grief really is medicine, and that it is good for you to experience what life offers in emotional enrichment. Until such time as when you’ve reached the recovery stage, and you no longer need the pill.

    That’s why I acknowledged my grief. I was aware of what I was going through. I acknowledged its presence every day. And then one day, I just woke up healed and refreshed.

    Lesson 6: Grief is temporary.

    If there is one thing that is permanent in this world, it is “temporary.” True, isn’t it?

    The reason why I allowed myself to undergo grief is that I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I thought it was just a stage of life that I had to pass through.

    For those times I missed my cats, and I suddenly felt bad, I somehow knew it was a temporary feeling. For those times I saw people playing with their cats, and I would suddenly feel the envy, somehow, I knew that feeling was temporary. For those times that I can’t help but think of my cats, and I want to isolate myself from the world, I recognize that it’s temporary.

    Grief is temporary. Sooner or later everything will fall into its proper place. Sooner or later you’ll get through. However, “temporary” can be a short time or an eternity.

    No Matter What, You’ll Get Through

    The road to recovery may be long, but there’s no other way to bypass that road. I even told myself that I would never let myself have another cat again after that dreaded loss.

    Days, weeks, months passed.

    Four months later, I found myself cuddling two fur babies again. They’ve been my medicine to full recovery.

    I find myself back to my old self. That person who loves to nuzzle cats. That person who finds joy playing with cats. That person who regards cats as family.

    I just realized that’s how the circle of life evolves. We lose some, we gain some. We love, we hurt. We become pained, but eventually, we receive healing.

    I realized that I needed to embrace life as it is. Even if I take things into my hands and try to manipulate an ending, pushing myself against the tide, I will always be swept back to where I should be. Life settles these things for you.

    This is grief.

    This is how you lose a beloved.

    This is how you fall and stand again.

    Grieve if you must. It’s part of life. Of growing. Of moving forward.

    And all will come to pass.

    And unconditional love? Oh, it’s there again. Together with my two new cats.

  • Honoring The Death of a Loved One

    Honoring The Death of a Loved One

    “Death is indeed a fearful piece of brutality; there is no sense pretending otherwise. It is brutal not only as a physical event, but far more so psychically: a human being is torn away from us, and what remains is the icy stillness of death. There no longer exists any hope of a relationship, for all the bridges have been smashed at one blow.” ~Carl Jung

    I’m at a dinner party with friends when I begin an engaging conversation with a woman I haven’t met before.

    Music plays softly in the background as our conversation touches on many different topics. She begins to tell me about a difficult situation she recently faced and how her sister supported her through it. I listen intently while she gushes about how lucky she is.

    “Life just wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t have her,” she looks at me and smiles.

    I take a sip of my red wine, her words piercing my heart. There’s a silence and I wonder if now would be a good time to tell her that I too have a sister. But instead, I gently change the subject.

    Often we never know what emotional wound we’ve reopened in others. How could we? The cuts and bruises of our own psyche are concealed so well behind earnest smiles and fake laughs. It makes me wonder how often I accidentally hurt others by bringing up the very thing they are trying to move on from.

    This particular conversation happens to come in October when my heart prepares for another anniversary of my sister’s death. Each year when this date comes around, I feel compelled to commemorate it in some sort of grand, meaningful way. But I struggle to think of anything that could ever be enough.

    Unfortunately, the comforting sentiment “time heals all wounds” doesn’t really apply when it comes to grief. At least not for me, or my parents. Together, we live in a world that still contains my sister. We re-live memories and laugh about the good times while the rest of the world seems to forget. It’s not that we are stuck in a permanent state of agony, we’ve just learned to adjust.

    I suppose the parallel could be like the adjustment to losing a limb. No matter how much time passes you will always remember what it felt like to run and jump and play, and how you can’t do that anymore. Some days you might particularly sad about it, other days it’s a bit more manageable.

    It seems like a human tendency to crave simplicity and a linear, systematic approach to grief. The infamous Elisabeth Kübler-Ross model has been widely misunderstood in assuming that grief passes in chronological order. But anyone who has experienced it knows that it’s a tangled up mess that slides backward and forwards.

    Especially on anniversaries.

    Everything about the time of year when the person we loved died can trigger us. It’s that familiar smell in the air, the change of seasons, a song on the radio—and in an instant, we are back to the day when we found out. It reawakens the shock we experienced all over again.

    The mind always wants a quick fix to move on, but the heart will never forget. So we tell ourselves that we’re fine, everything is fine. Meanwhile, our body surges with depression, guilt, loneliness, anxiety, irritability, anger, as well as physical symptoms from sleeplessness, unusual dreams, headaches, lack of appetite, difficulty concentrating or an increase in distressing memories.

    So, what do we do?

    It’s been six years since my sister died, and I’m still stunned by how powerful a force grief can be. No matter how fine I might think I feel, the pain of loss is still locked inside my body and I can’t quite find the keys to let it out.

    I’ve yet to find something that brings peace and connection to my sister. In the past I’ve tried to force the day by hurrying it along, only to find out that this never works. I’m now attempting to lean into the grief to truly understand it so that one day I can work in bereavement and help others.

    Here are some ideas that could help.

    Do something your loved one liked to do.

    My sister loved many things: animals, hiking, traveling, nature, and most of all, art. She was an incredibly talented artist. She would often spend hours drawing, painting, or collaging.

    I’m currently studying art therapy and while doing a collaging exercise in class, I felt this strong connection to my sister. After about thirty minutes the teacher told us it break for lunch, but I couldn’t stop. While the others left, I carried on as if I was in a trance. I felt so connected to my sister that it just about brought tears to my eyes.

    Create a physical reminder.

    When someone we love dies, it’s only in our minds or in our dreams where we can visit them. Having something physical that you can see can be healing.

    You could plant a tree in their honor. Watching the tree grow over the years allows for a physical reminder of them. Or you could plant flowers (or buy them if you aren’t into gardening) and create your own beautiful bouquet for your eyes to enjoy as a symbolic reminder of the transience of all beings. Flowers, like us, are only here for a short time. Remembering that could help us to accept mortality and enjoy the time we have while we are alive.

