Tiny Buddha

Tag: loss

  • When Someone You Love Is Grieving: How to Really Help

    When Someone You Love Is Grieving: How to Really Help

    “The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” ~Henri Nouwen

    It’s hard to stand at the edge of someone else’s grief.

    There’s the awkwardness. You always feel a little like an uninvited guest who arrived late and missed the first half of the conversation—a conversation that turns out to be a wrestle between another person and the deepest parts of their own soul.

    What can you say when you realize you’ve barged in on an interaction so intimate, so personal that you just want to avert your eyes and slink quietly away?

    Then there are the triggers.

    Grief has a way of unsettling everyone in the proximity. It stirs up our own unhealed parts. Is it any wonder that we have the instinct to smooth over the other person’s emotions, to take everything back to normal, before it has the chance to stir up something inside us?

    But here’s the thing: Your friends need you. Your family members need you. When we are grieving, we need our closest loved ones more than ever.

    I’ve had moments of not knowing how to help too. That’s why I’m sharing my insights about what healed, and what hurt, when I lost my husband to cancer.

    Don’t Say Nothing

    It would be easier to say nothing. To bury that whisper inside that nudges you to reach out. To focus on the busyness of your own obligations—your life—instead of drawing closer to my dance with death.

    I get it. But being on the other side?

    It hurts.

    It hurts to be this raw, and to have you look the other way.

    Please don’t ignore me.

    I know it’s a risk. You may get it all wrong. Or you may say all the textbook-right things, only to have me not receive them. My emotions are up and down and all over the place. Some days I’m hard to deal with.

    But this risk, it’s the kind that matters. The kind that deepens relationships, cements love, and humanizes both giver and receiver. When we dance together, you and I, trying to figure out how to be in the presence of so much pain, something magical happens. We open ourselves to meaning and beauty and richness. To the purpose of it all.

    In facing death, we embrace life.

    Don’t Ask How I’m Doing

    Sounds counter-intuitive, right?

    I just told you not to ignore me. And asking, “How are you doing?” is the first thing we say in most situations to show concern.

    The thing, is, answering this question when I’m grieving is painful. It’s so painful that immediately before and after my husband’s death from cancer, our daughters actively avoided going places where people might ask “How are you doing?”

    That cut out a big chunk of their support system.

    “How are you doing?” asked in passing, say by the clerk at the grocery store, isn’t the problem. It’s the soulful, “How are you doing,” said with words drawn out in long intonations, accompanied with deep pitying eyes, yet said in a rushed or crowded setting, that is tough. It’s tough because:

    -Some days going deep enough to give you a genuine answer upsets the emotional balance that’s getting me through the task at hand. Even on a good day, there is so much feeling under the surface. It may be taking all that I have to hold it together. I know you mean well, but please realize it’s hard for me to answer this question honestly and also keep my composure when the setting calls for it.

    -The immediate answer doesn’t mean much anyway. Emotions are fragile and unstable, especially in grief. How I’m doing may be different now than it was an hour ago than it will be in another hour. I’m fine and I’m not fine. Some days I’m really at a loss to explain it all.

    -Both of us know the answer is messy and complicated and multilayered. When the setting is too crowded or the time is too short for a heartfelt conversation, we each feel the disconnect of a partially true response. It creates distance instead of intimacy between us.

    Fortunately, there is a better way to bridge the space between us, and to communicate love and support.

    What to Do Instead: Pretend I Already Answered You

    You aren’t going to be satisfied by a cheerful “Fine!” when you ask how I’m doing.

    You won’t believe me because you can see the grief behind my eyes, despite my smile. And even if you haven’t been through my experience, something deep down tells you that this is big. Too big to be neatly resolved and tucked away in the category of memory.

    Trust yourself. You’re right.

    So what would you say to me if we fast-forwarded past the “How are you doing?” stage? If I actually had the time and space and emotional stability to give you a full response, how would you answer?

    Pretend I just told you that I’m trying in this moment to be strong, but I secretly I wonder if I’m too broken to ever be whole again. That I’m struggling, and it’s so hard. That last night I lay on the bathroom floor and screamed “no, no, no!” to the universe how many times? A hundred? A thousand? That I have to choose, moment by moment, to focus on life and hope. Except sometimes I’m not sure I want to live anyway. That loss is loneliness beyond words.

    Pretend I told you that despite all that, there are moments of happiness. And that part of me feels guilty for that. But the other part grasps for any glimpse of joy and peace with the intensity of a drowning person struggling for breath. Pretend that I asked you to please, please not push me to dig deep if this is one of those rare lighter moments. Let me breathe air for a few minutes before I am submerged again by the grief.

    What would you say?

    Skip the question. Say that instead.

    I have no words.

    You’ve been on my mind.

    I believe in you.

    It’s good to see you.

    I love you.

    Or if you and I are close enough, say it with a hug.

    And then, if you really want me to know that you care, schedule a bigger chunk of time for us to spend together. Maybe in that setting I’ll want to talk about the loss. Or maybe I’ll cherish the distraction of talking about something else.

    Either way, I need you. Isn’t that what you were really wondering?

    Don’t Tell Me That Time Heals All Wounds

    Even if that were true, it still wouldn’t be helpful.

    What I need is for you to see where I am now. To witness for me, and to share with me, this intensity. I want you to understand how raw, how immediate, how overwhelming the suffering is right now.

    But it isn’t true that time heals wounds. At least not always.

    Some pain lessens with time. Other pain festers and worsens. Some people grow from tragedy. They become deeper and stronger and more beautiful. Other people become a withered, gnarled caricature of what they used to be.

    And it isn’t really time that makes the difference.

    It’s heart and hope. It’s choice. It’s victory in this fight against despair and discouragement.

    Don’t minimize my battle.

    What to Do Instead: Stand with Me

    Do you want to help me in the battle? Then stand with me.

    In the center of my pain.

    Don’t rush to hide it or fix it or silence it (you can’t anyway).

    Be brave with me. Accept the discomfort of your own emotions bubbling up when you look at me.

    Accept the helplessness of not being able to fix this. (It’s scary, isn’t it? This realization that you are also vulnerable.)

    Be a witness to what is.

    Choose to stand with me in this place I didn’t choose to stand.

    Don’t Tell Me to Call If I Need Anything

    Once again, I know this comes from a good place, but the reality is, I desperately need you right now. It’s not a matter of if.

    The normal tasks of life are piling up undone around me. Which matter most? It’s hard to focus. To remember. To care.

    Truthfully, I don’t even remember when I last ate.

    I don’t know how to organize what I need when this grief is so large that it blocks my vision and squeezes against me until I can’t even breathe.

    And if by some great effort I did articulate what I need, what if you said no?

    What if I called to you, from this broken place, and you didn’t come?

    The risk is too much, because even more than I need your practical help I need you. I need to believe that you would be there, if only I could say the words.

    What to Do Instead: Help Me

    Think of something you could do to bring sunshine, and offer it. The specifics of what you offer matter less than your willingness to reach out.

    • Can I drop off food for you tonight?
    • Can I come by and mow the lawn/walk the dog/change the oil this week?
    • I have a gift card for you.

    When you reach out in a tangible way, I come to trust your sincerity. I think that maybe I really could ask for your support when there is a specific challenge I need help solving.

    Most of all, I feel you with me. And that was the biggest need all along.

    Don’t Tell Me What to Feel

    Everyone talks about stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

    The truth is messier.

    There are cycles of grief. I cycle back and forth from one reaction to another, sometimes in the same day. All those feelings are part of the process. All are valid.

    I cry. I yell. I laugh. I sink into sadness too deep for words.

    It’s exhausting work, grieving.

    Imagine wrestling a giant polar bear slicked down with Vaseline. Teeth and claws bear down on you as you struggle against an opponent many times your weight and muscle mass. When you try to get a hold, your fingers slide off and you find your hands empty.

    That’s how it feels to grieve.

    So don’t tell me to smile.

    I will, when that is what my healing calls for. For now I’m doing my best against something terrifying and overwhelming.

    Don’t tell me to be strong.

    I already am. I am a warrior, and this is what battle looks like.

    Don’t question me when I smile or laugh. Sometimes I need to stop and breathe during this intense work. When I do smile it doesn’t change the depth of my pain.

    What to Do Instead: Believe in Me

    Believe I can fight this fight.

    Believe it with so much confidence that you don’t rush to fix what you can’t fix or to control a process you can’t control.

    Believe it so completely that you aren’t threatened by my anger or terrified by my despair.

    Believe that I can face the rawness of my life ripped open and gutted in front of me and rise again.

    I will make it not because I am special or chosen or different than you.

    I will heal not because of all the advice and reassurance you give—as much for yourself as for me.

    I will heal because in touching the center of my pain, I have found my own strength.

    You Will Heal Yourself as You Help Me Heal

    You want to help.

    Even though it’s hard, sharing this journey. Thank you for trying. I know it’s awkward and emotional and brings up feelings it would be easier not to feel.

    But there’s something beyond altruism you might not have considered.

    This journey is actually as much for you as it is for me.

    Those broken pieces inside you, the ones that are triggered when you witness my pain? They can also be healed as you share in my journey.

    I’m not saying it’s easy.

    But as you sit with pain—mine or your own—you learn that in a way deeper than words that hope matters. That love prevails.

    And as you feel the depth of those hardest emotions, you start to believe in a way raw and real that life is beautiful—even its shadowy underbelly.

    Most of all, as you watch me stand naked and vulnerable—yet determined as a warrior—in the face of so much grief, you start to believe in me. Not the kind of faith that is padded and comfortable, insulated by layers of platitudes. A faith born in fire. Gritty. Pure. Powerful.

    And as you believe in me, you also come to believe in yourself.

  • How to Replace Body-Hate with Self-Compassion

    How to Replace Body-Hate with Self-Compassion

    “Loving yourself is the greatest revolution.” ~Unknown

    I’ve spent most of my life struggling with my weight and trying desperately to fit the idealistic image of beauty that our culture celebrates.

    As a young teen, I was obsessed with magazines and all their secrets to be prettier and have a better butt and get your crush to notice you. I see now how desperate I was at such a young age to feel beautiful. Nothing seemed to work, though, as years passed and my need to fit the ideal beauty image only increased.

    In high school I learned to skip meals, and in college I learned to combine food restriction with exercise. Even then, I don’t remember being happy with my body.

    Over many years my body and my weight have changed drastically. Also, struggling with depression and anxiety has meant trying different prescriptions, all with weight gain as a side effect. It’s contributed to more body changes, especially in recent years.

    The more my weight changed, the harder it became to reside in my own body. I didn’t feel like myself anymore, and I didn’t look or move like I once did.

    I looked back on when I was thinner and remembered that I was unhappy at that size, but now I’d kill to have that old body back.

    It was painful to look at myself in photos. I started avoiding old friends and acquaintances because I didn’t want anyone to see my new body. Every pound I weighed carried shame and self-blame. My body was the enemy and I was at war.

    In the midst of trying new ways to manage my anxiety and depression, I came across yoga therapy. It was life changing for me. I found that I felt better after every session, even amid a severe depressive episode. To feel a mood shift in the slightest degree was miraculous, and I was hooked.

    I needed more yoga in my life and, being the academic that I am, I decided to study it. I found a local program that specialized in training yoga teachers and yoga therapists, and a new journey began.

    The first thing I learned was that yoga means union. It aims to unify the mind, the spirit, and (lucky me) the body. As a woman currently waging war on her body and studying yoga at the
    same time, things were about to hit the metaphorical fan.

    Not too many months into my yoga studies, I found myself in treatment for an eating disorder. I had to learn, or in some ways, re-learn, how to connect with my body. Turns out there are a variety of sensations and sensitivities in the body that we can (and should) tune into.

    Our bodies give us subtle cues all the time, and when I started approaching my body mindfully, I became more aware of them. For example, as I was more mindful of my breath, I noticed that I’d stop breathing when I had a difficult thought or when I challenged my body to do something it wasn’t ready to do.

    My body responded to every negative thing I did to it. When I starved myself or pushed my body past its limits, it responded with headaches and overuse injuries.

    Once I realized these things were all related, I began to ask questions: Why am I so tired? Why do I feel so overwhelmed? Why am I pushing myself so hard? How do I begin to recharge? How do I honor my own needs?

    This body I’d been at war with for so long turned out to hold the key to healing many wounds.

    When I began listening to my body’s limitations and needs, I began to change. Learning to honor my body gave me the confidence to ask for what I needed. I tuned into when I was tired or hurting, and I set up new boundaries. Taking breaks when I needed them and stepping back from certain relationships actually left me feeling more connected and capable.

    I realized it was time to end the war. My body deserved peace. It deserved compassion.

    All those years of struggle have left a mark on me. I still tend toward eating disordered behavior from time to time, and still find myself comparing my body to those around me. Sometimes the body-hate speech in my head can still get so loud that I can’t hear myself think.

    In my recovery, I’ve realized that countering negative self-talk is key. I’ve found a few things that help, and I’d like to share them in hopes of helping someone else who needs it.

    1. Every time you notice body envy, thank your body for something it does well.

    This will require you to be mindful about when you are comparing yourself to others or checking yourself in a mirror. Take a moment to purposely think about something your body does that is good for you. Doing this may not create an instant change in mindset, but it will, over time, help to re-wire some old thought patterns.

    Some things you could thank yourself for are breathing, talking, hearing, and thinking. Maybe thank your body for transporting you from place to place, walking, frolicking, twirling. Feel free to be creative!

    2. Find body movements that suit you.

    Bodies are magnificent! They are capable of doing so many things. When we tune into our body’s capacity for movement and we’re active, we feel more connected to our bodies. In those moments of connection, we are more likely to be proud of what our bodies can do instead of ashamed of how they look.

    Not every person is a natural athlete, so I’m not going to insist everyone start running marathons. You know your body and you know what you’re capable of doing.

    Personally, I love yoga, as all good yoga teachers do. I also love the camaraderie of running activities, but I’m a walker. I walk 5ks and am planning to participate in a walker-friendly half marathon within the next year. It’s accessible to me and I feel good doing it.

    Maybe for you it’s swimming or dancing or hiking. You don’t have to be the best at it, just enjoy it.

    3. Scrub your social media feed.

    Nourishing ourselves goes way beyond just what we put in our mouth; it includes what enters our minds.

    Nearly everyone has some contact with social media these days whether it’s Twitter or Facebook or Instagram. These places are ripe for talk of new diets and weight loss before and after photos. Of course, it’s mostly full of weight loss stories because no one seems to post their weight gain to social media.

    Anyway, I find it important to unfollow anything that’s unhelpful to you. If it elicits negative feelings about yourself, I beg you to consider deleting or unfollowing. Replace these feeds with more body neutral or body positive or health-at-every-size feeds. Add stories and images of successful people who look like you and who behave in ways that make you feel good.

    4. Buy clothes you feel comfortable in.

    I am so uncomfortable in tight fitting clothes, and I’m not present when I wear them. My mind is constantly focused on how others may be seeing me or interpreting my outfit when I’m uncomfortable in the clothes I wear.

    So, I recommend going out and going shopping for a few new pieces that make you feel good. Ignore the numbers and go by how it makes you feel. Take a friend with you for support if you need it. It does improve your confidence when you wear clothes that really fit you.

    5. Have honest conversations with your loved ones.

    Set boundaries around diet talk. If certain topics and conversations trigger you to feel poorly about yourself, it’s important to talk to people you trust about your sensitivities. Loving friends will want to support you in this and are often really receptive.

    I’m lucky to have lovely friends who are respectful of my boundaries and who are honest with me when I ask them questions about my insecurities.

    I’ve asked my friends not to discuss diets around me and to avoid calling themselves “bad” for having seconds or eating dessert. Also, we agreed not don’t put our bodies down. Those things really affect me, so I’m grateful to have friends that understand that. I encourage you to find people you can trust and let them support you.

    —

    Finding ways to stand up to your own body-hate speech is so important. These little exercises may seem small, but over time can help make a difference. When we habituate self-compassion, our lives will change. Sometimes the smallest things can make the biggest impact.

  • How I Lost 30 Pounds by Meditating (and All the Things I Gained)

    How I Lost 30 Pounds by Meditating (and All the Things I Gained)

    “Clear your mind. Your heart is trying to tell you something.” ~Unknown

    I recently lost thirty-plus pounds without trying or intending to. I remember excitedly sharing this news on social media one day, after stepping on a scale in my hotel room and being shocked. I don’t own a scale, so between the time when I had last weighed myself and this day, I’d lost over thirty pounds without being conscious of it.

