Tiny Buddha

Tag: trauma

  • The Simple Meditation Technique That Changed My Life

    The Simple Meditation Technique That Changed My Life

    “Stay in the moment. The practice of staying present will heal you. Obsessing about how the future will turn out creates anxiety. Replaying broken scenarios from the past causes anger and sadness. Stay here, in this moment.” ~Sylvester McNutt

    For two years, I studied and practiced meditation. I listened to podcasts, chanted mantras each morning, sat quietly while exploring my default mode network, and traversed Eastern mysticism under the guidance of a licensed clinical psychologist who taught me how to use deep diaphragmatic breathing to stimulate my vagus nerve and lower my resting heart rate. This helped me recover from panic attacks, which I started having as a result of existential dread.

    After a series of nights with intrusive thoughts about death and dying, and painful memories related to my childhood, I decided to learn how to meditate so my thoughts would bother me less.

    It’s important to examine our feelings and emotions in order to determine what to do with them. While meditating, as you nonjudgmentally observe your thoughts, the goal is to let the thought pass and then go back to the present moment with a mantra. However, after your meditation session is over, it’s also important to catalog for yourself if a thought or memory keeps surfacing, and what feelings or emotions might be present with that experience, so that you know what to work on in your personal development.

    For myself, I found that many of the childhood memories that kept surfacing during meditation were related to my mother. Not surprisingly, much of my early writing as a poet includes themes and ideas related to my mother and other family issues. It was only once I started to really tackle these memories that I realized that they were attached to painful emotions directly linked to my childhood.

    Once I gave myself the space I needed to examine my memories as artifacts from my life—ones to be accepted and not ones that I wanted to give power to—I was able to work through them and come out on the other side.

    In order to do this, I started journaling, speaking about my experiences more with trusted advisors and through my creative work, and keeping up with meditation practices, which I did judiciously for three to four hours every morning.

    One childhood memory that used to bother me a lot before I worked through it was from a time when I was about seven or eight years old. I remembered it vividly, as the memory would keep resurfacing each day.

    A friend of mine and I were sitting on the floor of my bedroom, talking, when my mother came into the room. She commented sternly about how my clothes weren’t put away yet, since she’d told me having my friend over was contingent on that.

    She then, without saying another word, picked up every article of clothing and proceeded to throw each of them at me while I was on the floor. My friend and I were speechless. Afterwards, when my mother left the room, my friend helped me pick them up.

    What I realized by nonjudgmentally accepting my memory is that this experience had become a trauma point for me, one that I carried with me into my adult life until I started dealing with the emotions that were hardwired into my brain related to the event.

    Only once I started meditating and kept seeing this memory resurface again and again—thereby noticing that I even had the memory and emotions in the first place—was I able to deal with the fact that this instance caused me to feel wronged because of how unfair it was. I felt humiliated. I felt ashamed. How could she have done something like this, I wondered?

    However, once I began naming my feelings one by one, I found that the bodily sensations and experiences of the emotions surrounding the memory began to fade. I even found the courage to speak with my mother about my childhood using nonviolent communication strategies as discussed in the book Nonviolent Communication, written by Marshall B. Rosenberg, PhD with a foreword by Deepak Chopra.

    The most rudimentary format of nonviolent communication entails communicating about conflict by saying, “When I hear you say X, I feel Y, because I need Z,” which makes the other person more likely to be able to receive your communication without being reactive or defensive.

    I found great success with this approach, and while my mother and I are not close by any means, this communication approach strengthened our relationship and my relationship with myself. Now, most, if not all, of my painful childhood memories are no longer traumatic for me, including the one about my clothing.

    This memory and the emotions that used to be attached to it are literally nonissues for me now, years later. And yet, the most important form of communication that I found for myself is the communication with the self, all brought on by a healthy meditation regimen.

    So, how does one meditate with the goal of nonjudgmentally observing one’s thoughts, letting them go, and returning to the present moment in order to be successful with processing painful childhood memories and to gain more self-awareness overall?