    Another idea could be to plant a veggie garden. Every moment would be a chance to connect to the loved one and once the garden is in full bloom, ripe with delicious vegetables, a meal can be enjoyed and you can give thanks for them for ‘helping’ in their own supernatural way.

    Write a letter.

    Often people say they can’t write but everyone can. It’s just the same reaction as handing someone a paintbrush and them saying, “Oh, no, I can’t paint.” Adults tend to hide behind “can’t’s” or “not good at’s” because we were told once that we weren’t good at it.

    But it’s not about being good at anything. It’s about healing your heart.

    A lot of pain from loss is around all the things we want to talk about and all the things that the person we love is missing out on. A friend of mine once said that she has continued to have conversations with her dad who died. It’s helped her immensely to talk with him in her own imaginary way, finding guidance on issues he always helped her with.

    So whether you talk out loud, or want to keep it a letter is completely up to you. Either way, it gives you a chance to release all the things you wanted to say.

    If the thought of it makes you feel uncomfortable, bring it up with your counselor and they will develop a plan that works for you.

    Set aside alone time.

    If you need to, take the day off. If you think, “Ah, I can’t do that…” then let me ask if you would go into work when you had the flu? Hopefully, the answer would be no.

    Grief is similar to the flu but instead of being a contagious respiratory illness, it’s a pain erupting from the heart and soul. Both need some inner tender loving care. Respect your body, respect your healing, and take some time for yourself.

    Accept the sheer power of grief.

    Many people mistakenly believe that grief is a single emotion. In actuality, it’s a powerful response that shakes us emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually. It is a natural and normal process that all human beings must face when dealing with loss.

    As much as we may think we can outsmart it by ignoring or pushing it down, it will always find other ways to seep through.

    Accepting these raw and powerful feelings to flow through your body can be unbelievably painful. I sometimes think of it as an emotional storm. When nature breaks down in a thunderous rage with bolts of lightning, we all flee undercover. In these moments, I respect nature’s honest and vulnerable display of despair and pain. For me, it’s a reminder that we are all like nature, we all experience inner hurricanes, floods, and earthquakes.

    No matter how extreme, they always pass. But we need to get out of the way and allow it through.

    Moving Forward

    No matter what happens to us in life, it moves on. We can be left with the most earth-shattering anguish and still find that the sun will rise for a new day. I know very well how unbelievably painful it can be to see the world carry on as you are left gasping for air.

    We all walk our own unique paths on the road to healing. No matter how much time has passed, our loved ones will always remain inside our hearts.

    They are the guiding lights that keep us moving forward, and I can’t think of a better way to pay tribute to those we loved and lost than to fill the world with even more compassion and gentle kindness.

  • You’re Reminding Them That They Lived

    You’re Reminding Them That They Lived

  • Everything Seems to Be Falling Apart… Because It Is

    Everything Seems to Be Falling Apart… Because It Is

    “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because its trust is not on the branch, but in its own wings. Always believe in yourself.”  ~Unknown

    If you’ve ever stopped and thought, “What the hell am I doing?” or “How did I end up here?” believe me when I tell you that you are one of many—including me.

    Feeling lost is stressful enough, but what about when we disappoint ourselves more than anyone around us? What do we do when we have no sense of direction or purpose, and dwindling confidence in ourselves?

    I haven’t yet figured it all out, but that’s just fine. That’s the point exactly, that we don’t have to figure it all out right now. You can be hurting and healing at the same time, they’re not mutually exclusive.

    I found myself in what would be one of the darkest moments of my life at the ripe age of twenty-five. My girlfriend of five years and I split up as I was planning to propose, an F4 tornado destroyed my hometown, and I quit a successful job in advertising all in a matter of months.

    The truth is, I wasn’t happy in my relationship (even though I told myself I was over the years and through a myriad of fights). I wasn’t truly happy in my career. And I was missing a lot from life in general.

    So I took a hard look at myself—twenty-five, single, jobless, and feeling empty. Not empty in the lonely sense of the word. Empty in that I would wake up in the middle of the night and not see her next to me. Empty in that all my peers were on life’s highway setting goals for themselves, breaking them, and setting new ones thereafter.

    Every opportunity that I had been afforded, I took advantage of and excelled in. But I never found that one thing that fueled the fire in my heart. I don’t think I ever discovered my passion. By twenty-five, surely I must have been getting close, right?

    Many of my friends knew exactly what they wanted to do from a young age. Deep down, I envied that. To know my purpose was what I longed for. So why was I not one of those that automatically knew?

    I don’t yet have that answer, as you might’ve intuited, but I have found two things to be true thus far:

    1. Yes, some people know what they want early in life. But they are the exceptions to the rule.

    Many successful people we know today found success later in life. Stan Lee started the Marvel Universe at thirty-nine, Charles Darwin wrote On the Origin of the Species at fifty, and Grandma Moses began painting at seventy-eight years old.

    Then there are the countless people you’ve never heard of—and probably never will—who found meaning and passion later in life, or found it, lost it, then found it again.

    2. Maybe we are meant to do more than one thing.

    It’s our understanding of success that helps us define when we’ve reached it. Rather than think of success as one destination, we can choose to see it as the car ride from spot to spot, each equally exciting.

    So how do you recover when you feel as though life took you, chewed you up, and spit you back out? You don’t… at least not really.

    I stumbled upon a great quote a few days ago that read, “When people say recovery, you typically think of returning to how you were before. But there is no going back. You do not merely recover, but reinvent yourself. You become something completely different from what you were before.”

    I read that over and over until I felt the wisdom shiver itself into my bones.

    Many times we take a step back from situations to recover, when in fact what we may need to do is reinvent ourselves if we can no longer return to what we used to be.

    It’s not a negative thing, to reinvent who you are. In fact, it’s one of the most liberating experiences you will ever have. You just have to let yourself.