    After my public announcement, people from all directions contacted me asking me questions. Everyone wanted to know how I did it and what could they do to lose weight too. My heart could feel the longing and pleading in their voices. I wanted to help, but what a precarious situation to find myself in! Weight loss has many layers to it, and it is completely individual to each person.

    Many were hoping to hear about what pill they could take, or a new diet-of-the-day to adopt, or hoping for a secret exercise program that they hadn’t yet tried. What was the next Beach Body, ketosis, paleo, juice cleanse, gluten-free, South Beach diet, Crossfit fad—that was actually going to work this time?

    My answer to this riddle was surprising to all and too unbelievable for most of my friends. But there was a handful that said they would consider giving it a try.

    I lost the weight because I’d started meditating. That is the concrete foundation of it all. Many felt baffled by my answer, but it was because of my meditation practice that I naturally made lifestyle changes that led me to lose extra weight I wasn’t even aware I was carrying around.

    I was in grad school at the time, and for homework my professor assigned (prescribed!) meditation. I secretly rolled my eyes when she did this and thought to myself, “I’ll blow this one off.”

    About a month later, at our next teacher/student review, she told me that she could tell I wasn’t doing the meditation homework. She followed her accusation up with, “I understand if you think you don’t need this. But how are you going to lead someone down this road who does need it if you haven’t walked this road yourself?”

    I was shook! How could she possibly tell I wasn’t doing the meditation homework? And the way she just called me out on it? Shamed. As an “A” student, I felt humiliated that she could tell I blew off the assignment. The fact that she knew I wasn’t meditating was enough to get me to do it.

    Right there, humbled down, I began.

    For twenty minutes a day, we were to clear our heads and focus on only our breath. It was excruciating! It was so much harder than I thought it was going to be, which is humorous considering the reason I blew it off in the beginning was because I thought I already knew how to do it.

    I couldn’t even sit still at first. I would wiggle all around. I’d give up and then start again. Over and over. For what seemed like forever I would get angry and think about how this wasn’t working, and I didn’t think I could do it, and maybe meditation was for better people than me. Finally, after struggling daily but keeping at it, a little over two weeks later, a shift happened.

    It was like when you are learning how to snowboard and every day it’s hard, and frustrating, and you spend most of your time falling down, but then with giant relief, you have that moment where you finally link your turns and suddenly you just get it. Everything clicks, and you feel like you are floating on a cloud. Or like the first time you learn how to ride your bike. Or, when you are surfing and struggling and getting beat up by the waves, and then finally you catch your first wave, and suddenly you’re gliding.

    It felt like that. It was a connection. It felt good!

    After that experience, when I tapped into a feeling of complete ease, peace, and surrender, I felt like I finally understood how powerful meditation can be if you keep at it. And then it became easier for me to tap into that feeling each time I practiced. Gradually, it got easier for me to maintain that feeling for longer amounts of time during the meditation.

    Eventually, I was able to maintain that feeling outside of the meditation. And this is when my life really began to change.

    This deeper connection to myself felt really good. This new sense of being gave me a fresh perspective, a renewed reverence for myself, which propelled me to make some changes in my lifestyle. It didn’t seem too difficult because it felt like the next natural step to take. I felt called to live in a new way.

    When you meditate, you grow your self-love muscle. It grows your self-respect. Self-respect means to honor and care for yourself. This new feeling and self-awareness motivates you to make different choices and do healthier activities with your mind, body and soul.

    Meditation trains you to listen to the voice inside of you that is always looking out for your highest good. When we get really good at listening to that voice, we are led to treat ourselves and others with greater care. It is not to be underestimated how life-changing this can be.

    The voice inside of me told me that I needed to start going to bed by 10pm. It urged me to stop eating certain foods. It told me to get my booty moving and do daily exercise outdoors. It nudged me to stop drinking alcohol.

    These were some of the changes I was called to make to take care of myself better, and as a natural byproduct I lost thirty-plus pounds in a matter of months. I watched my body morph into a body so fit that I couldn’t even recognize myself in pictures. All without consciously trying to lose weight. Meditation simply led me to love myself better, and my dream body was the result.

    I don’t know what habits you personally need to change for you to get a healthier, fitter body. But I do know the tool that will get you there. We all have different habits that keep us from our best self, but meditation will give you the clarity to weed out whatever it is that you need to change.

    Meditation clears away our head chatter—everything that vies for our attention and keeps us from being our best selves. Our heart, the voice of love, will always be in a battle with the mind, the voice of our ego. Meditation helps us quiet the ego so the heart can talk.

    When we approach weight loss as something we need to fight, obsessing over calories and punishing our bodies in workouts, it’s an uphill battle that’s difficult to win. An unhappy journey doesn’t lead to a happy destination. This method is exhausting. It doesn’t feel good, and it doesn’t make us feel good about ourselves.

    You don’t have any more time to waste struggling against yourself, disliking yourself, or being unhappy with yourself. It’s time to try a new approach. It’s time to love yourself into better health.

    When we choose to love ourselves more, we have a greater desire to treat ourselves better.

    When I check in with myself before I eat, and ask myself what is the nicest food I can give to my body right now, I make different choices. Before, mostly all of my food choices were emotionally based.

    Most of us don’t eat consciously; we eat emotionally, trying to stuff down feelings from the past or the present.

    When we allow our emotions to rule us in this way, we are ignoring our guidance system—our intuition, our inner wisdom—about what our body needs to function at its best.

    Self-betrayal is when we disregard what’s best for us, which only leads us to more unhappiness and triggered eating. This is a painful cycle to be in, and it comes with a cost. The emotional weight that we carry manifests itself as physical weight. This sets a foundation for stagnancy and disease.

    Meditation stabilizes emotions. It lifts you up out of old patterns of thinking. It can set you free. Free your mind and the rest will follow.

    It also helps you develop self-awareness so you’re less apt to unconsciously reach for comfort food when you’re feeling something uncomfortable. Instead, you’ll be able to ask yourself what inside you needs to be comforted. Then you’ll be able to confront your emotion instead of trying to stuff it down.

    Craving comfort is really a call for love. Craving sweets is a call for more sweetness in your life. Rather than eating for your sadness, you’ll be able to see this craving as an opportunity to give yourself what you are really craving—love.

    Then, over time, as you allow meditation to soothe your mind, your need for comfort dissipates. It helps you recognize that love doesn’t come from outside you; it comes from within you. When you understand this, you will no longer crave it. Love is an unlimited resource located inside you.

    If you’re interested in sustainable weight loss, meditation is your key, though it’s not a quick fix. Nothing worthwhile is. A daily meditation practice will naturally lead you toward some lifestyle changes that will unburden you and lighten your load—mentally, emotionally, and physically. It will take some practice before you get the hang of it, but stick with it. Remember, it took a while for me to get it too. If I can do it, anybody can.

    Now I know how my teacher could tell that I wasn’t doing the meditation homework. So much changes in you when you start meditating daily. I wasn’t connected to my inner guidance, and to those who are connected, it’s obvious when others are not.

    I was living, eating, speaking, and acting unconsciously. I was led by my feelings instead of being grounded in love. So much of the world operates this way, hence why we see so much chaos, drama, and disease.

    Looking back on this now, it astonishes me because I had no problem with the way I had been living, and I had no previous intention to change. I am so thankful I had a teacher who led me to meditation and held me accountable long enough for me to experience the benefits.

    Only you can know what is best for you, and your inner guidance—your heart, your intuition—knows the way. Meditation will help you hear that voice. Don’t delay—begin your best life today!

  • Love Them Today, Before Their Tomorrow’s Taken Away

    Love Them Today, Before Their Tomorrow’s Taken Away

    “Before someone’s tomorrow has been taken away, cherish those you love, appreciate them today.” ~Michelle C. Ustaszeski

    Last year, my grandfather passed away.

    He had gone to the hospital many times before. Sometimes he went for a minor sickness, sometimes for a severe condition. Unfortunately, the last time he went, we found out that he didn’t have much time left. He was diagnosed with last stage bladder cancer.

    It was a shock to our family. My grandfather had always been a survivor. He’d survived the war, the darkest moment of the country. We couldn’t imagine he would lose his life to something like this.

    I came home as soon as I could after hearing the news. And luckily, when I was home, he was conscious. He was a big man, but I remember seeing him in bed, looking small and fragile like a sick little cat under his too loose clothes. I was thankful for the chance to be with him for the last time, and happy he knew I was there.

    After that, I came to visit and check on him every day. On the last day I was home, I hugged him and told him to get well soon, and that I would come back to visit him when he got better.

    Before I even said it, I knew it would never happen. I made a promise that I knew I couldn’t keep.

    I returned to the city to work and a couple weeks later, I received the news that he had passed away.

    All my memories of him suddenly came flooding back. He was always there in my childhood. He watched me all day so that my mom could go to work, which meant he was basically a stand in parent.

    I remembered the time he gently wrapped a bandage around my head after I ran into a wall and my forehead started bleeding. And how he listened patiently to all my childhood problems, from complaints about a dress that was too old to my side of a fight with my sister. And how he often bought me snacks even though he didn’t have much money to spare.

    After I grew up, he was still there while I was studying and busy chasing success and promotions. Yet I only visited him a couple times a year, when I had free time.

    I was so used to his presence that I didn’t remember to cherish him while I had the chance.

    I remembered one time I came back to visit my old school and realized the tree I used to play under was still there, waiting for me to come back for almost twenty years. I felt like I’d treated my grandfather like that tree. I’d never thought much about how long he’d had to wait for me.

    I sobbed, tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t breathe well. My head was heavy. That tree is now gone. Gone for good. My grandfather is no longer. Now every time I drive by his house, the gate will be locked, the door will be closed, and I’ll no longer see him sitting in his chair, drinking tea, and greeting me with a sparkle in his eyes.

    Same street, same house, but it will never be the same.

    I didn’t come back home for my grandfather’s funeral because I was pregnant, but many of his other grandchildren showed up. Many of them I hadn’t seen in years, even after hearing about his sickness. In fact, I’d forgotten about their existence. How could I remember? They were never there to talk to him, to be with him when he was conscious. Why did they even show up after he’d passed? What were they doing? Who were they trying to impress?

    But then it hit me.

    They were just like me. They’d treated him like an old tree whose shadow was always there for them to play under. And they only missed the tree when it was cut down and they were exposed to the sun.

    I can’t blame them. It makes sense. Life happens. We get busy. We need to work to pay the bills to buy the house to get the promotion. And we just forget. It’s not until we get burnt that we realize how much we needed that tree, and how much we wish we could feel its shade again.

    Maybe it’s time for all of us to slow down, look around, and make sure we spend time with the people who really matter to us.

    If you also need to get your priorities in check, like I did…

    Make plans to spend time with your loved ones.

    I’m sure you’re one of the busiest people in the world. We all are. Or at least that’s what we choose to believe. It’s tempting to spend all our time and energy trying to achieve our goals. When we achieve them, we think, then we’ll allow ourselves to take it easy and be with our loved ones.

    But what if when that time comes—if it ever comes at all—our loved ones are no longer there?

    Don’t wait till you get the time to prioritize the people you love. Make the time. Make a plan. It’s a choice. One you won’t regret.

    Put down your phone and stay present.

    How many times have you looked at your phone, read emails or the news, or scanned your notifications while talking to someone?

    Yes, you might be able to multitask. But did you really listen to the person in front of you?

    Put down your phone and look at your mom’s face when you talk to her. Do you notice the extra wrinkles and gray hair that weren’t there before?

    It hurts my heart every time I notice a difference in my mom’s face. It’s like standing still while watching her slowly slip away, knowing there is nothing I can do to stop it. We all have but a short time on this Earth. Don’t trick yourself into believing that there will always be a next time because someday, that conversation will be the last.

    After my grandfather died I swore to cherish every moment I have with my loved ones. I make eye contact; I listen to them and hold their hands. I hope all of these moments and memories will sustain me when it’s time for the final goodbye.

    Let them know how you feel.

    You won’t always feel love for the people you care about. Sometimes they’ll annoy you, or you’ll disagree. And that’s okay. No one, and no relationship, is perfect, and we’re all doing the best we can. The important thing is that you value them, even if your relationship has ups and downs, and let them know you care while you have the chance.

    Make sure you tell them how much you appreciate them. Send them random texts to tell them you love them. Bring them flowers and watch their eyes light up. These are the memories we’ll remember when we’re about to leave this world. We won’t think about the job, the house, or the promotions, but the little moments we shared with the people who made us feel loved.

    I wish I could still do these things for my grandfather. And I wish I did them more often when I had the chance. But I didn’t. All I can do now is take the lesson with me and show up fully for the people who are still here.

    Make the most of your time with your loved ones, because you never know when that time will run out.

  • 5 Things I Wish I Knew Before Trying to Lose Weight

    5 Things I Wish I Knew Before Trying to Lose Weight

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

    I struggled to maintain a healthy weight for a large part of my life.

    Had I known these five things before my weight-loss journey, I would have had a much easier time shedding the pounds and would have realized that weight loss isn’t a magic fix-all solution to my issues.

    If you’re trying to lose weight, perhaps some of my lessons will be helpful to you.

    Here we go…

    1. This has to be for you, not someone else.

    Growing up as a closeted gay child, I was taught that homosexuality is a sin and anyone who likes members of the same sex is unworthy of love and affection.

    This caused me to develop an internalized belief that I was not good enough, which led me to seek external validation from others as the source my self-esteem.

    Being gay was a very heavy secret I carried, and as a result I became very heavy myself.

    Afraid to be seen, I used weight gain to hide myself from the rest of the world.

    After coming out, I thought if I had the hottest boyfriend then I would finally feel good about myself.

    I lost thirty pounds, transformed my body, and achieved my goal of dating a hot guy. My self-esteem was through the roof… until he broke up with me and I never saw him again (whomp, whomp). I had failed to achieve my goal, and I felt terrible about myself.

    Now I see the issue started when I attached my fitness goal and my self-esteem to something outside myself that I could not control—a guy wanting to date me.

    The reality is, a new body or a new boyfriend was never going to solve my problems. I had to ‘work out’ my inner self before I could feel good about my outer self.

    It’s like having an old, scratched-up cell phone that is super slow, so you put a brand new case on it and suddenly it’s nice and shiny again! However, the original issues are still there, and the phone is still damaged below the surface.

    Like the phone with the new case, I was still that same little boy inside desperately seeking validation from others.

    What I needed was to accept myself and to stop looking to others to validate my self-worth.

    Through meditation and coaching I’ve come to see that feelings of worthiness come from within. I choose to lead a healthy lifestyle for the sake of my own health and well-being, and I recognize that I have inherent value on my own, regardless of my appearance or what other people think.

    Nowadays I set goals that are within the realm of my own power and are not dependant on validation from others like: “I want to lose weight to be healthy and live a long life” instead of “I want to lose weight to have a guy ask me out.”

    Remember: You’re a whole, complete, capable person regardless of how you look. Just because you want to improve for tomorrow doesn’t mean you can’t feel good about yourself today.

    No one has the ability to make you feel a certain way about yourself; only you have that power! When you set goals within the limits of your own power, you will be unstoppable.

    2. You may lose friends, and that’s awesome!

    Let me explain: When I first set out to transform my body, most of my friends were very supportive… until they weren’t.

    A lot of my friends weren’t into health and fitness. As I got closer to my goals, they would say things like, “Who do you think you are? Acting all better than us with your salad and healthy lifestyle!”

    Sometimes it’s the people who know you best who hold you back from changing the most. They met you when you were a certain way, and they want you to stay that way.

    If you surround yourself with people who aren’t used to success, they may become fearful and threatened because you are reflecting back to them something that intimidates them. Not everyone is going to be happy for you.

    In letting go, you create space for other likeminded people who can support you on your path. Having help from people who have been in my shoes helps keep me motivated and allows me to learn from the experience of others. This saves a lot of time and effort and makes the journey more enjoyable.

    You can find supportive people by making friends with people at the gym, joining a running group from meetup.com, or joining a meditation studio. You can even consider working with a trainer or coach if you need a little extra help.

    3. Our self-talk can make or break our progress.

    I used to look in the mirror and focus all of my energy on my flaws. I would tell myself, “I want to lose weight so I’m not gross and disgusting.”

    Every time I thought about my goal I reinforced the identity of someone who is “gross and disgusting.” This negative self-talk was not helpful for my self-confidence, and it often led to binge eating. Not something you want to do when trying to lose weight!

    In order to create lasting change, I had to cut out the negative self-talk by connecting with a positive intention for my goal. So I shifted my intention toward living a healthy life and aging gracefully.

    I stopped putting my attention on the things I disliked about myself, which depressed me, and instead focused on the positive goals I was working toward, which energized me.