    The technique that my psychologist taught me is that, at the same time as doing deep diaphragmic breathing to stimulate the vagus nerve and promote inner calmness (eight seconds in, pause, then eight seconds out), it’s good to have an intention in mind that you can chant in your head as inner dialogue.

    He also suggested audiating for stronger results, or putting the mantra to music in your mind, which I found was even more intellectually stimulating and led to greater mental clarity.

    The idea is to try to clear your mind of all thoughts except the mantra, which you have going on repeat. I chose the mantra “Hamsa” for each breath, which means “I am that which I will become,” representing personal development.

    When my thoughts wandered while I was chanting “Hamsa,” as soon as I noticed this happening, I acknowledged the stray thought, gave it permission to exist in a nonjudgmental environment, and then consciously turned my focus again to my mantra while letting the thought go.

    Each time I went back to the original mantra, I was using the mental muscle of intentional focus to do that, which got stronger each time, just as a physical muscle would.

    Eventually, by using this technique of observing thoughts nonjudgmentally, letting them go, and returning to the present moment, you begin to master more control over your thoughts as you increase your self-awareness of those thoughts in the first place.

    Meditating this way gives you more mental and emotional clarity, which improves self-awareness, helps you get in touch with disempowering narratives and emotions, and gives you new pathways forward to reinvigorate experiences that can be dissolved or renewed in ways that work for you.

    In other words, when you give yourself permission to exist within yourself, to notice your own being nonjudgmentally, and to work through painful memories and feelings, even the very act of noticing your own patterns of thinking improves self-awareness in all areas of your life. This can help you move toward better ways of thinking and existing—a critical component for personal development. You can then begin to notice painful or traumatic memories in order to face them head-on, process them, and let them go.

    I found that after I was able to successfully process this childhood memory fully, I was healthier, stronger, and sturdier as an adult. I understood myself better and why I am the way that I am. I became more refined, had better inner clarity, and was able to tackle even worse memories and trauma points after that. I was able to have difficult discussions that I never thought possible with many people, using nonviolent communication techniques, spearheading me into a stable sense of self and personal discovery.

    While meditating and practicing deep breathing, if you notice uncomfortable thoughts and memories, it’s likely that those thoughts represent something from your past that’s worth working on so that you can process your life and let those things go. As you relieve yourself of those burdens, you’ll open yourself up to more pleasant thoughts about better things on the other side of those hills.

  • Why I Stopped Measuring My Pain Against Others’ Suffering

    Why I Stopped Measuring My Pain Against Others’ Suffering

    “A history of trauma can give you a high tolerance for emotional pain. But just because you can take it doesn’t mean you have to.” ~Dr. Thema

    I just returned from a walk with a dear friend—one of my favorite ways to catch up and socialize. This particular friend has endured significant challenges, especially over the past year. She faced the immense loss of her pets and many of her possessions in a devastating house fire.

    The ensuing tsunami of grief and pain pushed her through a tumultuous year filled with deep suffering and intense healing efforts. All the while, she juggled supporting her son without a partner, working full time, and navigating the complexities of temporary housing and an insurance claim.

    Witnessing her journey was heart-wrenching, but it also highlighted the remarkable strength and resilience of the human spirit. Today, she shared a profound insight: After confronting her greatest fears and being forced to sit with them, she emerged feeling lighter and less burdened by future uncertainties.

    I could see how true this was by her soft but resolved demeanor, the ease in her movements, and her willingness to risk joy again by adopting a new dog and reconnecting with friends.

    The Trap of Trauma Comparison

    Yet, one recurring theme in our conversation stood out to me: She often mentioned that others have survived much worse. This idea, while empathetic, raises an important issue. It seems to suggest that comparing our trauma to that of others can be a way to diminish our own pain and find gratitude for it not being worse.

    An effective way to gain perspective? Yes. But a mindset like this can also undermine our right to fully heal and acknowledge the internal impact of our own struggles.