    If you’re anything like me, you are your own biggest critic. And although this can help us keep ourselves accountable, it can prevent us from broadening our horizons. We internally set limits for ourselves based on past experiences, thinking that we can only go as far as we’ve already been. When you learn to let go of the things that no longer serve your purpose but only hinder you, then can you truly soar.

    Let yourself gain new talents and explore new things outside of your comfort zone.

    Sometimes it’s important to let go of the oars and simply float the river. So often we try and paddle upstream when in reality we’d be better off letting the river guide us downstream, to where we haven’t been before.

    Think back to every missed opportunity that you were disappointed with. Many (if not all) of those so called missed opportunities were actually guideposts. Even the accomplishments that didn’t last served their purpose. They were not meant to last, they were only meant to change you.

    What if I would’ve gotten married? I would have never had the opportunity I have right now to move away to Colorado and explore new horizons.

    What if that Tornado wouldn’t have hit my hometown? I used that as a chance to rebuild my home from the ground up, when I wanted to remodel anyway.

    And if I had stayed in the security of advertising? Sure, things would be financially stable, but instead I chose to finally pursue my passion for teaching.

    So yes, every single experience in life is an opportunity for growth, whether it lasts forever or not.

    I had a baseball coach in high school who would always say, “We learn more from the games we lose than the ones we win.” I carry that with me to this day. Maybe it’s because we analyze more when we lose, or maybe it’s because it forces us to change our game plan for next time. But trust that next time, you’re starting from experience, not from zero.

    So trust that when everything seems to be falling apart, new things are coming together. But you have to be open to embrace them. Simply float the river. The point of life is not in the destination, it is in the journey. But we are led to believe that life is serious and that it must be leading us to some grand destination.

    I’ve found that life is more like a dance. No dancer points to a spot on the dance floor and says, “That’s where I must end up at.” The whole point of the dance is the dance.

    So I’ll leave you with three things that I’ve found help me on this journey I find myself on:

    1. Name three good things about your day.

    At the end of each day, speak aloud three good things that happened. They don’t have to be grand, just the little wins we often overlook. I helped my friends move, I beat my time in the mile, etc. These help remind me that in the middle of the storm, there are still accomplishments in the day and things to be thankful for. That, in turn, can change your mood and set the tone for tomorrow.

    2. Exercise and eat healthy.

    How you feel is tied closely to the food you consume. Make it a point to eat healthier and to exercise. This won’t only improve your mood, but also your self-confidence and overall health.

    I’ve found that whenever life throws challenges at me, one constant that I can count on is the gym. When I’m working out, nothing outside of those four walls matters. It’s my escape, if you will.

    3. Keep a journal.

    Although life is about the journey, having a sense of direction can anchor us when we’re feeling lost.

    Write down what you want (out of your next relationship, out of life, etc.). Jot down your thoughts, fears, and feelings as you sit with uncertainty and find a way forward. Journaling is cathartic and can help ease much of the pain. It can also help you feel a sense of progress. One of my favorite things to do is to look back on old entries, which can help me see how far I’ve come.

    So no, this isn’t the end for you. You will survive and you will look back one day and be so proud of yourself for doing what you thought to be impossible. How do I know? Because if you’re reading this, you still believe in yourself. You still have hope that there are exciting new chapters left to be written, even if you don’t yet know what to do, or how.

    As I stated at the beginning, I don’t have it all figured out just yet, but that’s okay. I don’t know where this journey will lead me, but I know it will be exciting and filled with adventure. And in the process, I hope that you too, will find whatever is it that fuels that fire in your heart. Don’t give up, don’t give in.

    So yes, ultimately everything seems to be falling apart, but I’m finally starting to see that it’s because something better is coming together. Trust your journey, and even if the branch breaks when you sit on it, your wings will help you soar to new heights.

  • When People Want to Help but Just Make Things Worse

    When People Want to Help but Just Make Things Worse

    When I was fourteen years old, my family spent a week of vacation in the northwoods of Minnesota. We rode horses, sailed on the lake, sang songs around a campfire, and all the other things most teenagers tell their parents is lame. Even if they are having fun.

    After this week of boring, according to me, my family loaded up into our van and began what should have been a five-hour drive home.

    Except it wasn’t five hours.

    Thirty minutes into the drive we were in a head-on car collision. Triaged and transported to different hospitals around the area, it wasn’t until a few hours later—when my question, “What happened to my dad?” was met with silence from nurses, physicians, and my extended family who found me in the ER—that I knew he didn’t make it out. Not alive, at least.

    Two weeks later, I started high school.

    While I would have liked everything that had suddenly made my life “not normal” to fly under the radar, that was easier said than done. I was walking with crutches. I had crunching, paper bandages around my neck from the seat belt, and the whole story had been on the front page of the newspaper.

    What I was going through was my business, and yet I became surrounded by people offering this and bringing me that and giving me hugs when I just wanted to get back to normal.

    A few weeks later, my uncle showed up at our house and wanted to take us apple picking, something my dad had taken us to do at the local orchard every year.

    This time, when my uncle said apple orchard, he meant the Mecca of all apple orchards near Pepin, Wisconsin.

    As instructed by my mom, I pulled open the door to the garage and loaded into the car, suddenly finding myself sitting behind the driver’s seat. The exact same spot I was sitting during our crash. And not only was I sitting in the driver’s seat for the first time since the crash, I was sitting behind someone who, from behind, looked just like my dad, and who was trying to help by taking me to the apple orchard just like my dad.

    My heart was pounding. I focused on the seat back pocket in front of me, tried my best to breathe and sit facing forward while not looking any longer at the driver and his seat in front of me.

    The longer we drove, the angrier I became.

    My uncle was trying to help, but this, this was not helpful.

    I was tense the entire ride, wrought with worry the car might explode in front of me again, and when we returned home a few hours later, I shot out of the car, slammed the door behind me, muttered, “Thank you,” ran to my room, closed the door, and burst into tears.

    Going to the apple orchard with Dad was our business. Not my uncle’s. Driving that car was Dad’s job, not his.