    After I changed my view of myself I was finally able to lose the weight—and enjoy the process.

    4. Patience is everything.

    Patience is more than just waiting, it’s the ability to put in the work required to achieve your goals and keep a positive attitude throughout the process.

    After I set out to lose weight, for the first three weeks I felt like nothing was happening and I was wasting my time. The funny thing is, this is when all the work started to pay off. By week four, I could finally see noticeable changes on the scale and I was moving in the right direction.

    It’s the small, seemingly insignificant choices we make every day that add up to something extraordinary. If you don’t have the patience to wait for these things to happen, you won’t make progress on your goals.

    Remember, a journey of a thousand miles is nothing but a series of single steps. Take things one step at a time, and you’ll go far!

    5. To reach any goal, you need to define success, create an action plan, and fall in love with the process.

    I’ve often felt overwhelmed by all the conflicting health and fitness information available. I didn’t know which plan was right for me, so I would try a new one every week and never see any changes.

    The truth is, the best plan for me is the one I stick to and have fun with.

    It’s important to fall in love with the process. Fitness is a lifelong journey, and if you don’t enjoy the process you’ll give up.

    If you’re feeling confused about which plan is best for you, try picking one that sounds fun and stick with it for eight weeks. If you haven’t seen any progress, try something new.

    Also, be sure to define what success looks like for you—whether that means hitting a certain number on the scale or being able to hike a specific number of miles—so you have a clear direction of where you are headed.

    When I set out to lose thirty pounds I had a defined goal in mind. This allowed me to focus my energy and weed out distractions. It also gave me motivation, purpose, and a clear vision for my future.

    Lastly, track your progress as you go, since this will keep you focused and motivated. I resisted doing this for a long time, but it’s made a world of difference. It’s like using a road map. When you see how far you’ve come, it’s a lot easier to stay committed to reaching your destination. Apps like MyFitness pal are great for tracking fitness goals.

    —

    Ultimately, every fitness journey is about more than losing weight and changing your physical appearance. The most successful transformations are those that begin with self-love and require ‘working out’ your inner being as well as your physical being.

    Losing weight was merely a side effect of my bigger goal to lead a healthy lifestyle, and my fitness goals have grown to focus more on the health of my mind, body, and spirit, rather than solely my physical appearance.

    Because I find it hard to prioritize my own needs, I created a daily self-care routine and I devote a minimum of one hour every morning to my health and well-being. Self-care is the secret to my weight loss success because weight naturally falls off when you make healthy lifestyle choices and take care of your body.

    And finally, remember the power of intention! It’s not what you do but why you do it that will enable you to succeed.

    I wish you the best of luck on your journey, and am sending you all my love!

  • Grief Isn’t Something You Live Through, It’s Something You Live With

    Grief Isn’t Something You Live Through, It’s Something You Live With

    “Obstacles do not block the path, they are the path.” ~Zen proverb

    I thought the concept of a “cold sweat” was unreal and paradoxical until the evening of August 27, 2014. That was my first cold sweat. My first of a lot of things.

    My heart jack-hammered in my chest.

    I heard my pulse in my ears.

    I gasped for air on my dorm room floor in New York, while my mom tried to calm me down on the other end of the phone in Los Angeles.

    “It’s just a panic attack, sweetie. Just breathe deep.”

    No, no, no, I thought. Panic couldn’t possibly evoke this kind of physiological response. My arm hurt, my chest hurt. Was it possible to have a heart attack at age nineteen?

    I didn’t sleep for days after that. I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up again.

    Every night, I would set my laptop on my nightstand. A close family friend with insomnia agreed to stay on Skype with me all night long while I slept so that I wouldn’t feel so alone. She stayed up with me three nights in a row.

    I stopped attending classes, social functions, and missed almost the entire first week of my sophomore year of college.

    Finally, on the night of August 31, I decided to take a walk with some friends. Those same feelings as that night in my dorm room came over me. They took me to the emergency room. An EKG, blood pressure test, and Xanax later, the doctor came in.

    “Tell me a little bit about what’s going on with you.”

    “Well, I keep feeling like I can’t breathe, sometimes my heart starts to—”

    “No,” he interrupted. “Tell me what’s going on with you. Not your body.”

    I looked at him perplexed for about ten seconds, and began. I told him that my father died suddenly in a hit-and-run crash in December. I told him I had to come right back to school afterward because my scholarship was riding on my attendance. I told him how heartbroken, lost, and alone I felt living on the opposite side of the country—away from my family—during the worst period of my life.

    He told me what I had been vying to hear for months.

    “You need to go home.”

    Without argument, I nodded, went back to my dorm room, and told my mom to book my flight. I knew I had to go home, but hearing that vocal validation was what I truly needed. Within minutes, months of torment and post-traumatic stress melted into relief.

    Unfortunately, while the doctor told me what I had been longing to hear, he also diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder. Even upon returning to LA, starting a new school, a new job, and a new life, waves of panic continued to ravage my mind and body. And they always hit unexpectedly.

    Although I came home to properly cope with my grief, that task was still put by the wayside. Now, I had to deal with my anxiety and panic first. I had to find the right pills, the right dose. No matter what pills or what dose, I felt emotionally hollowed.

    In attempts to keep my anxiety levels down, the pills were making me tired all the time. I didn’t experience any more anxiety or depression, but I didn’t experience happiness or joy either. I had to try something else.

    In the boredom of a frigid December night, three years into my turbulent grief journey, I opened up the app store on my iPhone. Truth be told, I was looking for a crossword game, but instead I stumbled upon a free meditation app.

    I selected their grief meditation, settled into the plush carpet of my bedroom floor, popped my earbuds in, and began. Breathe in, breathe out. The sound of ambient ocean waves that underscored the guided meditation was like the waves of my grief—coming and going, never knowing when the next one would strike, sometimes dramatic and thunderous, sometimes muted and repressed.

    It wasn’t until the meditation ended and I opened my eyes that I realized there were tears in them. This is what my anxiety pills hadn’t been able to achieve. An actual outpouring of emotion. What I needed was to experience my grief, not silence it.

    But, I also needed to experience it in a place where I felt safe—and that place soon became that very spot on my bedroom floor. So vastly different from the spot on my dorm room floor across the country that was tainted with sadness and anxiety.

    For the longest time, I thought meditation was the silencing of your thoughts and emotions. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Soon I realized that meditation was the observation of these thoughts and emotions, without the heartache and turmoil of getting wrapped up in them.

    Every day, I gave myself ten minutes to meditate, to grieve. A year later, I weaned off my anti-anxiety pills, and never looked back. Two years later, and nearly five years since my father’s passing, I continue to meditate daily. Only now, it is as much a way to celebrate my contentment as it is to cope with my grief and panic.

    My grief and my panic disorder will always be a part of who I am, but I no longer see them as afflictions. Rather, they are facets of my overarching journey.

    Meditation took the place of my medication. But, that’s not to say that there is a right or wrong choice between the two. Without the help of my anti-anxiety pills, I would’ve never been able to see clearly enough to know that meditation is an option.

    There is no shame in needing the help of a pill, much like there is no shame in needing the help of a mindfulness practice. A practice that has taught me acceptance is the most critical part of our journey.

    So I began to accept. Accepting that pain, panic, and pills were part of my journey to peace. Accepting that grief is not something you live through, but something you live with.

    Accepting that all of these things were the path all along, not the roadblocks I thought they were.

  • Moving Through Grief: I’m Strong Because I Feel It All

    Moving Through Grief: I’m Strong Because I Feel It All

    “Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love.” ~Unknown

    It’s been almost six months now. Half of a year without my brother and the grief still visits. I’m pretty sure grief doesn’t actually go away; its visits just get further and further apart.

    People continue to ask me how I am so “strong” through all of this, mistaking my happy moments as the full picture.

    I continue to tell them strength comes because I feel it all.

    The story in itself is my therapy, my chance to relive the amazing memories, my chance to show you the waves of grief I ride.

    The last thing I told my conscious brother was “But I believe in miracles, I really do.”

    To be fair, the last thing I really told him was a travel story about me using a Squatty Potty in Thailand, in hopes that humor would bring him back to responsiveness.

    The thing is, I really did believe a miracle was possible, or at least I wanted to believe. Surely it wasn’t his time to go. The all-divine higher power wouldn’t take away my big brother, my role model, my mom’s baby boy. It simply wasn’t time.

    The tumor on his spine seemed to disagree with me, though.

    My brother is gone now, and there is a human-sized hole in the universe that I am living in, and yet I survive; in fact, I am thriving in this life that I have now.

    But let’s back up a little, because I can’t just tell you about how I move through this season of grief without totally and completely honoring the human my brother was. He called me his little buddy, and though my oldest brother was the babysitter, Kirk always whispered into my ear that he was the real one in charge.

    He liked Dungeon and Dragons, donuts, finishing a great book, and writing and doodling in a brown journal probably made of suede or something cool like that. He loved to flip me upside-down or hold me down and tickle me until I was completely sure I would pee my pants. He would say things that didn’t make any sense to me until later when I would sit and contemplate in stillness.

    Something about Kirk’s soul was so playful but inspired me to be still and live in the presence that I have. He did things like build houses out of mud for sustainability and turn medians into produce farms. He took killer photos and made clay statues that I used to think would move in the night and haunt me.

    Kirk told me to “try everything once, unless that one thing will kill you, then skip that one.” Which is why you can catch me building a business that makes zero sense to who I am, traveling to foreign countries when I should probably be building a 401K or something else adults do. But when there’s a human-size hole in your universe, you do things for joy. Maybe it’s to honor them; maybe it’s because you live life to the fullest possible amount there can ever be. Either way, I’ll keep moving only for things that light my soul on fire.

    And then there was the cancer.

    You know how if you endure something just the right amount, it kind of becomes your normal? Repetitive chaos in your life has a way of doing that. And after watching my grandma battle cancer and win, my mom battle cancer and win, and Kirk beating it over and over again, it felt like the norm. Like it was just a thing that plagued my family, but we always moved out of it.

    Everyone handles something like this differently; personally, I’m that “ray of sunshine, glass half full and hey, I’ll help you with your glass too” kind of girl. Sunshine and cancer don’t blend well together. I got really good at smiling, cheering people up, and ignoring the invader in our lives.

    When I opened my phone and received the text that read, “He took a turn for the worse,” my soul didn’t believe it. I hopped on a plane, believing my sunshine would be enough to stop this spiral.

    My sunshine was not enough to bring him back to life.

    My sunshine was dimmed to its darkest.

    My glass was tipped over.

    Grief overwhelmed my soul. Gut wrenching, unexplainable, dynamic grief.

    It has been almost six months now since this hole was created in my universe, and every day someone asks me how I am so “strong” or “positive.” I will tell you exactly how.

    When I’m mad, I get mad. I allow myself to hear why I am mad because I know answers are on the other side of that. I don’t place my anger on anyone or anything. I just let it out as it is, even if it doesn’t make any sense.

    When I’m sad, I get sad. Even if that means I cry in my car because I walked past someone eating a flavor of ice cream that he enjoyed. Even if that means crying on my birthday because I realized it was the first year I wouldn’t hear from him. Even if that means I cry for no other reason besides missing my brother. I let it flow because I am alive and I can feel.

    And when I’m happy, you best believe I’m happier than a three-year-old in between meltdowns. Because of all the human emotions that I get to endure, the one he would want me to amplify the most is wild, epic, unleashed happiness.

    They say grief is like waves, and I honestly couldn’t explain it any more eloquently than that. As a professional beachgoer, the thing I can tell you about waves is that they have two extremes: If you work with the waves, they are flowing and forgiving; if you fight against them, they will pull you under to the depths.

    This is how you move with grace through grief. The fight creates a deep abyss of suffering; the flow creates a space for forgiveness. I’m not saying there won’t be pain; there will be deafening pain to endure on this ride. And on the other side of that pain is forgiving and wild happiness that I like to think our lost pieces are sending to us. This is how I am strong through my grief.

    I am mad, sad, and happy sometimes all in one day. I feel pain and yet I live so passionately, exactly the way my brother would want me to. I am not strong because I am positive; I am strong because I feel it all. Strength hides in the depth of every emotion. Tap into each flow.

  • How to Recover from Heartbreak and Feel Whole Again

    How to Recover from Heartbreak and Feel Whole Again

    “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” ~Iain Thomas

    A deep heaviness and uneasiness began to pulsate throughout my body. Warm, salty tears streamed down my face at all hours of the day. It felt like all the best parts of me were gone and would never return.

    Heartache can be one of the hardest things to overcome in life. I never wanted to be one of those girls who let guys determine how they feel. But when my first serious relationship ended when I was twenty-seven, I was beyond devastated.

    It took me years to overcome my breakup with Tom because he was my first real love. I’m slowly starting to view the despair I experienced as a gift because it’s shaped the person I’m becoming. More importantly, it has taught me to never fear or take advantage of love.

    If you’re struggling to overcome heartache, perhaps some of my lessons may be useful to you. Here’s what helped me on my journey to becoming whole again.

    1. Allow yourself to feel all your feelings.  

    Although it may be tempting to numb your feelings, if they aren’t addressed, chances are they will catch up to you.

    My relationship blindsided me when it ended because I didn’t see it coming. I felt like I was going through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Only, strangely enough, it felt almost worse than most deaths I grieved because in this relationship there was never a clear goodbye or any closure.

    It took me years to go through all of these stages. For a good part of it, I was stuck in denial and sadness.

    My breakup with Tom taught me that it’s okay to feel things that are uncomfortable because life isn’t always pleasant. It may be hard, but try to allow yourself to experience whatever feelings come up.

    I had to strip my emotions down to feel totally raw and vulnerable. If I felt sad and allowed myself to cry, my body felt so much better afterward because I was able to release all the stress and tension that I’d held in for so long. When I felt anger rising in the pit of my stomach, I’d go for a run to burn off that steam.

    Whatever it is that you’re feeling, allow it to come and go like waves instead of pretending it doesn’t exist or fighting it.

    2. Cut off contact with your ex so that you are able to heal. 

    One of the reasons it took me so long to get over Tom was because we were still in touch with each other via text. Even though we weren’t dating, deep down I had this romantic notion that we would get back together eventually.

    When I would date other guys, I wasn’t emotionally invested in them because part of me that held onto hope that Tom and I could still save our relationship and bring it back to what it was during the first year we dated. The truth was that over the years we both changed and grew apart instead of growing together.

    Although it was hard to end contact with Tom, I knew that in order to get over him I had to stop relying on him emotionally. This was the scariest part. Tom was part of my life for five years and knew all of me—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I was terrified to be alone and have him out of my life.

    I’m not going to lie, I may have texted him more than a few times after promising myself not to contact him. However, eventually, as time passed without contact, I was able to stay strong. I had to stand on my own and face my fears in order to get back to a healthy emotional state.

    It’s different for everybody, but I realized that no matter how much time has passed a part of me will always love my ex. And that’s okay. Because now I’m no longer in love with him, largely because I gave myself the space I needed to finish healing—which means I’ll be able to pursue a relationship with someone else in the future.

    3. Have a good tribe of people to talk to.

    No one is an island. Admitting that you are going through a hard time and finding friends and family who are willing to listen to your struggles can make a world of a difference.

    At the time of my breakup, my best friend was going through something similar. It was helpful to share our experiences with each other since it made us both feel less alone. I was lucky to have my mom to talk to as well. It really was beneficial to get her advice, as she had many years of experience to share.

    If you find yourself talking about your breakup excessively, it may be good to contact a counselor. Since my breakup happened during my last semester of graduate school,  I decided to take advantage of speaking with a counselor, as they were free to students.

    Initially, I had mixed feelings but can say that this assisted me greatly in being able to finish my last semester of school. It also felt good to talk about my feelings to someone who didn’t have a biased view and wouldn’t judge my thoughts.

    4. Don’t compare yourself to others.

    Remember my best friend I told you about who was going through a breakup? She ended up dating someone a month afterward. Eventually, they got married.

    It has taken me about two years to feel ready to date again. Everyone goes through breakups differently, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

    There are so many different factors involved in recovering from a painful breakup. Maybe your relationship was over way before it officially ended. Maybe you didn’t get any closure after your breakup, or it was your first love you lost.

    In order to allow myself to heal, I had to stop comparing myself to others. I also decided to get off of social media for a month.

    Yes, I was happy for my friends who were dating, getting married, and having kids. However, being bombarded with joyful couples and babies was just too much. I just knew that it was not the best time for me to be flooded with relationship pictures. It allowed me to spend more time with myself and hit the reset button.