    I understand this tendency well. Years ago, I broke down in a dental office after learning that I required surgery. The dentist, trying to offer perspective, compared my situation to those facing life-threatening illnesses. While I appreciated the attempt to provide context, it did little to address my immediate emotional experience.

    Looking back, I was certainly holding something energetically that needed attention, but I didn’t have the awareness to look at it. Plus, the dentist’s comment brought forward some shame for reacting in that way, so it was in my interest to move past it as quickly as possible.

    The Origin of Leveraging Comparison to Manage Pain

    At the time, the inclination to feel guilty for my reactions wasn’t a novel thing for me. I lived with a deep sense that entertaining negative feelings was excessive and undeserved because I was healthy, I was an only child, and I was privileged in many ways.

    I grew up at a time when parents often used comparison in their well-intentioned parenting strategy to raise unentitled children. I’ll give you something to cry about… There are starving children in Africa… Don’t be so sensitive… Do you know how good you have it? In my day…

    Even in my own parenting, I’ve been guilty of shaming my children for their feelings—a regret I can only reckon with by trying to do better now.

    The unfortunate truth is that all humans experience pain, and the depths of what is born of that pain can never be fully apparent from an outsider looking in. The real danger of comparison is that it often leads to the notion that trauma is solely about the external events we face rather than the internal impact they have on us.

    The Nature of Trauma: Big T vs. Small T

    Ryan Hassan, a trauma expert, provides a helpful metaphor to differentiate between what is often termed “Big T” trauma—such as war, abuse, or profound loss—and “Small T” trauma, which includes smaller prolonged experiences over time, like bullying or emotional neglect.

    Imagine someone damaging their knee in a car accident versus someone injuring it over years of repetitive strain. The knee injury might be different in its origin, but the damage and healing process are fundamentally similar. The same applies to trauma. Whether it stems from a single catastrophic event or ongoing micro-events, the internal impact can be equally profound and deserving of attention.

    In addition, our ability to metabolize trauma when it happens depends a lot on the support systems and safe relationships we can turn to at the time we experience something terrible. While this is partly circumstantial, the fact that two people who experience an identical trauma can move through it completely differently—one person becoming an addict and the other a motivational speaker, for example—highlights how the external nature of the trauma is not a measure of its impact but rather the capacity an individual has for coping with it at the time.

    My friend’s trauma would certainly be classified at Big T, but even knowing that, her tendency is to compare her experience with even Bigger Ts than her own in an attempt to diminish all she has done to come through the experience.

    The Unique Journey of Each Individual

    It has taken me most of my life to fully grasp that each person’s journey through trauma is uniquely their own. Our paths are shaped by the survival adaptations we’ve developed to protect ourselves in response to various life experiences that have triggered fight, flight, fawn, or freeze responses. Those responses lead to energetic imprints, which are held in our body and must be included in our healing work.

    Each painful experience, whether acute or chronic, holds the potential for profound healing, learning, and personal growth.

    The Missteps of the Medical Model

    Years ago, I was deeply troubled to hear about another friend who was told by her doctor that she should be “over” her father’s passing by now after she randomly started to cry at her checkup when she mentioned losing him the year before. This kind of dismissal, especially from a medical professional, underscores a critical flaw in our conventional approach to trauma.

    While radical acceptance of our circumstances is essential, the energetic aspect of trauma—often dismissed as “woo woo” in medical circles—plays a crucial role. This unaddressed energetic component can manifest in various physical and mental symptoms and require a different kind of intervention.

    Dr. John Sarno’s concept of the “symptom imperative” describes how symptoms rooted in repressed emotional energy shift and appear in new forms until they are resolved at a deeper level. For instance, resolving one symptom like plantar fasciitis might lead to another issue, such as migraines, if underlying trauma remains unaddressed.