    While he thought he was doing something so helpful to keep my dad’s memory alive, his one time trip to the Mecca of apple orchards, for me, was the opposite of helpful.

    That’s the thing about any business that’s important to you.

    Whether it’s someone you’ve lost or something you’ve loved and now lost, when things are special to you and other people see those things causing you hardship, they want to help.

    It’s a natural human reaction to want to help. But when you’re the one who’s receiving the help, there are so many times when something that was meant to be helpful turns out the be… the opposite of helpful.

    The truth is just because someone meant well with their actions that does not mean you have to feel good about their actions.

    In fact, most of the time, if someone does something that does make you feel good, it’s because they’ve taken the time to know you really, really well (like asking you if you prefer a compliment during a team meeting or a thank you card in your mailbox), or it’s just luck.

    And all the times when someone means well but it doesn’t feel well are so very normal.

    That’s okay.

    Instead of feeling bitter and angry about what someone did, whatever their intentions, and instead of becoming disillusioned about whether you can do anything to help someone else, it’s important to know the one thing you can know for certain in any interaction: you. Your thoughts, feelings, intentions, and expectations.

    So the next time someone is trying to help with something that is your business. Try this:

    1. Take a time out.

    We tend to use this as a tool for disciplining kids, but honestly, it works just as well, if not better, on ourselves as adults. And it’s not about giving yourself a time out from something you want to be part of. What you do is notice when you are feeling a growing sense of anger, frustration, overwhelm, and use your words to say something like, “I’m going to need some time to think this through. Let’s pick up this conversation at another time.”

    And then take the time away from the situation.

    2. Remind yourself of the intentions in the room.

    Why are you doing what you are doing?

    Why do you think they are doing what they are doing?

    Most of the time, people are doing something because they think it is a good thing or a helpful thing or something that will make the situation better. So, know that the people who are wanting to help are doing so because they care. There is something in it for them to help you and they want to help you.

    Even if the way they are helping now is the opposite of helpful, you can use this reminder about their intention as a key to making the situation helpful for you again.

    3. Speak out. Ask. Use your words.

    You have a person that wants to help you. So use your words. Tell them what would be helpful (or if you don’t know, tell them what is not helpful, and why).

    Say something like, “When you came to take me to the apple orchard, I felt like you were replacing my dad. I already feel worried that I am going to forget him, and I felt even more scared when we did something that made it feel like we were trying to replace him.”

    Notice the “When _______ happened, I felt ________.”

    This is intentional language.

    When you speak this way, you keep the focus on the goal: helping you to feel better, because you have identified a specific situation when that did not happen.

    Then say, “To make this feel better to me, I would need ________.” And say what you would need.

    Is it any apology? Is it that you want them to talk about things more? Do you not want to talk about it more? Do you want to do something you’ve never done before instead?

    It’s your business. So make it your call. And help them help you by showing why unhelpful things are unhelpful and suggesting what would have made the unhelpful things… well, helpful. Because at the root of every relationship is love.

    So, even during times when things aren’t as good, it’s important to separate the actions other people do to help with the intention that’s behind it all: love for you.

  • It’s a Myth That We Can Just “Get Over” Pain and Loss

    It’s a Myth That We Can Just “Get Over” Pain and Loss

    “There is some kind of a sweet innocence in being human—in not having to be just happy or just sad—in the nature of being able to be both broken and whole, at the same time.” ~C. JoyBell C.

    “I just feel like it’s never ending… like I should be more over it by now,” my friend says, her eyes looking down at her mug of tea. She lost a loved one three years ago in tragic circumstances.

    Her words make me sad, and there are layers to my sadness: I’m sad for her loss, her grief, for the difficulty she faces daily as she continues her life without this person. Also, I’m saddened by her belief about her suffering; that it’s somehow not okay or normal to still be so sad.

    This is not a woman in ruins. She has a good life. A job she loves, a beautiful home, and family. She’s a wonderful mother to her children. But she is deeply sad. She carries this sadness around with her everywhere she goes—on the train to work, on the sofa while she watches Netflix, out to dinner.

    Her sadness is heavy, yet she carries it with a grace that belies its weight. It’s not ruining her. Yet it’s there, like a psychological shadow, even in her happier moments.

    This conversation made me think more broadly about our societal beliefs about loss, our attitudes toward sadness, and the inherent problems these give birth to.

    My grandmother died over six years ago now. She died horribly and quickly from a brain tumor. From the time of her diagnosis to her death, there were only three weeks.

    Her death didn’t feel real for a long time, and initially I didn’t grieve as I expected I would.

    Months afterward, it started to sink in. As it did, the sadness came. It didn’t consume my every waking thought and feeling, but it was there beside me, wanting me to turn toward it. For a long time, I found this very hard to do.

    My cultural conditioning that sadness was ‘bad’ added a toxic layer on top of the raw experience of sadness and made me feel somehow ‘wrong’ each time I felt sad.

    A Kind of Healing-Perfectionism

    “Get over it.”

    These words suffuse the space around us, deeply ingrained in the cultural lexicon of healing. “I’m over it,” we say to ourselves. We assure others that they will do the same. Worst of all, we hold the belief that we should be over it by a certain time.

    We believe that this is the hallmark of a perfectly recovered loss/trauma/sadness—the gold standard of “I am perfectly okay now.”

    Is anyone ever perfectly okay? Is this really what we’re aiming for?

    Is there anyone who doesn’t walk around with the roots of sadness grounded in their being, even as their happiness exists above these depths? I don’t know of these people.

    What I do know is that the greatest lie we’ve been sold about success and happiness is that these things exist in our lack of sadness or pain.

    The notion of “getting over” a loss speaks more to an ideal than a reality. Like many ideals, it’s alluring, but the closer you move to it, the more you see the danger. It gets in the way of our understanding about loss and grief, and it congests the fullness of our hearts.

    It disconnects us from our emotional truth and gives credence to an expectation about the course of grief that we cannot live up to. When this happens, there is one predictable outcome: We add judgment to our suffering and turn a natural process into a pathological problem, something to be ‘fixed.’