    5. Give yourself the time you need before jumping into a new relationship.

    Initially, I went on a bunch of dates, sometimes two in one day. Yes, it distracted me from what I was feeling, but it wasn’t healthy. Emotionally, it became exhausting.

    It was too early in the game to date, and all I could think about was my ex. Whenever I went on a date, I would start comparing the guy to Tom, and that’s not a good way to jump back on the dating horse.

    Take the time you need to feel whole again before dating. I finally told myself that it’s alright to have high standards about what I’m looking for in a relationship. Most importantly, I learned to enjoy being single.

    6. Take good care of yourself.

    Self-care was never something I was good at. I always cared more about others and never made time for myself. I felt incredibly lost after my breakup because I no longer had Tom to care about.

    Without anyone else to focus on, I started to pay more attention to my own needs and wants. It was also an incentive to treat myself to certain services or activities I normally would not even consider such as getting monthly massages and participating in yoga classes regularly.

    I stopped saying yes to everyone else just to please them and started saying yes to myself. I travelled to Peru, Iceland, and Thailand. I took a new job and finally felt free.

    Go on that vacation you have been waiting for. Take that cooking class you have been putting off. Have a girls’ or guys’ weekend.

    Now is the time to focus on yourself. Enjoy it while you’re single because you never know when you’ll have as much time alone to discover your interests and passions.

    7. Don’t stop appreciating the beauty in all that surrounds you.

    There is joy all around us. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that, especially when you’re going through something tough like a breakup.

    I started to become engaged more in my surroundings, and it has made a big difference.

    I was able to connect to my friends and family on a deeper level and really value these relationships. I started a gratitude journal, which helped me appreciate the little gifts we are given each day. Even something as simple as smiling at others in the street can be a beautiful act and make us feel more connected to those around us.

    — 

    It took me years to pick up all of the broken pieces and rebuild myself. These seven tips helped me heal from an incredibly painful time in my life. Slowly, my heart started to mend and refill with self-love.

    I know I will always love Tom, but now I’m able to continue to go on with my life without feeling trapped or in limbo. Sometimes the past will unexpectedly come up and a flood of sadness will hit me. I allow myself to feel this and then let it go just as fast as it came.

    I’m grateful for the person I have become due to my breakup. It has allowed me to realize how rare and wonderful it is to find love. I’ve also learned to become comfortable in solitude and enjoy time alone.

    It’s been quite a process, but now my heart is open to love again. Even though you may experience a deep pain and feel broken and angry, know what there is still beauty out in this world for us to experience on a daily basis. And know that through this experience you can become a stronger version of yourself.

  • How Social Media Is Helping Me Cope with Grief

    How Social Media Is Helping Me Cope with Grief

    “Grief, no matter where it comes from, can only be resolved by connecting to other people.” ~Thomas Horn

    We had just landed in Chicago. I had spent the last three hours on a flight from New Jersey sitting next to grown-ups who didn’t ask me fifty questions every two minutes, while my kids watched a movie with their dad, two rows behind.

    I was looking forward to spending one whole week in Chicago, despite the freezing temps. This was my first real break in eight months, and boy, I had plans! Sleeping in, long baths, reading, and no laptop!

    I switched my phone on as soon as we landed. There was a text from my sister in India that she’d sent a few hours ago. My mom had been in the hospital for two weeks now with a serious lung infection.

    That morning her doctor had given us hope that she was getting better. This was good news, and I was relieved. I tried to call my mom and then my dad, but none of them answered.

    I thought, I’ll try her again when we check in our hotel. I sent her a text, telling her the same along with a video of my two-and-a-half year old son running around the airport. These videos were her life.

    We were in the back of a Black Sedan, on our way to the hotel, when my phone rang. It was my dad. He was crying. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying, but my heart was beating out of my chest.

    The only thing I understood were these words, “She was put on a ventilator.”

    I started crying, but I managed to say, “She will be fine, Papa. Don’t cry. Be strong!” I knew whatever “putting on a ventilator” meant, she would be fine! Goddammit, that was my mom! She was always fine. In reality, I had no idea what that meant.

    The next few hours were a battle she fought alone for her life. She gave a good fight, but eventually, my sweet mama lost the battle. I didn’t just lose my mother. I also lost my best friend and my biggest cheerleader.

    The next day, I carried myself and my heavy heart 8,000 miles away to India.

    The last time I saw my mom was over two years ago. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. I will never be able to see her beautiful smile again. I will never hear her sweet voice.

    The next few weeks are a blur. The only thing I remember is seeing her lifeless body.

    I remember her slightly parted lips as if she was about to call my name. Her black hair with greys peeking out, and her soft, supple skin. I kissed on her forehead and wished somehow she would wake up.

    I held her hand and said goodbye to the person who brought me into this world.

    After spending a few weeks back in India with my family, I came back home to New Jersey. With nothing but grief and tears to fill my day with, I returned to work.

    A big part of my work involves staying active on social media. I had taken a brief hiatus, but now I was ready to be back. But how could I talk about anything else other than that one thing that consumed my brain?

    I had built a small yet strong community on my social media platform. Yet, I hesitated. What if someone posted a nasty comment? What if someone told me, “Enough already, stop depressing us!”

    I spent most of my days at my home, crying. My husband was at work, and my kids were in school. I started noticing that other than a few friends who I could literally count on my fingers, others had disappeared from my life.

    My phone never rang.  My friends hardly texted me. When I ran into people, they were so awkward around me. Was it just my imagination?

    Was it just a coincidence that my good friends had just vanished into thin air at that exact moment when I needed them the most?

    It’s said that grief is like waves—sometimes it’s calm, and sometimes it’s like a tsunami. On days when it turned into tsunami, I felt like I was drowning and didn’t know if I would be able to come up for air. Ever.

    Desperate for a human connection, I turned to my small but mighty crowd on social media.

    On Instagram, I talked about my struggles and how I was coping with the loss of my mother. I wrote Facebook posts about my mom and how my kids were learning to calm me down when I broke into tears. In Facebook groups, I shared how my grief was affecting all areas of my life, including my work.

    The response was phenomenal! People sent me flowers and handwritten cards. Some shared their experience of how they dealt with the loss of a loved one.

    Some sent me long, beautiful personal messages and some just one sentence: “How can I help you?”

    These were people I hardly knew, some I had never met. Yet together, they opened their hearts and gave me a platform to grieve.

    Social media often gets a horrible rep, and I totally get it. There are some very nasty people out there. But for every one nasty person online, ten people are on social to be social.

    They are looking for a human connection. Perhaps, when they see raw vulnerability, they extend their hand across their screens. When they read about someone who is going through the same pain as they are, they give their virtual shoulder to cry on.

    Humans need emotional connection. Even more when we are grieving. And sometimes you can’t find it near you. Sometimes you aren’t comfortable talking about it to anyone you know. And sometimes, even if you have people around, you feel they just don’t get it.

    Whatever it is, if you are struggling to talk to someone, know that social media can be a great resource. Use it; don’t shun it. Give it a try.

    Join a Support Group

    There are many great support groups online. A lot of closed Facebook groups dedicated to helping people who are grieving have stringent guidelines and zero tolerance policy. If you are new to social media or wary of sharing your personal stories online, start here.

    Since all the members are going through the same pain, there is a very high level of support. I discovered people who had lost a loved one were the ones who could really understand what I was talking about. And sometimes, it’s so much easier to spill your emotions when no one is staring at you in the eye with uncomfortable silence.

    Rule of 3:1

    Give, give, give, and then make the ask. The rule of social media is the same as the rule of life. You give first, and then you ask.

    Although I was received with an open heart from my community, I believe it was because I had built a relationship with them for six months. I had been there for them. I had provided value to their life or work many times before I made my ask.

    Show Up as You Are

    Don’t try to hide your emotions or pretend to be someone you aren’t. Tell your truth. Show up exactly the state you are in.

    If you are new to social media or don’t use it for anything else other than remembering your friend’s birthday, then this will be hard. Start with a safe place first. Maybe it’s a closed online community of known people or five of your trusted online friends. You don’t need thousands, just a few people whom you build an emotional connection with.

    We are very fortunate to live in a time when information and access are available to us at our fingertips. It’s up to us how we choose to use it.

    My grief is nowhere close to being over. It shall never be. It has changed forms, and I believe it will continue to do so. But, knowing that I have a safe space where I can talk about it without being judged or ridiculed is helping me cope with my grief.

  • When You Reframe Your Breakup as an Opportunity, Everything Changes

    When You Reframe Your Breakup as an Opportunity, Everything Changes

    “Sometimes the most uncomfortable learning is the most powerful.” ~Brené Brown

    Seems impossible, doesn’t it?

    How can you look at your breakup as an opportunity when it feels like someone cut your right arm off and ripped out your heart?

    Breakups can be rough. When you open yourself up to another person, love them unconditionally, and compromise your own needs for the “betterment of the relationship,” you put yourself all-in. It’s no surprise that you feel lost, confused, and unwilling to move on when that connection is torn away from you. You gave everything to your relationship and now it’s gone. Forever.

    Breakups have taught me something that I never learned in school: I’ve learned that losing love is hard. Brutally hard. I experienced more pain after the toughest breakup of my life than completing an engineering degree, doing standup comedy for the first time, and walking 400 kilometers in two weeks with 50 pounds on my back. When I lost my soul mate, I didn’t know how I was going to move on.

    At first, I didn’t. I did everything I could do to escape, suppress, and avoid my feelings. I wasn’t nice to my body. I cried in the shower. I hid in the park close to my apartment since I was still living with my ex for a month after the breakup.

    It was my “grieving period.” We all need one after a breakup. But although we all need different lengths of time to grieve, it’s important to put a time limit on it. Since I knew I was going to be living with my ex until we got our arrangements sorted out, I decided that I was going to give myself that month to grieve. And grieve, I did! I was a drunk, unproductive puddle of sadness.

    Eventually I said goodbye to my ex, my cat, and my apartment. I cried on the metro on the way to my buddy’s condo. That first night away from the place I’d called home for years was brutal. But I knew my grieving period was over in the morning. And the next day, I got to work.

    The road to recovery wasn’t easy. There were many ups and downs. But I stayed focused on letting go and moving on in the healthiest way I could.

    That was two years ago, and I’m proud to say that I did let go and move on from the toughest breakup of my life. I’m a better version of myself today than I’ve ever been and I’m still a work in progress. We all are.

    When I was recovering from my breakup, I did a lot of “reframing.” I tried looking at things through new perspectives so I could develop more understanding and empathy, for my ex and for myself. Today, with the advantage of hindsight, I can put my finger on an idea, or reframe, that helped me start moving on faster:

    Breakups are an end, but they are also an opportunity for a fresh start.

    First, a breakup is the end. Accept it. If you’re reading this and thinking, “Maybe I can still get my ex back if I just do this…” then you’re reading the wrong article. Because if your mind is set on getting your ex back, this is not your new beginning. At best it’s a rerun of the same show that’s been playing for too long.

    Because guess what? When a breakup happens and people get back together, usually they break up again. And again. And again. The chances that you’ll get back with your ex and everything will improve and they’ll change into the perfect partner is as likely as me playing first base for the Yankees.

    But just because you accept this as the end of your relationship doesn’t make it a negative experience. Most things come to an end in our lives—jobs, friendships, lives, your favorite Netflix series, the tub of cookie dough ice cream in your freezer (okay, in my freezer).

    When one door closes another opens. You just have to have the guts to lock the old door behind you and walk through the new one.

    I realized that my breakup was my opportunity to:

    • Do things I’d wanted to do for a long time but hadn’t because I had a partner to consider in every decision I made.
    • Peel back the layers and look within myself to see where I was going wrong in my romantic relationships, and most importantly, how I could improve so that I would be better in my next relationship.
    • Reconnect with friends and family who had been relegated to the sidelines for five years because my relationship consumed a lot of time and energy.
    • Meet new people and get excited about a fresh chance at love.
    • Inspire other people to get over their breakups without the typical clichés and bad advice.

    Let’s face it, you’re here on Tiny Buddha because you’re interested in self-improvement and self-growth. You’re on a journey toward becoming a better version of yourself. That’s why if you’re struggling to let go and move on after a breakup, you need to reframe it right now so you can continue on your journey.

    You need to tell yourself this is your opportunity to become better. This is your chance to fix things that went wrong in your past relationship so next time you don’t end up with a partner who isn’t right for you.

    Remember, relationships end for a reason.

    You and your ex had your problems. Sure, you had love and a deep connection, but did you also have rock-solid communication, clear boundaries, and unwavering honesty? Did you share the same core values?

    I’ll say it again: relationships end for a reason. And when it happens, it’s okay. Your ex wasn’t the only person on the planet who is capable of loving you. On the contrary, if you use your breakup as an opportunity to improve things about yourself, you will attract a partner with whom you’ll find so much more love and connection that you’ll wonder how you lasted as long as you did in your past relationship.

    That’s what life is all about. None of us get things right on the first go. Finding a soul mate is no different than learning a new language or getting in shape. You have to practice. Look at your ex and breakup as a practice round. Because of that relationship, you’re stronger, smarter, and more prepared for the next one.

    This is your time. It’s your opportunity to sort through your past relationship issues and figure out how to be better.

    Because no matter what, we all play a role in our breakups. Even if you were lied to, cheated on, duped, or betrayed, you still played a role. That might be hard to hear, but it’s true. My mom always said, “It takes two to tango.” And my mom ain’t no fool.

    I had to get comfortable with my role in my breakup, too. I was no angel.

    I had to accept that I hadn’t been true to my core values. I wanted children, my ex didn’t. Still, I put that to the side because we were in love. I also realized I had a lingering fear of commitment. I was still battling with jealousy and insecurity issues even though I thought I’d left them behind in an earlier long-term relationship. It wasn’t easy accepting those things about myself, but when I did I knew exactly where the nuts and bolts needed to be tightened. And I got to work.

    For you, perhaps there were co-dependency issues or a need for validation. Maybe you stayed for the sake of the children, the dog, or the mortgage. Who knows. But I do know that you played a role and you need to accept that before you can move on.

    Looking in the mirror and accepting the not-so-good things about ourselves is difficult. People resist peeling back the layers of their personality because it means leaving themselves vulnerable and exposed.

    But you’re different. You understand the importance and power of vulnerability. And your breakup is the best chance you might ever have to rebuild yourself in the image that makes you feel like the confident champion you dream of being.

    I know your breakup sucks. I know you miss your ex and still have love for them. I know it’s hard looking to the future and wondering if you’ll ever meet your true soul mate.

    Remember: the greatest opportunities for growth in our lives come when we’re the most uncomfortable. And a tough breakup takes us way outside our comfort zones.

    That discomfort is your opportunity. Accept it, embrace it, and cherish it. Big breakups don’t come around often. This is an exciting time! You’ve proven to yourself that you’re brave enough to take a risk on love. Just because the relationship is over doesn’t take away that bravery. Now it’s time to be courageous in the face of adversity.

    And guess what? If you can shake off your breakup in a productive, healthy way, it’ll build new skills and resilience for the next time a difficult, unexpected life event happens. Jobs will be lost. Friends will drift away. People will die. Change is inevitable in your life. Now is your opportunity to prepare yourself for those times that will come whether you like it or not.

    A breakup is your opportunity to show everyone around you—friends, family, colleagues—how gritty you can be. It’s going to be hard work. It’s never easy coming to terms with our limiting beliefs, fears, and ghost in our closets.

    You have an important choice to make:

    You can choose to sit in your basement waiting for “time to heal” and hoping that by some miracle you’ll get better.

    Or you can choose to look at your breakup as an opportunity to improve the way you show up in your relationships so you can attract the right type of person into your life.

    You will let go and you will move on. But you have to start, today. The last thing you want is to look back on this moment and realize you waited too long to accept this as your opportunity. Time is too precious to waste feeling stuck.

  • 8 Things I Learned from Watching My Mum Die

    8 Things I Learned from Watching My Mum Die

    “Pain changes your life forever. But so does healing from it.” ~Kayil York

    In 2012 my mum got diagnosed with cancer. After an operation, she was cancer-free for some time when in March 2017 it was discovered that the cancer had returned and had spread everywhere, notably to her lungs.

    She was adamant that she did not want further treatment, which would have been palliative at best anyway and would have had significant side effects. Nobody was able to make a prognosis regarding how much longer she had left. Being seventy, there was a chance that it would develop slowly.

    Nothing much seemed to happen for a little while when suddenly from one day to the next, she couldn’t use her legs anymore, and a few weeks later in July 2017, she was able to move into a hospice, having her last wish fulfilled. After a further four weeks, she passed away.