    Exploring Comprehensive Healing Approaches

    We are fortunate to live in an era with diverse options for trauma processing. Methods such as craniosacral therapy, somatic movement, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), Emotional Freedom Technique (tapping), and traditional Eastern practices like acupuncture and chakra balancing offer various ways to address trauma. Creative arts therapy and journaling are also valuable tools. Recognizing the need for these approaches is key, as symptoms often persist until we confront their deeper origins.

    Giving Ourselves Permission to Heal

    My friend’s journey exemplifies the remarkable resilience of the human spirit in the face of profound trauma. But when she mentioned a skin condition that recently came out of nowhere and doctors couldn’t seem to diagnose, it signaled to me that perhaps there may be an aspect of her healing that isn’t getting the attention it’s calling for.

    While society’s understanding of trauma is evolving, we still need reminding that healing is not about comparing our pain but about honoring our personal journey, understanding that our experiences are valid, and listening to the wisdom of our body in the symptomatic language it uses to communicate.

    As we continue to expand our awareness and options for healing, may we all make the time and space to fully process our pain, cultivate our resilience, and move forward with a renewed understanding of what it means to be a whole human living within a complicated and messy human experience.

  • Trauma Lies: Why Survivors Feel Like They’re Bad People

    Trauma Lies: Why Survivors Feel Like They’re Bad People

    “Trauma is not the bad things that happen to you, but what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.” ~Dr. Gabor Maté

    I used to have this pervasive empty feeling inside. I tried filling it by eating, working, being a wife, making my life look great on socials—anything really to make it go away. I went to church, worked hard, and tried to be a good person, hoping the hole would fill and my life would feel whole and complete.

    I went to therapy for the first time when I was sixteen years old. I remember telling my therapist about this black hole in the middle of my chest. It was bottomless and hot inside. I remember drawing it for my therapist, and one day we had a session where I went inside to see what was down there.

    Strangely, I don’t remember the outcome of that session, but I do know that hole persisted for years. Well into my thirties. I would have seasons of time where I was more conscious of it than others, but nothing, no matter what I did or tried, would make it go away completely.

    I went to school and became a therapist so I could learn all I could and help myself in ways others couldn’t help. Even with professional training, it still took a long time for me to sort out the bottomless pit that sat on my chest.

    I realize now that the pit was composed of several different things, but the primary motivator behind its ever-presence was the fundamental belief that there was something wrong with me.

    I believed everyone, in general, deserved to have a good life and good things, but I wasn’t so lucky. I didn’t really have a reason for why I believed this, just that this was my reality and I had to learn to live with it.

    I didn’t believe that I deserved to have anything nice or good. My life was meant to be in service and sacrifice to others so they could advance and have a good life. Once I began to study trauma and its impact, I was finally able to put the pieces together for why I felt this way.

    When we are kids, we don’t have any control over anything that is happening around us. We don’t get to say where we live, who we’re living with, where we go to school, or when we eat dinner. Nothing. The locus of control is completely outside of us.

    We are at the mercy of the environment around us. For those of us who were not so lucky to be in an environment where we felt safe and secure and had our needs met, this presents a life-threatening problem.

    We are mammals; we need connection for survival. It’s biological. When our safety and belonging are threatened, it feels like life or death because it is life or death. We need an attachment to our caretakers, our environment, and ourselves to survive.

    Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to express emotion. If I was sad or angry, I had to pretend I wasn’t, or I would not be allowed to be in the presence of others in my home. I was abused by my cousins, and I had to keep it a secret so I wouldn’t upset the connections of the adults who were around me.

    I was taught at church that if any boy was looking at me, touching me, or treating me badly, then I must be doing something to deserve it.

    My world was completely out of my control, and I was drowning in helplessness, pain, sadness, and disconnection. This isn’t a tolerable emotional state to maintain. I couldn’t control any of it, and neither can any other child who is experiencing events that dysregulate their nervous system with no one and nothing available to help calm, soothe, and comfort.

    We have only one choice in this instance. We shift the locus of control from outside of ourselves to inside of ourselves. We decide that we deserve bad things to happen.