    Certainly, when it comes to dealing with loss, there are times when a normal emotional response can turn into a condition in need of intervention—if our initial sadness fails to abate with the passage of time, and we continue to be obsessed with our grief and unable to function in our everyday lives.

    In such cases, therapy and possibly medication are required. Yet, within the boundaries of what can be considered a healthy reaction to loss, there is a great range.

    What does a normal, healthy response to loss look like? How should it feel? How long is it okay to still experience sadness? When should we get over it? Should we ever? Says who? Why? What does “getting over it” even mean?

    When we think about the need to get over a loss, what we’re referring to is arriving at a psychological destination of being untouchable, unshakable. Reaching a point where we are largely unaffected, even by the fondest memory, or the most difficult one, of that which we have lost.

    It’s a kind of healing-perfectionism that needs to be named for what it is. Such ideals around suffering cause further and unnecessary pain and obstruct the very heart of what it means to be human. When we use the language of “getting over” loss, we are reinforcing the belief that sadness is something that must be overcome.

    Co-existing with Our Sadness

    We are conditioned to move toward things that feel good and to retract from those that feel bad. Primally speaking, it’s about survival. Sadness is one such ‘bad’ feeling; we recoil from it. Yet this retraction isn’t so much based on the inherent quality of the emotion as much as our insidious belief that sadness is, per se, bad.

    Of course, sadness isn’t a pleasurable experience—psychologically speaking, it’s classed as a “negative” emotion. However, we are not simple beings, and the primal drives we have are not so simple either; as such, it is often necessary to go against our basic instincts—to move away from pleasure (as in the case of addiction) and to move toward pain (as in healing).

    In healing from loss, ignoring and resisting our sadness will only send it deeper into our psyche and our bodies. One thing we know for certain is that when we fail to acknowledge our feelings, they continue to affect us anyway—influencing our thoughts, our emotions, and our decision-making beneath the level of our conscious awareness.

    One of the biggest problems with the idea of getting over loss is the implication, and subsequent expectation, that there is a life span to our sadness. A progressively tapering timeline where, after a certain point, the volume of our grief has reached a finite baseline—zero.

    Depending on our unique losses and our personality, the acceptable lifespan might be one year, two years, three years, four. But at some point, as time marches on, we’ll turn to our sadness and ask it why it’s still sitting with us.

    We’ll start to tell ourselves that it’s “been too long.” Yet, try as we might, we cannot force or sadness to leave, so we’ll do the only thing we can: turn our minds away from the sadness that lingers on in our bodies. We’ll disconnect.

    We Can’t ‘Fix’ Our Sadness, and We Don’t Have To

    Whilst Elizabeth Kubler-Ross may have delineated the stages of dealing with death (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance), these were originally meant for those who were themselves dying, not for those who were dealing with the death or loss of another.

    An unfortunate consequence of applying the concept of linear stages of grief to our human experience of loss is, again, the expectation of a finite ending; we go through the stages and we reach The End.

    The less convenient truth is that grief is non-linear; there is no one pattern it’s obliged to follow.

    Yet this concept of a finite resolution speaks to our society in a broader sense. Humans are exceptionally good at finding solutions. If there’s a problem, we solve it. If something’s broken, we fix it.

    This way of thinking is part of what makes us great; without it, we wouldn’t have the technological advances we have. But the problem arises when we apply this mode of thinking to our human suffering.

    Our bodies can be fixed; we can give someone a leg when they’ve lost one, sew a deep cut, stop an infection with antibiotics. But what of our sadness in the face of loss? How are we to ‘fix’ that?

    When we’re sad, we are not broken. We are suffering, and this is different. Sadness is a normal response to the experience of loss. Yet in a culture obsessed with fixing what’s broken, the idea of “getting over it” starts to infiltrate the rawness of our experience and dilutes the edifying, tragic beauty of living with loss.

    Making Space for Our Sadness

    It also speaks to our discomfort with ambiguity and paradox, especially in the realm of our emotions. We cling to our separate boxes; we seek the clear delineation of “I’m over it” versus “I’m still suffering.” Such thresholds don’t exist in life, nor in love.

    But rather, two opposing, seemingly contradictory emotions coexist; I am both okay and I am suffering. We must give ourselves permission to be the complex and contradictory beings that we are if we want to be fully human.

    Healing is not a line, but a wave. It’s organic, meandering. It doesn’t always move in one direction with one energy. But the most important thing is that it moves—if we allow it to.

    When we have lost, we must learn to live side by side with our sadness. Attempting to shut it out will shut everything out. There is only one highway where emotions in the body make their way into the awareness of the mind; joy, sadness, frustration, peace—they all travel along this same road.

    There are no alternate routes. Which is why when we judge our sadness and push it away, we inevitably push away our joy also. Rather than wasting our energy on the hopeless eradication of sadness, we must make a home for it. A place where it is welcome to live.

    We, in the West, are not so hot at embodying the truth that our sadness has a right of its own; we can’t really control it, any more than we control our joy. Certainly, we can’t structure our life around it, but we can make a space in our life for it to coexist.

    Its resting place is in the same sweet spot as our deep joy and gratitude. Sometimes I say to myself, “My sadness is a person too.” This is how I think of it. And in this thought, a respect for it arises.

    Side by Side, Sadness and Love

    Our belief in the notion of getting over our sadness also robs us of one of the most beautiful opportunities of healing—experiencing love by the act of remembrance.

    The thing that keeps our sadness close is remembering the love we hold but cannot give to someone we’ve lost. Memories are how we relive a person. They’re a way that we honor the existence of another. They’re also how we re-live a part of ourselves and bring meaning to our life.

    In our remembrance, we suffer. We feel sadness. And there is such poignant beauty in this; it’s an edifying kind of pain because it’s born from the depths of our love. To never feel sad, then, would be a kind of forgetting.