    Those four weeks were a rollercoaster. Her condition changed up and down. But mostly I could not get my head around how she could die. I simply couldn’t imagine how her body could go from functioning to shutting down.

    I lived about 500km away and went up to see her for long weekends during that time. I experienced the hospice as a very peaceful place. Nevertheless, I often sat by her bed, holding her hand and feeling utterly overwhelmed and helpless and scared.

    I was convinced that I should be doing something, saying something, but could not think of anything at all that might ease her final passage. The relationship with my mum had always been difficult, thus this also felt like the last chance to make my peace with her, with us.

    Seeing her in pain was horrific. She quickly advanced to a stage where she was no longer able to ring for the nurses. Wrinkling her forehead became the indicator for her pain. It was terrible to know that this was probably happening when nobody else was in the room and who knows how long it could take for anyone to notice.

    Once the nurse came to administer more painkillers, it took another ten to fifteen minutes until you could see them work and my mum’s face slowly relaxing. The ten longest minutes.

    After three weeks, swallowing became an issue. Even just taking a sip of water became a massive struggle and ended in coughing fits. The doctors said there was nothing they could do to make it easier. With all the medical advances, it seemed crazy that she had to endure any pain at all.

    Her last four weeks were the toughest in my life so far and the first time I experienced the death of somebody close, and from such close quarters. At the same time it also turned out to be the most rewarding time.

    One of the things that struck me was that almost everyone has or will experience the death of a loved one. It had such a monumental impact on me, and I can only assume that it does for a lot of people, too, and so I would like to share my story.

    Here are some of the lessons I learned, which arose from a very specific situation but which I feel are equally applicable to other challenging situations in life.

    1. You are alone.

    Dying is personal. Watching somebody die is personal. Your whole life is personal.

    There is simply no manual or set of guidelines to refer to. Not to how we live, not to how we die, and not to how we grieve.

    Sometimes we might confuse our personal life lessons with universal laws. A number of people were giving me advice (I didn’t ask for). Advice about having to be there for her final breath (in the end my mum decided to slip away with no one else in the room). Advice about the importance of the funeral or on the appropriate length and ways of grieving.

    Some of the forcefulness behind the messages were overwhelming at the time and had me doubting my own feelings and decisions. While I fully appreciate they meant well, I had to remind myself that only I can decide for myself what to do and how to do it. There is no right or wrong. What feels right to someone, might feel very wrong to you.

    Listen to your inner voice! Tune in, and your heart will tell you what to do. We all have an inner compass; it’s just a matter of learning to access and trust it. Equally, when the tables are turned, be conscious of how you talk to people. Offer support and share your experiences by all means but give room for the other person to go their own way.

    2. You are not alone.

    In other ways I was not alone. One of the most important lessons for me was to accept help. Yes, bloody ask for help! I tend to be a control-freak, proud of my independence, always having been able to deal with things by myself. Suddenly I felt frighteningly helpless. I felt like everyone else had it figured out and I was failing miserably.

    Everyone in the hospice was amazing, whether it was talking to me, listening to me, letting me cry, offering me a cup of tea, providing me with food, or holding my hand. It meant the world and I stopped regarding accepting help as a weakness. There is no merit in going it alone, whatever it may be. You want to help those you love—allow them to be there for you, too.

    3. The power of a good cry.

    In line with my wish to be independent, I hate crying in front of people. I worried it would upset my mum. I worried I made other people uncomfortable. I worried the tears would never stop.

    Then somebody told me that it’s physiologically impossible to cry continuously. I can’t remember the time, but it’s something like twenty minutes after which the crying will automatically cease. That thought comforted me: The worst that could happen would be to cry for twenty minutes. That seemed manageable. Besides, there didn’t seem to be much I could do to stop the tears from coming anyway.

    Once I relaxed about crying, I discovered how transformative tears could be. They offered and still offer a release of tension that would otherwise keep building up inside. They have a message that is worth listening to. They are part of life. Don’t feel ashamed. Don’t worry on other people’s behalf, because it’s not for you to figure out how they deal with your tears.

    4. Feel it all.

    I used to strive for a life made up of only happy moments. People would tell me that without the crap, we wouldn’t appreciate the good. But I’ll be honest: I was not convinced.

    When feeling ‘negative’ emotions, in addition to feeling them, I was annoyed that I felt them, adding another layer of frustration. I engaged in an internal fight against those emotions, and as you may guess this only made things worse.

    Here I was dealing with feelings that were new to me, also in an intensity that was new to me and which felt uncomfortable as hell. I quickly worked out though that I couldn’t push them away. I couldn’t distract myself. Eventually I came to accept them as part of me and part of the experience. And the thing is that everything passes—the “good” as well as the “bad.”

    Don’t judge your feelings. Allow them to flow through you. Fighting them will only make them linger longer. Feel them and seek to learn from them. Everything we feel can teach us a lesson.

    5. Some things you cannot prepare for.

    Since my mum’s initial diagnosis, I had been mentally preparing for her death. Or so I thought. Grief took on many different forms for me. I hadn’t expected any of them and had nevertheless been going through various scenarios beforehand. It turned out to have been a waste of time to even attempt preparing for any of it. And this applies to most things in life.

    It will be whatever it will be. But most importantly you will be okay!

    It sucks at times. It still comes over me at random times. The realization that she is no longer around hits me again and again, as if it’s news. I often dream of her. Things happen, and I want to tell her about it and then realize that I can’t talk to her ever again. I have no idea where else my grief will take me so I have given up spending time of trying to anticipate it but I have faith that I will manage.

    6. Carpe diem.

    We know we will die one day, yet we still generally live our lives as if we will be around forever.

    Okay, I’m not saying that I’ve seized every minute of every day since my mum passed away. I forget. But I also remember. I remember that life is short. Death puts things into perspective in many ways. Is it worth getting upset or stressed over certain things? Do I really want to hold a grudge? Is this really worth my time? Is this who I want to spend my time with? How will I feel looking back on my life when my time comes?

    I ask myself these questions more often nowadays, and it has changed my life for the better. I am overall more relaxed and I stress less. I am more precious over how I spend my time and who with. I am less willing to put up with things that don’t feel good to me (this is where your inner voice plays a crucial role, too). It is liberating to say the least.

    7. Gratitude rocks.

    Almost a decade ago, I started a daily gratitude diary. I found it tough in the beginning. After a crappy day, I just didn’t think anything good had happened. But practice changed my mindset with lasting effects.

    It’s not about forcing yourself to be happy all the time; it’s about changing your perspective and focusing on the “good” without denying the “bad.” It helps me not to take things for granted in everyday life.

    Even during my mum’s last weeks, I found many things on a daily basis that I felt grateful for: I was grateful that even on her deathbed we were able to share a laugh. I was grateful to witness through her friends and family how she had touched other people’s lives. I was grateful how it brought me back closer to some people. I was also grateful for little things like sitting on her balcony in the sun or listening to music together.

    Above all I was and am grateful for having been given the opportunity to witness her dying. Especially given our difficult relationship, I am grateful I was able to say goodbye – I am aware not everyone gets the chance.

    8. Resilience is a superpower.

    If I got through this, I will get through other stuff, too. Death is outside your control. You have no choice but to deal with it when it comes your way. You do have a choice how to deal with it though.

    You can find the lesson in whatever life serves you. You can combine all of the above and be safe in the knowledge that you will be okay. I feel more resilient and I am confident that it will help me master other situations in the future. It doesn’t mean that there won’t be pain. But you are able to handle it and bounce back.

    I sense that my list of lessons learned will continue to grow. One of the keys I believe is to be open-minded, drop the pre-judgment and expectations. I never would have imagined that all or any of this would come from my mum’s death.

    Whether it’s grief you are dealing with or other challenging circumstances, I hope you will find the cathartic power in your experience that can lead to incredible personal growth. Whatever this may look like for you.

  • The Top 7 Reasons We Stay in Bad Relationships

    The Top 7 Reasons We Stay in Bad Relationships

    “Some of us think that holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.” ~Hermann Hesse

    She knew it sooner than I did. And more intensely than I did.

    I, on the other hand, may have considered our differences but never thought of them as deal-breakers. I tried to justify the many struggles we had between us and believed that our marriage could work despite the challenges.

    I had this feeling things would get better and stayed hopeful no matter how bad our relationship got.

    I told myself that her extraverted personality and my more introversion could work together. And that her more social and outgoing nature and my more private and homebound inclinations were just minor differences.

    I believed it was both of us trying to settle into our professional careers that led to our conflicts. Or maybe, it was moving away from California so she could complete her professional training that put pressure on our relationship. Or it was because we didn’t have a support system that we weren’t getting along.

    In retrospect, if I’m being completely objective, I can see there were problems.

    There were fights and disagreements that would have landed us on a reality TV show.

    There were days of not talking and threats of leaving regularly.

    There were instances where we ignored each other’s feelings and preferences in our life goals. There was a lack of understanding and compassion for each other.

    Yet, we stayed together for years, and even after our separation, I still didn’t want this relationship to end.

    Even after our divorce, I was hopeful.

    Was this the optimist in me?

    Was I being delusional?

    Are you too wondering why you’re stuck in a relationship that isn’t working and bad for your spirit?

    You may feel the dysfunction on a daily basis and feel frustrated with the constant fights and disagreements.

    Are you wondering why you’re having trouble letting go when the person you’re with isn’t the right person for you? Are you wondering why you’re stuck in dysfunctional and unhealthy relationship? And even worse, not doing anything about it?

    Here are top seven reasons we stay in bad relationships.

    1. We have grown accustomed to people who treat us badly.

    Those of us who grew up in abusive or hurtful households feel used to complicated love.

    We begin to believe that people who hurt us are the ones who truly love us.

    We have learned that it’s okay to be treated poorly, to not have boundaries, and to feel hurt by other people’s behavior.

    Others have taught us that it’s acceptable to accept abuse and dysfunction. We not only can tolerate it but have to come to view this is as normal.

    2. We prefer bad relationships over the unknown.

    This is the biggest reason most of us stay in dysfunctional, hurtful relationships.

    We may despise the person and the relationship, but we hate uncertainty and change more.

    Our brains are simply not wired for changed circumstances.

    We would suffer any amount of pain to avoid dealing with the unknown in the future.

    3. We prefer a bad relationship over being alone.

    We can’t stand being alone.

    We can’t imagine a life by ourselves.

    We see ourselves with cats, other lonely people, and silent walks in the park.

    We hear silence, see no one, and feel like disappearing from earth altogether.

    The alternative we imagine of being without someone feels hopeless and scary.

    4. We don’t value ourselves.

    We have a low sense of self-worth and don’t believe in ourselves.

    When we find people who tear us down and bring us down, we take comfort in their behavior because it confirms our beliefs about ourselves.

    We are open to people treating us badly because we are used to treating ourselves badly by talking down to ourselves, criticizing ourselves, and hurting ourselves.

    We don’t believe we are worth the time and attention of someone kinder and more compassionate toward us. We may even fear being treated well because we don’t trust that we deserve it or that it will last.

    5. We feel rejected, dejected, inspected, and tossed to the sharks.

    Ending a relationship, no matter how good or bad it was, makes us feel unwanted.

    It hits at our self-esteem and self-worth.

    It makes us feel unwanted and unworthy.

    Many of us felt unwanted or abandoned in our childhood, and ending a relationship in adulthood brings all our old feelings to the surface.

    We’d rather stay with someone than fall into a sinkhole of unworthiness, never knowing if we can pick up your self-esteem again.

    6. We feel out of place and out of sorts.

    We don’t know what our place or role in the world is anymore.

    We are no longer the husband, wife, partner of so and so.

    We lose half of our family and friends, our ex’s family and friends.

    We don’t know what to say to people at dinner parties, work, or any other social situation.

    Our society tends to put an emphasis on couples, so without a partnership we become lost and on the outside of everyday life.

    We become talked about, and our relationship status seems to be at the center of attention.

    7. We don’t believe there’s anyone else out there for us.

    A big part of why we’d rather stay together is that we doubt we could ever find someone nearly as compatible again.

    How do we know we can date again? How do we know someone else will find us attractive again? How do we know if love will strike again in the future?

    Instead of uncertainty of a day that may never come and a love that may never bloom, we choose to stay with the person we’ve already found.

    —

    Instead of hanging on to a relationship that is bad for your heart and soul, consider the possibility of moving on, grieving, and letting go of this relationship that isn’t working.

    Trust your gut, know that this relationship isn’t right, and act on your inner knowing.

    Look at the relationship objectively, as I wish I did sooner, and make the decision to walk away before things get any worse. As much as you would like it to get better, if neither of you are working on the relationship, or if you’re just not right for each other, it will not improve.

    Know that brighter days are ahead if you release this person and the unhealthy relationship from your life. You can get through this breakup, as you’ve likely done many times in your life, and can move on from this relationship.

    Brighter days mean being alone sometimes; it means finding peace; it means getting to know yourself and eventually finding yourself in a healthy and fulfilling relationship.

    So many people have gone through heartbreak, have lost that one special person, and have gone on to find the right one.

    Uncertainty after ending a bad relationship is uncomfortable but better than the comfort of dysfunction.

    Letting go and ending this relationship is risky, but with great risk come life’s greatest rewards.

    One day of peace and comfort by yourself is worth a thousand days being in a relationship that is suffocating and dysfunctional.

    Instead of showering love on someone who can’t reciprocate, consider giving yourself that love.

    Open your heart to yourself, speak gently to yourself, do nice things for yourself, make your life comfortable and relaxed.

    Cultivate an inner sanctuary of silence, compassion, peace, and acceptance of yourself, perhaps through yoga, meditation, or spending time in nature, or by seeing a therapist to work through the core wounds from your childhood.

    Work on spiritual practices that help you accept yourself for who you are and be comfortable in your own body without needing to be with someone. This could include breath work, affirmations, journaling, or even some form or art.

    Finally, remember, your ex has helped you grow and lead you to the place you are today, but it’s not healthy to keep them in your journey to the end.

    Letting go of your ex allows you to pick up the journey on your own for a bit so you can grow stronger and be better prepared for healthy, happy relationships in the future.

    After your own solo travels, you can find another love that will help you grow as a person and further reach your potential as a human being. Or will allow you to discover who you are so you can live an honest and authentic life, which will lead you to rich experiences, spiritual growth, and deeper friendships.

    Losing this unhealthy relationship doesn’t mean your world has ended and there will never be someone out there again for you.

    Ending this relationship will open the realm of possibilities for authentic relationships, healthy love, and true happiness.

  • The Little Things in Life Are the Ones That Matter Most

    The Little Things in Life Are the Ones That Matter Most

    “It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.” ~Muhammad Ali

    I followed a little boy in Walmart today. He didn’t look like my son and yet I trailed him and his mother all over the store. I curled my fingers around the shopping cart so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch him.

    He didn’t walk with Brendan’s bounce or jerk his head back, trying to slide his glasses back onto his nose. He didn’t have his sarcastic smile or those tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks.

    But he had the same cowlick sprouting from the back of his head. I wheeled my cart around and followed this little boy who looked nothing like my son. I itched to brush this boy’s hair, just like I did before Brendan grew too old and wiggled away.

    I used to smooth his spikes down and then laugh when they sprang back up, no matter how much gel I used. By the time he became a teenager, he gave up trying to tame them and left it messy and wild.

    And now, I’ll never get a chance to touch his hair again. My son died in an accident a week before his first day of high school.

    I followed this little boy through the aisles, zigzagging across the store. He spent a long time debating which Lego set to buy. I knew the perfect one, the Star Wars battleship, but I said nothing.

    A few minutes later, he and his mother walked out of the store while I stood there, that hollow feeling gnawing me from the inside. I’d learned to steel myself when I saw Brendan’s friends at the high school or celebrated his cousin’s sixteenth birthday, but I didn’t expect something so small as a wisp of hair to make me stumble.

    That boy’s hair was my pebble.

    You’re never sure what tiny thing will make you stumble. A few months after Brendan died, my husband went to a funeral. It was for his friend’s grandmother, a sad passing, but not tragic like losing a fifteen year old son.

    We both feared it would be too much for him. He prepared himself to see the coffin, to hear the sobs, to smell the roses and carnations in the room.

    “None of that bothered me,” he told me later. “I was fine. But then I went into the bathroom.”

    He stopped and shook his head. “I dried my hands on the air dryer and all I could see was that first time Brendan used one of them. I think he was four and he loved it. Again, he said, over and over. He kept washing his hands just so he could dry them again.”