    There are many ways this plays out for people. Some people decide they are bad; they were born bad. Some people decide they just don’t deserve good things or to be treated kindly because there is something wrong with them. They, for whatever reason, are unlovable.

    I fell more into the latter. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; I just knew something must be wrong with me, and that’s why so many bad things were happening to me and no one noticed or cared.

    This resolved the conflict of feeling helpless and out of control. This allowed me to stay connected to my family in any way I could and removed the helplessness that left me feeling vulnerable and afraid.

    We adopt the belief that bad things happen to bad people so we don’t have to be confused about why bad things are happening to us. It’s because we deserve it.

    This is something we all do when we are young and in situations that are out of our control. We find a way to shift the narrative to make us in control. If we determine that we are bad, wrong, unlovable, weak, or in any way at fault, then the helplessness and weakness are resolved, and we can move forward creating connections and safety within our family systems and culture.

    This sets in motion a paradigm, a core belief, that shapes all of our choices, interactions, assumptions, values, and practices for our whole life. This paradigm informs how we interact with the world moving forward. Buried inside the paradigm are deep feelings of grief, loneliness, shame, fear, and abandonment. These are intolerable feelings that are too overwhelming to keep in our conscious mind.

    For me, I unconsciously dug a deep black hole in my soul and attempted to bury the insufferable feelings that had nowhere to go.

    Trauma causes our minds and our bodies to split from each other. The lines of communication are severed or distorted in order for our stress response system to work effectively at keeping us alive.

    If you experience a trauma but have the opportunity to process it and have people to help you recreate safety, then the connection between mind and body can be restored.

    For those who experience trauma but don’t have the opportunity to re-establish connection and safety, the mind and body remain disconnected. With this persistent mind-body disconnection, the paradigm shift of internalizing that we are bad or deserve bad things gives us two choices moving forward.

    One choice is to shut down all feelings and go numb to emotion. We live in our heads and work really hard to be perfect, good, lovable, pleasing, and acceptable. We become workaholics, overthinkers, perfectionists, and incapable of tolerating any mistakes we make.

    We do this because we unconsciously want so badly to prove to ourselves and the world around us that we really are lovable and good people. We really are worthy of being loved and accepted. We love others well, struggle to set boundaries, and will do anything to be seen as acceptable.

    I can relate very much to this response to the belief that there must be something really bad and wrong with me. I must have done something to deserve abuse and neglect. These weren’t conscious thoughts, just an internal shift I made as a child to resolve the unresolvable. This isn’t unique to me; every childhood trauma survivor I know has done this.

    The other option we have is to stay connected more to our body than our mind. To emote and express all the sadness, anger, and rage inside. People with this response have big emotions. They are explosive, struggle with consistency, struggle to hold down a job, or have addictions. If you ask them why they are struggling, they will usually say, “I don’t know.” They really don’t know because they are in their bodies trying to express all the energy trapped inside, but their minds are checked out.

    Some identify mostly with one archetype, and some relate to being both. This is more of a spectrum than a black-and-white response.

    For me, I was numb 95% of the time and always in my head. If something did ever really get to me, then I would switch to big emotions and not think about what I was doing. I’d get blackout drunk, smoke a pack of cigarettes, buy $30 worth of candy, and eat it all in a half-hour. My behavior would be extreme until I could get back to my head and shut it all down. Can you relate?

    While neither response is good or bad, our society definitely rewards one response over the other. We praise the children who sit in the front of the class and act like “teachers’ pets.” We reward the workaholics and praise the overthinkers. This makes me really sad now that I am in recovery from being a pleaser.

    My recovery took years longer than it should have because it took so long for me to figure out that all the things that people told me were good about me were not actually me at all. They were all an attempt to prove my worth, and as long as I stayed connected to being seen as good and acceptable, I was playing a role based in shame rather than being myself. I couldn’t see it because the role was reinforced everywhere I went.

    There are some specific steps we need to take to set ourselves free.