    The last thing we want to do when we’ve lost someone we love is to forget them. And yet, when we buy into the belief that healing means a lack of sadness or pain, we avoid the memories of the people we’ve lost, and in our avoidance, we disconnect from our love. Because to feel this love is also to feel the pain of it.

    Where does the love we hold for someone who is no longer with us go? It lives in us. But to breathe life into it, we have to let it live in our hearts right next to the pain that love and remembrance bring.

    When we do this, we soften. There is a release. We expand. We connect, both to ourselves and also to others.

    Compassion can only exist between equals; when I know my suffering and let it speak to me, I can see and speak to yours.

    You don’t need to overcome your sadness. That is not the measure of your healing.

    The measure of healing lies in the relationship between you and your sadness. You don’t have to make friends with it, but you do have to learn how to allow it to live in you, to respect its right to be there even as you respect your wish that it wasn’t.

    This is no small feat. It is the most courageous and bold thing you will ever do, to live in that dichotomy. To inhabit that space.

    Let this be the measure of your healing.

  • My Favorite Tip to Ease the Pain of Grief

    My Favorite Tip to Ease the Pain of Grief

    “It’s also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that’s sitting right here right now…with its aches and its pleasures…is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.” ~Pema Chodron

    Many people like to think of grief as an emotional experience. It’s something that dominates your internal, emotional space, and that’s it.

    But it doesn’t take long when you’re in the thick of grief to experience grief that isn’t emotional at all.

    You feel heavy. Like there’s a giant weight on your shoulders.

    You feel like your legs are weak and shaking from trying to stand after the ground has been pulled out from underneath you.

    It’s hard to breathe because it feels like the wind has been knocked out of you.

    You feel heartbroken. Like there is literally a hole punched in your chest. Your grief is as much physical as it is emotional.

    Each of the times you experience intense emotional grief you have also been a human being, in your body, experiencing what’s going on.

    When I started to recognize my own body as part of my grieving, I discovered my favorite way to ease the pain from grief for myself and for people around me.

    You see, when I was fourteen I started high school two weeks after my dad died.

    As I walked into that school building, everyone knew what happened, but at the same time I felt like I had no allies. No one that understood. That knew my dad, or that knew where I was coming from.

    The first couple months I just tried to get by.

    I did the motions.

    Didn’t ask too many questions.

    Nodded and shook my head at the appropriate times, making sure each day I came back with the worksheets filled out and ready to turn in.

    I was like a machine.

    My school counselor checked in with me each week to see how things were going. I saw her in homeroom every Tuesday.

    “How’s it going, Kirsten?” she’d ask.

    “It’s so hard,” I repeated again and again.

    So when she sat me down in her office after the first term, she braced herself for the worst. She’d gathered all the paperwork and people she needed to begin a full blown intervention. And then she looked at my grades.

    “Kirsten! What are you talking about?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “You have excellent grades. What do you mean ‘school is hard’?”

    “That’s just it. It’s one thing to fill out a worksheet everyday (this is what I now call “showing signs of life”), it’s another thing to actually do this school thing. I barely feel like I get settled in one class before the bell rings for the next one. I can’t switch my mind from thinking about geometry to immediately conjugate Spanish verbs. My world runs in slow motion, and this place doesn’t slow down.”

    “What can I do to help you?” she asked.

    “I don’t know.”

    Because I didn’t know.

    That’s totally normal not to know.

    Later that week, I found out from my mom that all my teachers had met about how they could help me, and they offered me an extra set of textbooks to keep at home so I didn’t have to carry around heavy books all day.

    “Why would I want that?” I told Mom. I didn’t want any special treatment.

    “Just try it, Kirsten,” my mom encouraged.

    So because she’s my mom, I listened.

    And it was the BEST. THING. EVER.

    On the physical level, it literally lightened the weight on my shoulders. It reinforced the true reality that just showing up to class was more than enough.

    It meant that just being there was all I needed to do, and the rest of the stuff—the logistics—were already taken care of.

    So when you know you’re going to have an emotionally intense day, what’s one thing you could do to lighten your load?

    Maybe it’s setting a timer when you’re cooking so you don’t have to remember how many minutes the pasta has been on the stove. Lighten your mental load so you have space to be with your thoughts.

    Maybe it’s resetting expectations your family has of you, being honest with them about what you are not available to do so you can use that open space for yourself.

    Whatever it is, think about the little things that cause you stress and use those as a source of inspiration for what actions will help.

    The other key part of the textbooks gesture is that it was a gesture that recreated trust.

    You see, in that one small gesture of giving me an extra set of textbooks, my teachers showed me they trusted me.

    They trusted me with these expensive things and they trusted that I would take their gift with respect.

    All the while, I didn’t know if I could trust myself.

    What was even left of me?

    It felt like I was all grief and no me.

    When someone, a whole group of someones who I respected, said with their action, “We trust you,” it was the first time in a long time I was extended a gentle invitation to trust my community again.

    I didn’t have to feel up for every social event or trust the whole world yet, but I could trust my teachers.

    Suddenly, I had a whole group of undercover allies.

    None of the other students knew I had been given “special treatment.” And each day I walked from class to class to class, I knew there was at least one person in the room I could trust.

    That one action was more powerful than any amount of words my teachers said to me over the entire year.

    Here’s what I want you to take away, even if you can’t resolve the pain from a feeling: Try to alleviate some of the physical burden. By doing so, you are creating space for you to heal that would never have occurred if you focus only on words, wondering “What do I say? How can I talk about grief?”

    Pay attention, listen to your body.

    Even if you can’t take away the emotions right now, what can you do to relieve the physical burden?

    How can you relax the gripping around your heart?

    What can you do to release the physical tension in your muscles?

    It might not take away everything, but just a little something can make a world of difference.

  • Why I’m Grateful for Accidents, Pain, and Loss

    Why I’m Grateful for Accidents, Pain, and Loss

    “If you have nothing to be grateful for, check your pulse.” ~Unknown

    I couldn’t feel my legs.

    There wasn’t any pain, just this odd “sameness” of non-sensation.