    It wasn’t the tears of the mourners or the wooden casket covered in flowers that made him break down. It was the memory of Brendan laughing while watching the skin on his hand bubble and dance. Michael had steeled himself against the mountain, but it was the pebble that brought him down.

    A tiny pebble will forever make us stumble.

    And yet, it’s that same pebble that fills us with the sound of Brendan’s laughter. There will be days when I follow a little boy and his hair, limping in pain. But there will also be days when I’ll smile, my fingers warm with the memory of smoothing down Brendan’s wild and messy hair.

    Life is made up of these moments. Joy and heartache are woven into a tapestry of love. There are day when I want to pull on the threads of pain, but I know I risk unraveling it all.

    After Brendan’s accident, icy shock seeped inside me and froze my memories. I couldn’t remember his favorite foods or the nickname he called our dog. I couldn’t even say what we’d had for dinner on our last night together.

    But my daughter Lizzie remembered the special nachos he’d made after dinner that night. “He called them victory nachos,” she said and I smiled, picturing him slicing salami into perfect strips. He’d sprinkled them on top and dove into the pile, eating only one chip at a time.

    And Zack remembered the way he and his brother would lie on their backs on the trampoline, waiting until the sky grew dark. They’d search for the first star to twinkle in the sky and then close their eyes and wish that pigs could fly.

    We shared our memories in a notebook we left on the kitchen counter. The pages filled up, but not with big highlights like our vacation to Disney World. We wrote about the ordinary moments that are so easy to take for granted.

    Like the marathon Monopoly games in our basement and how Brendan always tried to get Park Avenue, even if he bankrupted himself. And the hours Brendan and Michael spent sitting by the firepit they’d built out of bricks. Or the coupon he made me when he was fourteen, inviting me on a bookstore date.

    I still have the slip of paper with his messy words scrawled on it, but what I cherish more is the memory of him hovering by my side, his eyes watching mine as I read his invitation. He’d seen me cry that morning and was desperate to make me smile again.

    This is how love endures. We gather tiny moments and string them together, like beads in a never-ending necklace. And yet, it took the loss of my son to make me realize the little things in life are the ones that matter the most.

    Our family life was a whirlwind of track meets and baseball practice and business meetings. In the chaos, it was far too easy to let those moments slip away. We carved out time for big vacations, but forgot to treasure the tickle fights late at night.

    Don’t wait for a loss to make you realize what you’re missing right now. Push away the distractions that will always be there and hold onto your loved ones and the everyday memories you make together.

    I still keep a notebook on my counter. I write down the piano song Zack played on my birthday or the way my daughter giggles when I touch her knee.

    And I pick up pebbles on my walks. I slip them into my pocket, its gentle weight a reminder to cherish the smallest moments in life.

  • How I’ve Learned to Fully Appreciate the Little Time I Have on Earth

    How I’ve Learned to Fully Appreciate the Little Time I Have on Earth

    “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” ~Norman Cousins

    Recently, my grandfather passed away. His departure was difficult for me but it has also left me with something I’ll keep for the rest of my life—an unlikely lesson about life and gratitude.

    I hadn’t seen my grandfather often before he died because I’ve been living abroad for the last couple of years. But I was still fond of him and I warmly remembered the days we had spent together when I was young. So his passing was a shock and a tragedy for me. I felt the grief of losing someone close for the first time.

    Yet, amid all the pain, some other feeling started to come up: a sense of gratitude. I began to feel grateful that I got the chance to say goodbye to him in person. I felt grateful for having known him and having shared so many good moments with him. And I felt grateful that he was able to live his life and even die the way he wanted.

    At first I couldn’t figure out what to make of this weird mix of feelings. I did feel sadness and grief, no doubt. But how could I also experience gratitude? How was I supposed to react? Was it okay for me to feel gratitude or should I only feel sadness?

    It took me a little while to give myself permission to just feel the way I felt. And then I realized that I could take this as a parting gift from him. I began to experience, firsthand, that even in the midst of tragedy, there is still hope. And there are things that I could still be grateful for.

    Gradually, all those good things that are so easily overlooked became more obvious. The people we love, those daily moments of joy that we let go by unnoticed, the little things that make life easier. I began to appreciate all those things as I turned my attention to what I already had instead of what I thought I needed to become happier.

    For my own sake and for the sake of my grandfather, I decided to keep this gratefulness alive and nurture it. Here are the four steps that I’ve been taking since.

    1. Starting the day with gratitude

    At first, the feeling of grief kept reminding me of my desire to be grateful. As long as my grief was fresh, it was easy to stick to this new intention. But I knew I needed something to keep me going when those strong feelings eventually subside.

    That’s why I began to form a daily gratitude routine. It’s the simplest gratitude exercise imaginable and based on an idea that originally came from a positive psychology intervention (a scientifically validated exercise to increase one’s happiness) named three good things.

    Every morning before starting my work, I now write down three things I’m grateful for. I usually think of someone or something that makes my life better until a feeling of gratitude arises. And I stay with this feeling for a little while, maybe a minute or two.

    At times, it can be hard to connect with this feeling. That’s when I use a little trick that psychologists call mental subtraction. That means I’m not simply thinking about what is good in my life but I’m deliberately imagining it wasn’t there. This makes it much easier to feel grateful.

    When we think about how great it is to be able to walk, it can be hard to appreciate. On the other hand, when we think of how much worse life would be if we were paralyzed, it’s easier to experience a sense of gratefulness.

    I’m not suggesting we compare ourselves to people who have it worse than us. I don’t think gratitude is the appropriate response to other people’s misery. I’m simply saying that if we imagine our own life without something, we can help our brain see and appreciate it more.

    2. Enjoying the present

    A blow like the death of a loved one often makes people reflect on their lives. This was also true for me. I couldn’t help but notice how many of my life’s moments I have wasted.

    There were so many evenings I spent alone instead of calling a friend to grab dinner. So many conversations when I didn’t listen properly in order to get to what I wanted to say. And so many unused opportunities to say I love you to my family.

    But the past is gone, what’s left is to enjoy this very moment. Right now, I am grateful. I’m not in pain and I’m safe, I have enough to eat and a roof over my head. And I don’t have to fear any of this will be taken away from me any time soon. So this moment really offers everything to be enjoyed. It’s a fact that’s true for most moments.

    Of course, being fully present for every moment is an impossible ideal (unless you’re an enlightened person, I guess). But aspiring toward more presence is something that we all can do.

    To help me bring more awareness to my moments, I started to use an app that rings a mindfulness bell once every hour. It serves as a reminder to pause for a few seconds and simply enjoy life as it is. Every time the bell rings is an opportunity to be present.

    3. Saying thank you

    Not just moments of joy go by unnoticed; so do opportunities to say thank you. We overlook the kindness of the people closest to us because we take it for granted. Yet there are so many small acts of kindness that we could be grateful for.

    In my case, it had never occurred to me to express my gratitude toward my grandfather. In fact, I haven’t really felt much gratitude toward him at all, because I never truly thought about all the sacrifices he’d made to provide for his children and grandchildren. It only dawned on me recently as I’ve thought (and read) about his life.

    It’s likely that all of us have a person like this in our lives, or several people who have influenced our lives in a positive way who we’ve never properly thanked. There’s another positive psychology intervention that aims to remedy this situation. It’s writing a gratitude letter.

    The exercise goes like this: You think of a person who’s had a positive impact in your life and then write a letter that tells them what they did and how it has affected you for the better. The letter can take any form, but the basic idea is to write as if you’d deliver it at the end.

    Even though we don’t necessarily need science to tell us whether or not we’re happier after writing a gratitude letter, it’s good to know that research shows that this is one of the most powerful happiness exercises out there. I have to admit that I haven’t yet written a gratitude letter myself. But it’s next on my list. I don’t want to miss another opportunity to say thank you to the people I love.

    4. Savoring good memories

    There’s one more ingredient for gratefulness and it is hidden in our past. It’s those wonderful memories of joy and love that we carry around with us. Some of those memories might even seem forgotten, but that’s exactly why it’s so important to bring them back to life.

    Looking through old photo albums and reminiscing with childhood friends about growing up are great ways to do that. Similarly, I’m glad that I’ve heard so many stories about my grandfather. They provide something to remember him by, and they’ve brought me closer to him and the rest of my family. Besides, it’s comforting to be able to keep him alive in my memories.

    I now keep a picture of him at my desk, and he’s smiling back at me as I’m writing this post. And occasionally, when I feel bad, I remember those long gone days together—driving around in his car, walking in the woods, visiting his friends. Because sometimes, especially when life is difficult,  it can seem that all we have left are some good memories of the past.

    —

    I believe doing these four things regularly helps us appreciate how precious our little time on earth is. Of course, gratitude doesn’t inoculate us against feeling bad at all times, and it sure as hell doesn’t take away the grief. But it can be a powerful practice to help us live life fully while we have the chance—and to keep those alive who we have lost.

  • 3 Things That Are Helping Me Deal with Stress, Pain, and Loss

    3 Things That Are Helping Me Deal with Stress, Pain, and Loss

    “Being on a spiritual path does not prevent you from facing times of darkness; but it teaches you how to use the darkness as a tool to grow.” ~Unknown

    Life has not been kind lately.

    My aunt passed away in October. She had been suffering from cancer, but her family kept the extent of her illness to themselves, and hence I did not have a chance to see her before she passed away. I felt bad about that.

    My father followed her a month later, just after Thanksgiving. He had been ailing from Parkinson’s Disease, but his death as well was not expected when it happened.

    Two weeks after him, a friend of mine who lives abroad informed me of her diagnosis with a rare form of incurable cancer. She has since passed away before I had a chance to visit her. She was not yet fifty years old.

    Right after that happened, the veterinarian diagnosed my dog with heart failure, and his days too are numbered.

    In mid-January, my mother, who had been depressed after my father’s death, collapsed with a seizure. A tumor was discovered in her brain. Though easily removed, it was traced back to her lung. She too has a rare form of aggressive cancer and though outwardly healthy, her life will probably be limited to months or a couple of years.

    The whole ordeal until diagnosis unfolded over the course of an extremely stressful month, and the future is both frightening and terribly uncertain. Because of this uncertainty, I have needed to change my life plans—I had been ready to relocate and change jobs.

    In the last two weeks, I have had another friend in her forties diagnosed with advanced cancer with a poor prognosis, and my sister’s marriage has come apart.

    Every week it seems brings some new tragedy. As just about everyone who knows me has said: “It’s a lot.” It certainly is.

    I can’t put a happy face on this. Life has just been awful, and I wake up each day praying for no more bad news. There has been such a procession of misfortune that I feel more numb than anything else.

    And yet, I haven’t been destroyed. I’m not depressed. When someone is depressed, whether it’s situational or clinical, they often become self-obsessed and turn just about any event, however positive, into a negative commentary on their life. I’ve been there before, and this is not depression.

    I’m scared, but I feel strong. I know I can handle this. And, I’m very thankful—thankful for what gave me the strength to endure these times: my spiritual journey.

    In 2012, after a years-long series of illnesses, bad romantic relationships, frayed friendships, work drama, and general instability in my life, I had a total breakdown.

    By “breakdown” I mean the whole nine yards—massive depression, professional psychological help, medication, and inability to work or even function normally. However, following this breakdown came the clichéd spiritual awakening.

    This spiritual awakening taught me so many things, most of which you’ve probably already read about, for example: the ego, the importance of being present, the power of vulnerability, etc.

    It was such a fragile period of intense learning and growth built atop a well of deep suffering. It felt terrible, but I learned and changed so much. Though it’s unlikely that I will experience such drastic spiritual growth in such a short period of time again, I realized that I had embarked on a life-long spiritual journey with no end.

    Along the way, there have been fewer but no less rewarding “Aha moments” and new realizations made possible by the consciousness I had gained. Furthermore, there have been many spiritual tests, and each time I worry that I will fail to live the lessons I’ve already internalized, I surprise myself and come through.

    And now I’ve reached an objectively extraordinarily difficult time. This is not a crisis of egoic drama or hurt feelings but real pain—physical suffering and death for so many people who I care about in a matter of months.

    While the spiritual journey is a continuum with multiple themes that are difficult to unravel from each other, there are a few concepts that are sustaining me through it all:

    1. Presence and the now

    The weight of all of it has pushed me into a very intense NOW. I try not to hope because hope has let me down a lot recently, but perhaps more importantly, hope is focused on an unknowable and largely inalterable future. Though in the context of a lot of terrible events, rarely is there anything wrong with this very moment. Despite the pain of recent events, right now there is so much going right.

    Choosing to focus on the good isn’t delusional—it’s an accurate reflection of reality.

    My mother is dying. We don’t know when and there isn’t too much we can do, but thinking of that future is enough to ruin every day. And yet, with our time together now so valuable, I have no choice but to be fully present with her as much as I can.

    I have experienced so much loss recently, but bitterly clinging to that loss will distract me from the precious time I have left with my mother and friends, and it will do nothing to bring back my dad, my aunt, or anyone else.

    However, there isn’t much wrong with right now. My mom isn’t suffering, I’m lucky to be free from work to be with her, and my family has come together in support of each other. The birds sing each morning, the weather is fine, and the forest near our house is beautiful. That’s all real too, and there is much joy to be had in each moment.

    Should something arise in the moment, that’s when I’ll deal with it. While I do occasionally find myself worrying over the future, that serves no purpose and only spoils the now.

    2. Boundaries

    In times of extreme stress when so many things are going wrong, it is critical to exercise self-care; you cannot be a positive force in the world if you’re falling apart inside.

    Boundaries are key to protecting your time and energy, which are particularly challenged in very difficult times, from behaviors that drain them. However, most of the time life is much easier, so we allow people to skate by and “go along to get along” as not to be difficult. After all, we don’t want to seem mean or selfish or unforgiving. We aim to please.

    However, while the importance of boundaries is particularly stark in times of crisis, even in normal times they play an important role in self-care and building healthy relationships.  This is clear when we see what can happen when we don’t enforce boundaries.

    Oftentimes, trying to be nice and agreeable, we allow someone to repeatedly cross the line with no repercussions. As our resentment builds, we may act out in retaliation, doing nothing helpful for ourselves or the world.

    A relationship of true intimacy and mutual respect should be able to easily withstand one party making his or her boundaries clear. If the other can’t handle that, then how deep of relationship is it anyway? In fact, establishing a level of trust with someone to feel comfortable enough to discuss boundaries is in itself a sign of a strong relationship.

    Enforcing boundaries involves a level of honesty that can deepen relationships.

    During my mother’s time in the hospital, frustrated with being confined to bed, she unleashed a stream of vitriol at me that were without a doubt the most hurtful words anyone has ever said to me.

    As difficult as it was to do with her health in such a fragile state, I felt I had no choice; I had to enforce my boundaries. If I am to be her primary caregiver, I couldn’t endure a situation in which she directs her frustrations at me—it wouldn’t work for me, and it wouldn’t work for her. Unfortunately, it was a repeated behavior of hers over many years.

    Without getting into the details, we had a very frank discussion about this, and to be fair, it’s something I let her get away with for a long time by not enforcing my boundaries.

    While initially very painful, this talk led to me sharing deep dark memories and thoughts I never would have otherwise said and clearing a lot of what stood in the way of our relationship as mother and son. That very likely would not have happened had I not stood firm, and I never would have established that open a relationship with her.  However long she has left in this world, I know that this issue, my past hurt from her actions, won’t stand between us again.

    3. Having an open mind

    When faced with a diagnosis as dire as what my mom was given, unless you completely give up, keeping an open mind is often the only way to find good news that you would have otherwise overlooked.

    For example, in beginning my research on this type of cancer, I was dismayed to learn that there has been no material change to the standard of care in about forty years. All of those recent breakthroughs in cancer treatment you’ve heard about, they don’t apply to this one!

    However, rather than declaring defeat right away, I did decide to dig a little deeper. What I found was that there actually are a lot of clinical trials going on in our area for this type of cancer, many of which may provide a good second-line treatment option. Moreover, one of the trial drugs is very likely to get FDA approval in the next year, giving us some options where before there was none. Taking advantage of these would require changing hospitals, so these are developments I never would have learned about had I given up.

    I’ve been reminded to keep an open mind about people too. My mother, typically pretty volatile, has faced this all with amazing strength and equanimity—certainly more than I’ve shown! For someone totally uninterested in spirituality, she has shown a remarkable perspective on all of this in the context of her life, with which she is very satisfied.

    My sister, also going through marital problems while taking care of her baby and usually very emotional, has coped perhaps the best of any of us and has exhibited some very healthy habits for staying even. My brother, on the other hand, himself a doctor, has probably been the most scattered and emotionally crippled by the recent events.