    The first is to accept and feel the deep pain of realizing we were innocent children who had no control over the uncontrollable things that were happening.

    We didn’t cause it and didn’t deserve it. We were innocent children who deserved love, protection, and safety. There is no reason inside of us that we didn’t get that.

    This is often hard to accept. For me, it felt like I was going to die when I began to allow the pain to surface. This is because at the time of the events, the pain was threatening my connection, which threatened my life. That isn’t true anymore, but my younger self holding all the pain inside didn’t realize that until I began to let myself feel it.

    No one cries forever, and no one rages forever; it does eventually pass. It didn’t kill me, and it won’t kill you either, even though it feels like it might.

    My favorite quote from Dr. Colin Ross, the founder of The Trauma Model Theory, is “Feeling your feelings won’t kill you; it’s your attempt to not feel them that will.” I have found this to be such a helpful reminder in recovery from trauma.

    The second step is to allow ourselves to fully grieve.

    Expand your tolerance level for being uncomfortable and sitting with uncomfortable emotions. Learn to feel all your feelings without activating your stress response and going into fight, flight, or freeze. Be present with them in mind and body.

    This can take some significant work for those who have had complex trauma in their histories. It often requires the support of a professional in the beginning. What helped me most is grieving what didn’t happen as much as what did. The connection and support I didn’t receive. The protection that wasn’t given to me, etc. Grieve the life you thought you should have had but didn’t.

    The third step is shifting the responsibility (not blame) to where it belongs.

    If we stay in the mindset of blame, it keeps us stuck in victim mode. We are working now to be responsible for our lives and how we move forward.

    I hold my cousins responsible for their behavior. I hold my family responsible for the support they were not able to provide. I don’t blame them, but I don’t let them off the hook either. I don’t need to know if they’ll “pay” for what they did or didn’t do. I shift the responsibility for their behavior onto them and am not really bothered with their consequences or lack of them. It doesn’t matter to me.

    It took me a while to be able to say that. For so long I wanted them to get it. I wanted them to understand, take responsibility, or say they were sorry. Waiting for these things to happen keeps us stuck and tied to them. It doesn’t allow us to move forward and create the future for ourselves that we want and deserve.

    I am no longer taking responsibility for their choices, and I don’t need to think about or see how their future plays out.

    The fourth step is to take full responsibility for ourselves.

    This was a difficult step for me. I wanted to blame my past for my inability to speak up, be bold, take action, or feel someone’s disappointment.

    I can’t take responsibility for myself and create the life I want to live if I refuse to accept that my life is a series of choices I make from here forward. I am empowered now to decide who will be around me, what I do with my time, and how I show up.

    I have shifted the paradigm from the belief that I’m unworthy to the belief that I am just as worthy as anyone else. I can tolerate people being disappointed in me, frustrated by my choices, not liking me, or anything else. I decide how I want to show up every day, and I am the only one who can create my life.

    I have never thought of myself as a victim. In fact, I hated the concept, but I did have to accept that living in pleasing mode meant I was also acting like a victim, and that alone was my motivation for change. It was messy and took a while, but eventually I was able to build my strength and resilience to a point where I was comfortable getting to know and expressing my authentic self.

    The fifth step is giving ourselves the tools, grace, and time to let all this play out.

    Continue to get to know who you truly are; continue to feel and express difficult emotions as they come up without pushing them away or dramatizing them. And learn to hold more than one emotion at the same time.

    I can now feel true, genuine love for my family while also being sad and disappointed by the way some things went down. For me, it wasn’t all bad or all good. It was both, and through healing I can genuinely feel and connect to both.

    I have also had to grieve the loss of time. It took many years for me to recover from the black hole that drove my choices and decisions for most of my life. I sometimes wonder what could have been if I had been able to be my authentic self earlier. When these thoughts come, I grieve them, let them pass, and then go do something I love to do.

    It doesn’t matter how old we are when we recognize the paradigm. It can shift, but we are the only ones who can shift it for ourselves.