    My body was frozen as I turned my eyes downward to scan down my nineteen-year-old body. Below my knees, my legs were splayed out in a very peculiar way. I was halfway underneath my car, pinned down to the dirt and gravel of the road by the back right tire.

    The tire had caught my long, curly hair and the puffy left sleeve of my new white peasant blouse, miraculously missing my face.

    Blessing Number 1:

    In the distance, I could hear my two best friends shouting for help; as passengers, they were fast asleep when I fell asleep driving, hitting a tree and rolling the car. Thankfully, they escaped unscathed.

    Blessing Number 2:

    My vehicle was lifted off my broken body, and I was carefully hoisted into the ambulance. Without warning, pain seared through me like nothing I’d ever experienced. I remember worrying about my parents and how upset they would be that I’d crashed the car.

    The blur of the ER swirled around me, and I was quickly positioned on an ice-cold steel table.

    I could hear the ripping sound of my clothes as they were cut off my body. I was aware enough to be embarrassed when they got to my underwear. With no time for pain medication, the doctors yanked my left leg straight. Both of my femurs were badly broken and had to immediately be put in traction.

    When it came time for leg number two, the attending doctor told me it was okay to scream, so I did—loudly.

    I can still see my mother standing in the doorway of the ER. I will never forget the look of fear and horror on her beautiful face. Not wanting her to suffer, I looked up and said, “Mommy, I’m okay.”

    It’s been nearly four decades since my accident, and my eyes still well up as I share this part of my story. Not because of what transpired over the next extremely difficult year, but for the pain it caused my parents. It seems that while I woke up physically under the car, I had also woken up in spirit.

    Blessing Number 3:

    Before the accident that was to define my life, I was a carefree, hippie-type, artsy teen. Nothing bothered me; I went with the flow, was basically happy, and, like all teenagers, believed I was invincible. Traction, a body cast, a blood clot in my lungs, and a wheelchair would teach me that nothing was further from the truth.

    The details of the next twelve months don’t really matter, although they certainly did at the time. All I know is that facing my mortality at such a young age was the greatest gift of my life. Everything that I had taken for granted was gone—I lost everything during that time, from walking to finishing college to using the bathroom and everything in-between.

    Blessings Number 4, 5, 6… infinite:

    Over the course of the next year, I graduated from traction to a full body cast, into a wheelchair, onto crutches with a leg brace that wrapped around my hip, and eventually to a cane. Just before my twentieth birthday, I was set free, finally able to walk on my own again.

    Walking is something almost all of us completely take for granted, but not me, and never again. With each literal “step” back into life, I became more and more grateful. It wasn’t just the joy of advancing from a bedpan to a toilet, but to live in a place that had a toilet. To live in a country where insurance paid my staggering medical bills. To live!

    I was grateful to have a family that stayed by my side, day in and out over the course of that year, through multiple surgeries and life-threatening situations. A mother that drove the hour back and forth daily for the three-plus months that the hospital was my home. A father and brother who pressed their hands into my ribcage for an entire night to alleviate the pain of a blood clot that had traveled the distance from my right calf to my right lung.

    I was grateful for my older sister, who brought her toddler every week to sit on my stomach while my two legs were in traction. I was grateful to experience life in a wheelchair, being looked at with pity and wanting to scream, “I’m going to walk again!” to total strangers. Grateful for two legs that were still the same length. Grateful to be alive, and so much wiser than my peers.

    As soon as I could walk, I returned to college, finished my art degree, and went out into the world. At twenty-seven, I fell madly in love with a crazy comedian, who became my husband and the father of my children.

    During our thirteen years together, we traveled the corners of the earth, living a life of love and laughter. Until we didn’t. The loss of my marriage is another story, but I will say this: It was as dramatic and painful as breaking both of my legs and not walking for a year.

    There was no money; I lost my home and was forced into bankruptcy.

    The word “accident” is defined as “an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury,” or “an event that happens by chance or that is without apparent or deliberate cause.”

    Losing everything was completely unexpected, extremely unfortunate, and most definitely damaging.

    While the signs leading up to the demise of my marriage had been there all along, I had spent years pushing them down to a place where they couldn’t hurt me—at least not then. But I was much wiser this round: I knew that, in order to survive, I had better look for the blessings.

    Being broke meant my two sons and I staying home, making cardboard box forts and lots of brownies, which was actually my preference!

    The animals we rescued, that my ex-husband never wanted, were to love us for the next fifteen-plus years.

    Losing my marriage revealed who my friends really were.

    Having no money pushed me into single, working-mom mode, earning me a badge of courage that I proudly still wear today.

    My boys learned too: Losing our home made all of us appreciate our tiny rented condo and everything we shared in that beautiful, intimate space. Thousands of art projects, play dates, and burnt Eggo waffles later, my children and I became closer than I ever could have imagined.

    To navigate and process my pain, I became a “seeker,” which led me to incredible teachers, a lifelong meditation practice, becoming an author, lots of art, and a master’s degree in art therapy.

    Over time, I understood the true meaning of forgiveness and self-love, which fully opened my heart and my life. I understood that compassion was the answer to almost everything, and embarked on a path of helping others overcome hardship. This has become the most gratifying part of my life.

    I learned the beauty and blessings of the present moment, and how to stay there. I learned that loving someone with all of my heart did not mean sacrificing my own dreams.

    In the end, losing everything led directly to me finding myself.

    Both accidents taught me this: It’s easy to find things to be grateful for when life is wonderful. The key is finding things to be grateful about during and in challenge, so we feel good more of the time.

    Here’s how I did it: I learned to look at just about every situation and ask this question: “What’s good about that?”

    This was no easy feat, and I’m not at all saying that when life gets hard or tragedy strikes, we should immediately be expected to feel grateful. I certainly didn’t. Gratitude is a path and practice, and finding blessings-in-disguise can take years, even a lifetime.

    I believe that genuine gratitude is simply about finding good things in less time, whatever that is for you, and however you need to get there.