    The point is that whatever you think you know about a person, it can change any day, any time. People can surprise you, for better or worse. While it’s totally rational to make judgment calls about people’s strengths and weaknesses, abilities and attributes, you must always realize that you can be wrong, or that the person might change—in fact, people are changing all the time!

    Spirituality is not about finding a happy hiding place insulated from temporal concerns. It’s quite the opposite—it’s about moving through life with eyes and arms wide open to whatever happens. It’s the way we get down in the mud and go through the wringer and remain who we are.

    Spirituality is a muscle. It gets stronger with exercise, and exercise causes discomfort. But once recuperated, you find you’re able to lift even more weight than before.

    I’ve never had to deal with such a painful series of events, and hopefully I never will again. But however insignificant what I’ve already been through seems in comparison, that past started me on a spiritual journey that prepared me for this present time. Whatever happens, I know I’ll emerge stronger from this too.

  • No Matter What Life Takes Away, You Still Have Everything You Need

    No Matter What Life Takes Away, You Still Have Everything You Need

    “What wisdom can you find that is greater than kindness?” ~Jean-Jacques Rousseau

    On February 21, 2009, I received a phone call that would alter the course of my life. It was my sister, and I could barely make out what she was saying. My mom was in the hospital and had received a diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer.

    My body absorbed the news before my brain did. Since I had lost my ability to reason, from someplace beyond me I found a way to keep functioning. I asked my sister to put my mom on the phone.

    What could I say?

    Nothing.

    There was nothing to say to comfort her. She was heading into the final unknown of life and I couldn’t do a thing to help her.

    As soon as we hung up, I was out the door to the airport.

    I hate to fly.

    Somehow, I made the trip and two remarkable friends greeted me. I hadn’t seen them in a long time.

    It didn’t matter. This was a crisis. What do you do in a crisis? You show up.

    They hugged me and we headed to their car. My sad, little carry-on luggage trailed behind me in a precarious zigzag. The ice of the Midwest was testing my luggage’s mettle while the end of everything tested mine.

    I was a complete mess. I had to constantly reach within myself to get to the beyondness carrying me through.

    This “beyondness,” as I don’t really know how else to describe it, guided me. It was directive but kind. It kept showing me the whole picture.

    You need the whole picture if you are going to walk with your mom through the end of her days.

    The beyondness told me to ask about my friends. It said that, though my life seemed over in this instant, nothing is permanent. Not life, not grief, not anything.

    Make the most of the moments with people you don’t often see, it told me. Ask them what’s on their minds and feel the truths in their hearts. You don’t need to be perfect in how you inquire about them, but do your best, it said.

    I did my best. As I sat in the back of the car with the streetlights zipping past, I asked them about their lives. I also expressed my gratitude for the ride to the hospital.

    It was what I needed. Somehow the beyondness knew that I needed to turn my attention outward right then. It helped. The beyondness always knows what is in your best interest if you quiet your mind enough to hear it.

    I had been to this hospital before. Years ago, my sister had given birth to both of my nieces here. They are Irish twins, so I had visited here on two separate, remarkably happy occasions.

    I had never visited it with my stomach locked in a death knell of knots.

    As I headed into the entrance, I still had that stupid, mind-of-its-own luggage wreaking having on my extended arm.

    I have never hated luggage more.

    The beyondness reminded me that hating inanimate objects doesn’t change reality. It said hating animate objects and random people you meet on this journey will only make a bad day worse.

    I did not need worse. Learning my mom was dying already had that in spades.

    I needed better, so I had to choose kindness again and again. Even when I wanted to scream and yell and cry and scream some more. Forgive my luggage now, throw it across the room later.

    Kindness first, meltdown later.

    Got it.

    Even though I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, I marched with tremendous urgency through the halls of the hospital to find my mom. When I located her room I allowed one small self-pity breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped over the threshold.

    I immediately became the default matriarch. I say “default” because I wasn’t even nominated! Honestly, the beyondness took over, and I knew I had to follow its lead.

    First things first: Hug my mom as if life depended on it, because it did. Cry, only a little, as I processed her trying to process her imminent death.

    After a while, I made sure all the visitors were acknowledged, hugged, and validated. This helped me because many of them understood the depth of the grief that blanketed the hospital room. A hug here, a tissue there, and finally, a plan for me to stay and permission for everyone else to leave.

    Here’s the thing about beyondness: It allows you the strength to head straight into the center of terror when almost everyone else has to flee.

    Then it was just me and my mom.

    I have never talked much about what it was like to be with her on diagnosis night. Mostly because it makes me deeply sad, but also, it has felt too sacred.

    Until now, the beyondness told me to get over myself.

    We sat side by side and cried.

    After some of the tears had subsided, we talked.

    We didn’t hold back any punches. I told her that I was going to miss her. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but I wanted to be honest.

    I wanted her to know that she meant the world to me.

    She told me that if I ever needed her when she was gone, to still talk to her and ask her questions. I would know what the answers would be. I had spent my life up until that point learning the lessons she had taught me and learning from her example, I would know what was what.

    I would be okay.

    You know, that has been the one constant in my life as I navigated her loss. I do ask her questions, and I do know what she would say.

    It helps.

    As we curled around each other in a ball of despair, denial inevitably found its way to us. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.

    Denial will help you function. It’s different than beyondness because it alters the truth. Beyondness tells it like it is; it’s still kind, but it deals with facts. Denial suspends your grief until you are better able to handle it. It lies to you like crazy. I am grateful to both.

    In our little bubble of denial, we discussed ways to prolong her life. There were some palliative options that seemed reasonable. We thought we were looking at months. We weren’t. We were looking at days.

    Days.

    Yes, from diagnosis to death only seventeen days would pass.

    Denial breaks down quickly at this high rate of speed.

    All that I had to sustain me was the beyondness. Normally, in a harrowing situation like this, I would turn to my mom.

    This was no longer an option for me. This was the test to prepare me for the rest of my life.

    I would not fail her.

    The beyondness helped me through. It helped me anticipate her needs before she said them. It kept giving me the big picture and reminded me kindness, kindness, kindness first.

    Always kindness.

    Do not kill the messenger. Embrace the messenger. Do not get snippy with the nurses. Embrace the nurses.

    I was so good about this most of the time. There was one particularly awful day and one particularly awful nurse.

    I tried kindness. I was so tired that day. So very tired, and I wanted someone, anyone, to make my mom’s pain stop. This particular nurse did not take me seriously. She did not take my mom’s pain seriously.

    This was not a good day.

    The beyondness forgave me for my angry meltdown. As long as I remembered kindness most of the time, I was doing my job.

    The beyondness kept showing me that in time, I was going to heal. I was going to be able to walk around on the planet and actually find reasons to smile.

    Nothing lasts. Not life, not grief, not anything.

    Be kind.

    Through this kindness I connected with some of the hospital staff. Even though my heart had cracked wide open with despair, the beyondness knew lashing out at others would get me nowhere.

    Instead, I chose to be kind—both for their benefit and my own.

    Despite everything—the fear, the hurt, the sadness—I knew keeping my frayed heart open would come back to me and my mom tenfold. This led to an overall better quality of care for my mother.

    I wasn’t winning the day by any stretch, but sometimes I’d win an extra blanket if my mom felt cold. The blanket would arrive promptly, handed over with a smile.

    To receive love, we must give love first. The more we give away, the more it comes back to us.

    In our time at the hospital, my mom had to move floors and change rooms. I made an effort to get to know our roommates. I say ours because I spent every night my mom was in the hospital with her.

    We slept in the same bed. Side by side.

    It was the least I could do.

    In getting to know our roommates, I learned that often their circumstances were more harrowing than my mother’s.

    How is that possible? She at least had loved ones surrounding her. Some of the patients I met had no one.

    I bought a young woman battling cervical cancer a gift for her baby. It was a teddy bear.

    She slept with it clutched to her chest each night.

    She needed that bear more than her baby at home did.

    Kindness first. Always the kindness.

    This is how you will survive the darkest moments of your life. When all power feels stripped away as life drifts from the dream you had painted in your mind, you can choose to be kind.

    Life may take away what you cherish the most, but it cannot take away your power to choose how you face what is lost.

    I knew I couldn’t control what was happening to my mother, but I could control how I responded to each situation, each day. This little bit of power was my shining gem of hope in the darkness.

    Still, it wasn’t always easy to keep going. Family and friends helped. My husband showing up once denial was completely obliterated helped. Knowing I had two boys at home that loved me as much as I loved my mom helped.

    The beyondness said tragedy strips away the unnecessary. What remains is truth. The truth shows you who has your back. Watch and learn.

    The truth helped me know when I could rest my weary head, heart, and body. The truth knew who would hold my mom’s hand when I didn’t have the strength left in me to do so.

    I had an inkling who my true-heart warrior people were, but like beyondness said, tragedy whittled away the unnecessary. What remained for me was a treasure trove of exceptional people. I thank each and every one of them for their calls, their visits, their kindness, and their love.

    Thank you.

    In addition to these astounding people, it was the beyondness that helped sustain me. It was the energy that surrounded my mom and me when all was quiet. Its buzzing became so loud I didn’t understand why I was the only one who could hear it.

    Yes, I had to walk with my mom through the valley of the shadow of death. But maybe because I did, I was able to walk through the gates of heaven even if only for a little while.

    Precious.

    All of it precious.

    Thank you, Mom.

  • The Most Compassionate Words and How They Heal

    The Most Compassionate Words and How They Heal

    “Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.” ~Dalai Lama.

    It wasn’t until my mother died that I was able to feel her love and have that mother-daughter relationship that I’d been craving all my life. It was not until she died that I was able to learn, and truly feel, compassion—for her and for me.

    I’ve always known that compassion for others is a nice thing. We all know that. But it wasn’t until I truly felt it that I was able to create a deep sense of healing.

    My mum and I always had a strange relationship. Abused as a child and never able to reclaim her power, she was a tormented soul, and she was unable to be the mother she wanted to be. I was empathetic with this; I took it on and was unable to be the daughter I could be. It was like there was a wall between us, and we were unable to connect as a regular mother and daughter.

    I remembered all the times when her promises fell through. I remembered all the times when she yelled at me as a kid. I remembered all the times when she’d manipulate me in a big custody battle. I remembered some good times too, of course, but they were fleeting, and they passed all too quickly.

    I remembered when she told me she only had six months to live; she’d been struggling with self-inflicted cancers from having drank and smoked all her life in order to cope with the heavy weight on her shoulders.

    I remembered visiting her in palliative care and her seeming hopeful that she would be out of there soon, reunited with her dog.

    I remembered seeing her two weeks later, on her final night, and wondering what she was thinking, wondering what she was feeling with that final breath, knowing that relief was finally coming her way.

    The waves of grief hit me harder and harder, until, over a year later, I found myself crying for almost forty-eight hours straight.

    I felt for her never being able to live the life she could have lived. I felt for her trauma. There wasn’t much sadness of my own. I didn’t miss having a mother who was never present. All my feelings were for her.

    There were no words. The sadness I felt for her and what sadness I felt for myself had merged into a convoluted mess. My body was unable to process it all.

    One day, as I was remembering a difficult time, I decided to tune into myself as a child. All I really wanted was to be understood and acknowledged. So, addressing the child version of me, at that point in time, I said to her: I see you. I hear you. I feel you.

    And oh, the relief I felt!

    I repeated that phrase to myself as a child over and over until I felt my body soften.

    I see you. I hear you. I feel you.

    I felt okay. I was safe. I was seen. I was heard. I was understood. I could finally let go and breathe.

    But I realized, at that point in time, my mum also need to be seen, heard, and understood.

    So I gave to her what I gave to myself.

    I said to her: I see you. I hear you. I feel you.

    I repeated it over and over and over again until I felt her soften, let go, and finally be able to breathe. We both felt lighter and freer than we’d ever felt before. The sadness, the heaviness, the darkness—it simply melted away.

    I knew I was onto a good thing here, so I revisited various points in time, including my mum’s childhood when she was scared and traumatized, and including during her final days when she knew she was dying. I said to myself, and I said to my mum, this chant of compassion, which I found myself extending to the following:

    I see you.
    I hear you.
    I feel you.
    I honor you.
    I love you.
    Thank you.

    As I said each phrase, I meant each word with every cell of my body. I truly felt it.

    It was important to me to give love and to thank her and myself in those various points in time for the opportunity to expand my capacity for love and compassion.

    I found that when I am in a state of ever-expanding love and compassion, I am able to truly feel free. And for that, I am truly thankful.

    Extending our capacity for love and compassion toward ourselves, and those who have hurt us, also expands our capacity for love and compassion toward everyone and everything. I truly believe that if everyone were to proactively expand their capacity for love and compassion, the world would not only be a better place, but it would be the perfect place.

    I have found uses for this beyond grief, beyond our own healing, and beyond healing for other people. I have even found using this chant of compassion helpful in dealing with guilt from anything and everything—for people suffering road rage, for the cruelly treated caged animals in this world, for the injustices of our governments, even for the murderers, rapists, and terrorists, for they too are suffering deep within.

    I am now of the belief that the purpose of all hurt is to teach us love and compassion. For if we cannot grow from this, then there was no purpose for it. And if we can all grow from it, then humanity as a whole grows from it.

    I know I am particularly fortunate in my white middle class upbringing, and I know it may seem very easy for me to say that compassion makes the world go round, but I’ve also known great mental torment and grief. I have felt it with every cell of my body. And I know that this one simple practice has helped me to soften, and to free myself from the dissonance between my heart and my mind.

    If you are feeling loss, grief, hurt, or heartache, I encourage you to try this chant of compassion for yourself. Mean every word of it. Feel every word as you say it. Repeat it over and over, as often as you need, until you feel your body soften:

    I see you.
    I hear you.
    I feel you.
    I honor you.
    I love you.
    Thank you.

    Say it to yourself as you are feeling now. Say it to yourself in the past. Say it to people who are hurting you. Say it to people who have hurt you in the past.

    Feel yourself soften. Feel them soften. Allow yourself to expand your capacity for love and compassion. Give yourself this gift to set yourself free.

  • Life Is Fragile: Make Time for What Matters and Let Go of What Doesn’t

    Life Is Fragile: Make Time for What Matters and Let Go of What Doesn’t

    “Life is precious as it is. All the elements for your happiness are already here. There is no need to run, strive, search, or struggle. Just be.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    I lost one of my very best friends when we were both just twenty-nine years old. In the time since, I’ve thought about him on most days.

    Thinking about him sometimes makes me well up and feel sad. Sometimes it makes me think about the hole him not being here has left. Selfishly, perhaps, I think about how much I miss him.

    Sometimes I laugh aloud at the thought of a funny moment we shared, or a personal trait he had. I often draw inspiration from the zest for life he had, his drive to succeed.

    Although he died at a relatively early age we had been firm friends since we were twelve when, realizing he lived on my street, I walked up to him in class and introduced myself and we started to walk to and from school together.

    That was the beginning of a wonderful friendship. As kids, we spent the evenings hitting tennis balls until it got dark or listening to music and talking about girls. As we grew, we shared lots of firsts together—first holidays away without parents, first serious girlfriends, first homes, first relationship heartbreaks. In his case, him becoming a father.

    We celebrated, we laughed, we cried, we got into mischief, we supported each other. We did all the things really close friends do for each other over the course of many years.

    Brad had a zest for life. Always the first up on the dance floor at a party. Always ready with a funny anecdote or story. He had a genuineness that most people warmed to. I was, and am, lucky to call him my friend.

    Sometimes I think how unfair it is that was cut short so early, even though I am aware that cancer is no respecter of age or what type of person you are.

    Most often, though, thinking about him now brings a clarity and peace to my thoughts. Problems I had been focused on melt away. I gain a fresh perspective because I become acutely aware of how precious this life is.

    The Fragility of Life

    We all lose people we’re close to if we stick around long enough ourselves. This is an inconvenient truth of life. There is a fragility to it.

    There are no guarantees. No order or set amount of time our loved ones will be there for us. No promise that how we feel, and what we can do today, will be how we feel and what we can do tomorrow. No promise that the health and relative wealth we enjoy today will be with us in the morning.

    Facing up to the fragility of life can be scary. It can also be empowering. It can help us hold onto a perspective that supports us living a life rich with positive experiences. It can leave us with a conviction to make the most of our days.

    Applying Focus to Our Days

    One of the great ironies of our lives is that so many of us choose to stay busy, but then we complain that we don’t have time for our passion projects and goals. We put things off until tomorrow, as if we have unlimited time to make our dreams happen.

    The book we promised to write.

    The new skill we put off another year to learn.