  • Too Busy Trying to Survive

    Too Busy Trying to Survive

  • 5 Lessons Pain Taught Me About Love

    5 Lessons Pain Taught Me About Love

    “If there is love in your heart, it will guide you through your life. Love has its own intelligence.” ~Sadhguru

    Love was something I craved for most of my life. I dreamed that one day, a person would come into my life, preferably a man, who would love me and save me from my painful suffering filled with emptiness and desperation.

    Even when I was single, which I was quite often and for prolonged periods, I would fantasize about a perfect relationship with someone who’d understand and accept me even in my worst moments. I wanted a partner and a best friend.

    When mister BIG wasn’t coming, I turned to my parents. I wished for a loving mom and dad—parents who would heal themselves and give me all that I felt I’d missed out on.

    This led to unmet expectations and a series of disappointments and relationships in my life that were borderline abusive and unhealthy.

    It all resurfaced and pushed me to my limits when I met another man. It was one of those situations where I knew it wouldn’t work out but proceeded anyway. He ended up returning to his previous relationship, and we remained friends. Or rather, I pretended to be a friend while secretly hoping things would change one day and we would live happily ever after.

    After a year and a half of deliberately staying in this dynamic, feeling depleted and deeply depressed, our paths split, and I began healing myself. This time, for real.

    I think that many of us hold the idea that love is beautiful. And although it is one of the most empowering emotions, love is also an emotion that brings pain. When we care about someone and they are struggling or hurting themselves, we feel pain. When we lose people we love, we feel pain. A willingness to love is a willingness to hurt.

    But what if we are hurting because we don’t believe we are worthy of love? What if we are looking at love from a limited perspective?

    It’s been a couple of years since I promised to change the relationship I had with myself. Seeing what the desperation to be loved made me do, I got quite scared.

    Throughout this time, I went through different stages of growth while addressing and looking at every relationship I’ve had, from my childhood through my marriage and divorce to the last encounter with a romantic relationship. Here are five lessons I learned about love.

    1. Love can only exist within. 

    A while back, I watched a video with a yogi named Sadhguru.

    In the video, he asked, “Where do you feel pain or pleasure, love or hate, agony or ecstasy?”

    The answer: only within.

    Our emotions can’t be felt or created outside of our inner experience.

    Growing up, I believed I could only feel and receive love from external sources. It didn’t occur to me that I could awaken this feeling without an outside presence since it is something I can only feel and create within.

    This helped me realize that the love I was seeking had been with me all along, and there must have been a way to access it.

    I decided to focus on my thoughts and overall perception of myself while questioning every belief that told me I wasn’t worthy of love. Then, I would dissect these beliefs while intentionally looking for evidence that they weren’t true.

    I focused on pleasurable things and people who I loved and adored. I could see that any time I focused on the sweetness and kindness of my environment, my emotional state became pleasant.

    2. Love is always available. 

    Love is always available, and you can feel it if you choose to.

    Since I know this is a bold statement, try out this experiment.

    Close your eyes and bring to your awareness someone you love dearly. Maybe it is your child, a puppy, or someone else. You can see something they do that you absolutely love and cherish or simply think of their presence. Focus all your attention on this vision, fully immerse yourself, and stay with it for at least three to five minutes.

    Then open your eyes and check with yourself how you feel. Do you feel that the sweetness of your emotions has increased?

    And all you did was close your eyes and work with your imagination. I am not suggesting you should go live on an abandoned island all by yourself. But as you can see, love is within you, and you can access it through simple exercises like this one.

    3. Love doesn’t guarantee happiness. 

    At the beginning of my recovery, I had to face a question: “What do I expect to gain from others offering me their love?”

    I realized that I never went into any relationship with the idea of giving but, rather, taking. I wasn’t thinking to myself, “Well, I am overflowing with goodness and joy, and I want to share it with someone.”

    Instead, I was looking to fulfill a need. Whether it was in a relationship with my parents or different men in my life, I was looking for a payoff.