    Knowing all I know now, am I grateful enough to say I am glad it all happened? My accidents made me who I am, and I’m not sure how I would have gotten here without the hardship. So, in that sense, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t change a thing.

    I am most thankful for my abiding trust in the knowledge that looking for what’s good in hardship is a transformative way to live, and it both humbles and amazes me. The present moment is all we have, so we may as well find peace in it.

    I have absolute faith that by looking at all areas of life—emotional, social, physical, spiritual, familial, and vocational—and asking, “What’s good about that?” I will always have something to be grateful for, even if it’s simply using the bathroom again.

  • How I Climbed Out of the Valley of Loss and Healed

    How I Climbed Out of the Valley of Loss and Healed

    “In our lives, change is unavoidable, loss is unavoidable. In the adaptability and ease with which we experience change lies our happiness and freedom.” ~Buddha

    The universe was conspiring against me, I was sure of it. By the time I was thirty-six, I had lost everything in life that I had set out to accomplish—my marriage, my pregnancies, my two dogs, and eventually my house. The perfect family model I was so desperate to create was completely lost.

    Living alone and in fear of the future, I worried about what may or may not come, because everything I had tried up until that point had failed.

    I began doubting myself, as I wasn’t sure if all of my effort was worth it anymore. Anxiety and sadness gripped my heart and I drank to escape, because I really wasn’t up to the task of figuring out how to love myself in spite of my failed expectations.

    Then the universe added insult to injury: I found out my dad had metastatic colon cancer, and it was a total devastating surprise. I don’t know how it could have been, since as a nurse I could already see his sunken eyes, pale and ashen lips and skin, and the lack of energy in his step.

    Everything about him was telling me that he was dying, but when you love someone, it’s easy to see what you want to see.

    Selfishly, I needed to see my dad as the healthy, solid dad I knew. The dad I could rely on for advice and his pick-me-ups of “good job, kiddo.” But most importantly, I needed him to stay the man who helped me when things in my life were most dire.

    The thing is, it was not a white knight on a horse, it was my dad who loved and rescued me. It was he in his black Toyota pickup driving over 800 miles from Seattle to San Francisco to rescue me from my abusive marriage. He literally helped to pick me up off the floor after my husband had thrown me to the ground and tried to suffocate me.

    It was my dad who collected me and what little remained of my belongings, and without any questions or “I told you so’s,” packed me up and drove me back home to heal. And it was my dad who helped me hire a lawyer to file for divorce.

    When I learned that my dependable dad was dying, my mind tried to race against the symbolism of the metastatic invasion into my life that I refused to accept. I was losing again.

    How was I going to survive all of this loss? Would I have anything left or would I harden into a shell of a hollow woman?

    Despite attempts to plead and bargain with the universe, my dad died on a Friday. Friday June 21st. It was summer solstice and a day that not even the longest day of the year could light up. It was my darkest hour.

    At 10:00pm exactly, my dad took his last breath. It wasn’t until the undertaker came to pick him up and placed his lifeless body in their white plastic bag and I heard the sound of the zipper closing him in, that I turned in a childlike panic to face my mom and cry to her in half-truth, half questioning, “I’ll never see my dad again.”

    She looked at me blankly as the tidal wave of panic took over and I was drowning in pain.

    Many people run from the pain when they lose someone they love. They drown out the sound and fury of the feelings by numbing themselves in a variety of ways. I could have easily called my life quits and elected to stay living in the pain of loss, but instead something greater than me began to appear in my life. A spiritual side took over in a true form of resuscitative life support.

    I started to ask myself the bigger picture questions, “What else can I be doing?” “What else does life have in store for me?” “Why am I going through all of this?”

    Over the following months, I developed new hobbies and outlets for my self-care such as writing, meditation, and simply being quiet.

    I told myself it was okay to live in each moment and take life as it was presented to me.

    But the most importantly, I felt I was being spiritually guided through my dreams and my intuition, to my own inner wisdom showing me how to heal and activate my spiritual strength through my loss.

    “You can lose other people without losing yourself.”   

    “You can have loss without being lost.”

    Living beyond grief and loss is an evolution through a set of choices beginning with TRUST.  Trust the process. Trust yourself in the process. Trust that you can heal and flourish again in time.

    If you’re grieving right now…

    1. Know that time is your friend.

    We all learn to let go in our own way, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. Sometimes in parts, sometimes all at once. And then all over again. It is a process, and a process worth trusting.

    Choose to be patient with yourself. Give yourself permission to grieve and permission for the times you want to bounce out of it and watch TV.

    It can take months or years to absorb a major loss and to accept that life has changed. In whatever way it has changed, be kind to yourself by taking further pressure off, and don’t purposefully make any more major changes.

    Don’t worry about pleasing everyone else, completing everything on your to-do list, or keeping up with everyone around you. Sometimes it may take all your energy just to get through the day, and that’s okay. Sometimes that’s enough.

    2. Accept yourself and where you are from moment to moment.

    Grief isn’t always linear or convenient. Allow yourself to be sad, to be calm, to laugh, and to return back to being sad again. Lose all attachment to anything happening in a specific way. I remember being at work dealing with sick patients and having to leave the room because the tears and sadness would suddenly take over. It happens—let it.

    While it takes effort to begin to live in the present again and not dwell on the past, remember who you are in each moment—a beautiful soul dealing with transitory feelings—and know that is enough.

    3. Let the tears flow.

    If there is one thing I do well, it’s cry. Do you allow sobbing wails and tears? Allow the feelings of grief to arise and to pass. Emotional expression through grieving is normal and tears are a part of that process.   There is no reason to be embarrassed or try to suppress your tears. Crying is a normal human response to emotion and has a number of health benefits, including pain relief and self-soothing effects.

    Every time you allow an aspect of your pain to be felt and released, you are healing.

    A successful spiritual practice and one that gave me great freedom was to know, regardless of what loss I experienced in life, I can love myself through it all. Remember, you are not your pain and are worthy of love at all times.

    Though I walked through the valley of the shadow of loss, I will not live there. And you don’t have to either.