    The dream trip we promised ourselves and our family for the last five years.

    We all do it, too much of the time.

    When we view life through the lens of having a finite amount of time, we are more likely to make better use of that time.

    Gratitude for the Way Things Are

    While striving for new goals is to be admired, we also need to learn to enjoy the present moment. To make time to enjoy our successes, small and big, and celebrate the way things are.

    Traveling has become a passion for me, mostly because I married someone that has the travel bug who has opened up the world to me, literally. I get to travel more than most—it’s a priority in our lives. Dream trips have become a reality for me. However, I don’t take this for granted.

    Every time I travel and visit somewhere new for the very first time, I’ll take a moment to pause and reflect on how lucky I am to experience this new adventure. I pause to think about the friend I lost, and others that are not so lucky. I try to embrace this feeling of gratitude fully. It helps me experience this new place on a deeper level.

    I try to hold onto this feeling and let it spill over into other areas of my life. When I gain some perspective, I realize that many of my problems are fairly minor.

    My train is running late, and when it turns up it’s packed.

    The coffee machine has broken, and I can’t get my regular latte from my favorite café on the commute into work.

    What do all of the above ‘problems’ have in common? They are, of course, first world problems. There are so many people in the world worse off than I am—people that endure unimaginable hardships on a daily basis, just trying to live their lives.

    I try to remember this so I don’t overlook the precious gifts I already have in my life, and so I don’t complain about “how tough I have it,” when really, I’m only dealing with minor annoyances and inconveniences.

    I’m not always successful of course. I still get in my own way more often than I should, as we all do from time to time. I’m a work in progress, but practicing gratitude has helped me keep perspective.

    Learning to Let Things Go

    Anger, hate, regret, envy, disappointment. All can become toxic emotions that eat us up.

    None of these emotions are really useful, or get us very far, yet we hold onto them, as if they are fuel.

    In my own case, I can, and do, take inspiration from others, but I am aware that if I start to compare too much, envy can follow. I have to watch this.

    If I even come close to feeling envy for someone else that I perceive to have more success than me, or be somewhere I want to be, I try to remind myself that I don’t know how these people actually feel.

    I don’t know what their story is or how much they have had to sacrifice. I don’t know if they are truly happy, or they’re just masking deep insecurity or self-doubt with lies and a smile. This helps me let go of the desire to compare and simply commit to my own journey.

    The same is true of regret. It’s an emotion I have done my best to distance myself from. I’m human and I make mistakes, mistakes I don’t want to repeat. I’ve hurt people close to me that I never want to hurt again with foolish acts or careless words at times. But beating myself up again and again for those mistakes is futile. It’s a waste of the precious life I am lucky to live.

    I’m someone that believes in living life. I have lessons to learn, and can use those to fuel me trying to be a better version of me.

    Maybe this outlook and approach to life is all part of the aging and maturing process. Or maybe it’s because I’ve gained a rounder perspective of who I am and how lucky I am, and learned to let go of these emotions. Seeing them for what they are, a waste of my focus.

    And to be totally transparent, I am very much still a work in progress. I’m far from Zen-like calm all of the time. I still get frustrated at things I shouldn’t. I can still overreact to situations at times. I can still carry a grudge more than I would like to. I still feel the bitter feeling of disappointment in others at times, even though I know this is more about my own expectations than them. I’m getting better at letting things go but I still have a way to go.

    When we truly embrace the fact that our lives are precious, we can choose to leave the negativity behind. We can choose to let go of the things that don’t matter so much, on closer inspection.

    Making Time for Those That Matter Most

    A finite amount of time in this world means we have to prioritize. We have to say no to some things so we can say yes to those things that matter most to us.

    This means ensuring there is quality space in our days for our families, our friends, and ourselves. I’m not talking about five minutes snatched here and there while staring at a screen; I’m talking about quality time where we are fully present with those around us and our surroundings.

    In the case of time for ourselves, quality time checking in with ourselves can involve a long walk, some meditation, any other act of self-care.

    Fleeting Moments in Time

    Facing up to the fact that we all have a temporary place in this world should be reason enough to apply a degree of clarity and purpose to our days.

    We need to make time for the people that matter most to us.

    We need to make time for ourselves.

    We need to make time to dream out loud.

    It’s wonderful and admirable to work hard, but we need to ensure we’re making ample time to celebrate our successes and enjoy our journeys.

    These are fleeting and precious moments in time. Let’s make the most of them.

    Note: This article is dedicated to Brad, always the first one up on the dance floor, consistently the greatest ally you could wish to have. I miss you, my friend.

  • 4 Things a Wise Man Taught Me About Making the Most of This Short Life

    4 Things a Wise Man Taught Me About Making the Most of This Short Life

    “The goal is to die with memories, not dreams.” ~Unknown

    As we stood holding hands under that great oak tree, I had never felt more surrounded by love. It was simultaneously the most wonderful and haziest moment of my whole life as we said, “I do.”

    It had really happened. I had married my best friend.

    We made the decision to bring our wedding forward a year after my husband’s dad, Ian, had been diagnosed with cancer. In nine months we had planned and executed our perfect wedding day. And he was there.

    We drank and sang and danced the night away. And three days later my now father-in-law dropped us at the airport to leave for our honeymoon. We were so looking forward to a week away to reflect on the wedding and come down from the madness of the past nine months.

    But after just twenty-four hours we were on a plane heading back to England. Ian had passed away suddenly.

    After a restless week of tears, hugs, and family time it hadn’t even begun to sink in. We’re now months down the line and it still hasn’t really begun to sink in.

    I had lived with my mother and father-in-law for a few years prior to this. This was a man who quite literally made me laugh every day. But perhaps most importantly, this was a man who always told us to follow our dreams, travel the world, and do what makes us happy. It’s hard to accept he’s gone.

    I had always admired his outlook on life. And though he is no longer here in person, he has left us with some rules to live by that I will carry with me forever.

    1. Always make time for people.

    Life can be busy. Sometimes a little too busy. But one thing that Ian always did so naturally was make time for other people. Whether he knew them well or not, he always had time for a chat. He got to know people; he shared stories with them. But more than that, he listened to their stories and he loved to hear about people from all walks of life.

    Everywhere he went people were happy to see him. Even if it was just a week’s holiday to Spain you knew he’d be leaving with a bunch of hilarious stories from the locals and people he met. He had an aura about him that just seemed to attract people and make them want to stop and talk to him.

    So what have I learnt from this? Okay, so life is busy. But it will pass you by if you let it. Sometimes it’s worth taking that extra five minutes to stop and talk to someone. Take time to get to know them. Making time for other people is such a satisfying feeling.

    You never know whom you’re going to meet. You never know how people are going to affect or influence your life. But not only that, you have no idea how you could influence or change someone else’s life, even with just one conversation.

    One thing that gets me down, and something I try not to do too much these days, is reading the news. Reading about how people treat one another, especially given everything that’s going on at the moment. Just making time for people you don’t usually speak to, or getting to know someone new can do wonders for restoring your faith in humanity. There are some incredible people out there!

    My husband, like his dad, is very good at getting to know people. As we drunkenly made conversation with a taxi driver one night, we discovered he was a Buddhist and he was from India. That’s not the remarkable part.

    As he pulled up outside the house we were taking to him about traveling and how we’d love to visit India one day. He took his wallet in his hand and he said, “What is this? Money? It’s a bit of paper. Life it too short to always be chasing money. You need to see the world and make the most of it.”

    The conversation we had with this taxi driver was short, but it stuck with me for days. It made us so happy. We even took his card so we could call on him next time we needed a lift—and maybe a motivational chat about life!

    We’ve always known we we’re going to travel again one day, and while we understood his point about money just being a bit of paper, you do need some to get you started, even if it’s just booking a one-way ticket!

    But this conversation had got us excited and we started dreaming of ways we could travel on a budget. Turns out, if you think outside the box travel can be much cheaper than you think.

    2. Travel soothes the soul.

    Ian loved to travel. He visited some incredible places in his lifetime, and was always on the lookout for his next adventure. Like I said, he loved getting to know new people and experiencing different ways of life. He was always the first to put him and his wife forward for an adventure, and they have some truly incredible stories as a result.

    He always encouraged us to travel, and we can’t wait for the day we pack our bags and head off on our biggest adventure yet. And wherever we go, a piece of him will always be with us.

    If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you should travel whenever and wherever you can—and you don’t need to be rich to do it! You could consider volunteering overseas, housesitting, or just plain saving up by cutting back on non-essentials in your daily life.

    Whatever it is you choose to do, always grab the opportunity to experience new cultures and let them shape who you are. When I am grey and old, I want to look back and know that I have some truly great memories and experiences to share.

    3. Always be yourself.

    This was something Ian was very good at. No matter what, he was always unapologetically Ian. He didn’t waste time worrying about keeping up appearances or doing the conventional thing. He was the life and soul of many parties, and this was in no small part because he was just happy being himself.

    This is something that really resonates with me. I know I worry too much. Sometimes I worry too much about what people think of me. Not always. But I know I let other people’s opinions affect my actions and mood from time to time.

    Most of us need to work at being ourselves more often. There are many people out there, just like me, who know that they can sometimes be held back by the opinion of others. But we are all one of a kind, and I truly believe that people love you more for just being you. And okay, you’re never going to get on with everyone, but you’ll make more genuine connections (and you’ll definitely have more fun) by being your authentic self.

    4. Life really is too short not to make the most of it—so seize the moment.

    And despite everything he did with his time on earth, he left too soon. He was fifty-three and still had an incredible love for life. On our wedding day, despite being ill, Ian was one of the last men standing on the dance floor, shirt off, swinging it around his head. Had you not known he was ill, you would never have thought it.

    Perhaps this is an overused phrase, but it is something I now believe to be totally true: You really should live every day as if it were your last. Because these past two years have taught me that you never know when it’s going to be your time to go.

    As someone who suffers from anxiety, I can often find myself becoming frustrated or worried about things I shouldn’t be. I am trying to teach myself to let go. And if there is one thing I wish you to take from this, it’s that life is way too short to worry about what other people think of you.

    Always be thankful for the small things, because one day they may be the big things. Enjoy every moment with your loved ones, and don’t hold grudges, because what’s the point? Cherish every hug, accept every compliment, and seize every opportunity you can to make someone else smile.

  • When a Wrong Can’t Be Righted: How to Deal With Regret

    When a Wrong Can’t Be Righted: How to Deal With Regret

    “Regret can be your worst enemy or your best friend. You get to decide which.” ~Martha Beck

    I was lucky enough to grow up with a pretty great mom.

    She put herself through nursing school as a single parent, still made it to every field trip and dance recital, and somehow always made my brother and me feel like the best thing since sliced bread (even when we were acting like moldy and ungrateful fruitcakes).

    She knew our deepest secrets, our friends, and who we were capable of being—even when we didn’t know ourselves. As I grew older my mom and I had a journal that we would pass back and forth. In it we shared our thoughts and feelings, stories, and fears, as if we didn’t live in the same house and across the hall from each other.

    She was my best friend and my “person,” my closest confidante and biggest supporter—but there was, of course, an inevitable down side.

    Like anyone who doesn’t know what they have, I often took her for granted.

    With age came independence, “worldliness,” and too-cool-for-school-ness. My relationship with my mother took a back seat to friends, romance, and my early-twenties aspirations of moving to LA and becoming rich and famous. (In reality I became an assistant to someone rich and famous, which was exactly close enough to send my self-esteem into a tailspin.)

    On trips home I was mostly concerned with seeing friends and popping into old hangouts; she’d be there when I got home, I figured, and she understood… right?

    I was young and gregarious, and had more important things to do than spend quality time with my mother. Even after moving back to town I didn’t see her much; the years had seen her fall into a deep depression, and it was one that vividly echoed a growing disappointment in my own life—her pain seemed to only compound mine.

    As I began to work on getting my own life back on track, I relegated time with my mother to every other Sunday and holidays, holding her (and our relationship) at arm’s length. What seemed at the time to be self-care and boundaries was also a mixture of avoidance and burden—but I didn’t truly know this until a Tuesday afternoon one day in November.

    She’d called me the night before and I’d ignored it; she was lonely and called me a lot, and I’d decided that I couldn’t always stop what I was doing to answer. But the next day I got a call at work from my brother, telling me to come home at once. When I got there I found that she’d died in her sleep the night before.

    I checked the voicemail that she’d left me. In it she’d asked me to come over and see a movie with her.

    The guilt caved me in.

    The following weeks and months were a blur. I was beside myself with grief, regret, and the illogical thinking that can come with loss: Maybe if I’d come over that night she wouldn’t have died. Maybe if I’d been around more, called more, or been a better daughter, maybe that would have changed things.

    I recounted my failings and knew there had been many—there usually are, once death takes away the possible tomorrows that you thought you had. Losing her was one thing, but the cloud of regret that hung over my head was entirely different and all encompassing.

    It lasted for quite a while.

    I didn’t wake up one day and realize that I wasn’t to blame for her death, although I knew how illogical that thought was to others. I also never woke up and felt that the way I acted toward her was entirely right; though fallible and human, I’d consciously been an absentee daughter for quite a while.

    But, what did this guilt mean for the rest of my life? Did it mean making myself sick with the never ending replay of all I’d done wrong, or constantly reliving all of the choices I wish I hadn’t made?

    As time went on it became apparent that I could literally spend the rest of my life punishing myself. It felt almost fair to carry the weight of regret everywhere that I went. After some time, however, I began to wonder who I was carrying it for.

    Was the regret for her, homage to my mother that I could never really repay? Was it for myself, a masochistic comfort that I felt in never truly forgiving my past?

    As I contemplated these ideas in the periphery of my mind, I began to take notice of how others repair the damage stemming from guilt and regret.

    In recovery communities, when you wrong someone (and realize it) you seek to make it right. You revisit the ill behavior of your past, and (unless it’s going to harm another) you approach the person and ask how to repair things. It may be that financial amends are necessary, it might be taking a restorative action, or it may be that you’re asked to simply leave those you’ve hurt alone—but an effort is made to right the wrong.

    And if a wrong can’t possibly be righted (because of death, for example) you make something that’s called a “living amends.”

    Another way to look at this is “paying it forward.” Maybe the person that you harmed is gone, but if they were still here, what would you do to make it right? Is there something that you can do for someone else, or another cause, or in memoriam of the person toward whom you committed the harm? Are there things about the way you live that you can change—things you would have implemented with said person, if you’d had the chance?

    The idea of a “living amends” intrigued me. Although I knew it couldn’t actually change my past actions, it could definitely change the way that I felt about the future. And anything was better than sitting under a lead blanket of guilt every time I stopped moving long enough to think.

    I realized that a huge regret I felt with my mom was the complete disregard I’d had for her time. I came to visit when I felt like it, left when it was good for me, and flaked if I couldn’t “handle” her that day.

    I knew that something I could do moving forward would be to show up more consistently in other relationships: make commitments and keep them, respect the time of loved ones, and show with my actions how I felt in my heart.

    I also realized that I don’t want to be the kind of person who avoids another’s pain just because it’s difficult for me to bear. Depression is a heavy load to carry, and sitting with a loved one while they’re hurting can be uncomfortable—but sometimes it’s in simply witnessing another’s pain that you can help lighten it.

    Boundaries are important, and some of those I drew were necessary, but some were just convenient. I now try to show up even if that’s all I can do, because I know how it feels when another does that for me.

    I began to honor her in small ways financially when I could: donating to animal welfare causes that she’d loved, reaching out to my estranged brother, and becoming politically active in ways that I’d never really considered before—all things that would have made her proud.

    The tears still came and the past remained unchanged, but as I lived my way to the person she knew I could be, I felt the clouds begin to part and the edges of my grief soften.

    As I forged this path of “living amends” I found that it applied to other aspects of my past as well—unchangeable missteps that had kept me wrapped in a blanket of regret began to unfurl into opportunities.

    Rather than filling journals with the saga of self-flagellation (which is as ugly as it sounds) I began to ask, “Where can I make this right?” If a wrong (or a relationship) couldn’t be tangibly “righted” there were always other ways that I could live my way toward an amends.

    I now look at it as actively applying the lessons that mistakes have taught me—searching for how to make my future actions match the hard-won realizations about who I want to be.

    Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m not Mother Teresa, and I don’t wake up each day guided by a strictly altruistic force that leads to a perfect and pious life. (Although that would be nice, I’m still pretty human and a work in progress.)

    What I have found, however, is a path of self-forgiveness: ideas, actions, and direction for the moments when I feel myself living in the cave of “if only” and regret.

    Although that cave is a familiar place to be, there’s far too much life to be lived in the world outside of it.