    When it didn’t come, my starving soul would throw a tantrum. Since I didn’t have a healthy relationship with myself, I naturally attracted relationships that reflected that.

    Often, we go into relationships looking for something. Whatever our intention is, we unconsciously hope to receive love to make us feel better and happier.

    Initially, we may feel ‘it’ as the dopamine of a new relationship floods our nervous system. But eventually, as the excitement from the newness subsides, we are back to our old challenges, with the persistent longing for something more while missing the fact that it only and always exists within all of us.

    4. Self-love doesn’t always feel good at first.  

    When we say the word love, it has a soft and pleasant connotation. Therefore, when we look at the fact that, let’s say, setting boundaries is an act of self-love, it doesn’t quite fit our ideology because it can evoke discomfort.

    This one was hard for me to accept. I thought that loving myself should always feel good. So, when I did positive things for myself and felt the fear of rejection or worried that others wouldn’t understand or accept me, something that the unhealed part of me struggled with, I felt uncomfortable and scared.

    Eventually, I learned that love goes way deeper, beyond immediate pleasure or comfort.

    Sometimes self-love means setting boundaries, standing up for yourself, looking at your toxic traits, speaking your truth, saying no, loving some people from a distance, or putting yourself first.

    It’s about respecting yourself enough to honor your needs and well-being, even if it means someone else is displeased.

    5. Loneliness results from disconnection. 

    When I was married, I felt lonely. Then I got divorced, and the loneliness was gone. Eventually, I got into another relationship and felt lonely again. After I broke it off, loneliness disappeared again.

    This dynamic got me curious.

    Typically, we expect to feel lonely when we are alone. But I realized that loneliness isn’t about other people’s presence but rather the connection we have with ourselves.

    Since I was staying in abusive and toxic situations, I knew I was betraying myself. But because I ignored it and denied it, I was naturally disconnected from who I was and what I was worth. And that brought painful feelings of loneliness.

    On the other hand, when I stood up for myself and left the situation that was hurting me, my higher self understood that I was taking a healthy step and led me back to myself. This is when loneliness started to dissipate.

    At the time of this writing, I am choosing to be single. I feel that for the first time, I am truly taking care of myself and honoring my worth and value—things that were so foreign to me all my life.

    I see this as a time of deep recovery and healing while peeling away every layer of past conditioning and trauma. Seeing that love is always available to all of us, I am beginning to understand that who I am, where I am, and what I do are and always were enough.

    —

    Although approaching emotional pain will always be a challenge for me, I am beginning to see that my pain was never meant to make me suffer. Instead, it showed me the love I was capable of feeling and taught me how I can use it to heal myself.

  • Growing Up with a Volatile Parent

    Growing Up with a Volatile Parent

  • 3 Healthy Love Lessons for Survivors of Trauma and Abuse

    3 Healthy Love Lessons for Survivors of Trauma and Abuse

    “Maybe it’s time for the fighter to be fought for, the holder to be held, and the lover to be loved.” ~Unknown

    Growing up, I had no reference whatsoever for what a healthy relationship looked like. My parents had me as a result of an affair. I was estranged from my father for a decade or so, and I spent my childhood with my mother and my stepfather. And both were far from healthy.

    I remember vividly this one day they got into a verbal fight. Things got so heated that he angrily threw her a glass of wine at her as she approached the door to go to work.

    Fortunately, the glass hit the wall as my mom closed the door, laughing at my stepfather’s failed attempt to hurt her. I, a little girl, stayed behind to clean up the mess and deal with my stepfather’s rage. Since he could not aim it at her now, he had no problems aiming it at me, hitting and abusing me my whole childhood.

    To add to the mix, we lived a very isolated life; I would never hang out at my friends’ homes or have people over until my mom finally decided to leave him. I was seventeen when we nervously packed our bags and secretly ran away, leaving my stepfather behind.

    Because of the abuse and isolation, I was pretty unaware of other family dynamics. You may laugh at me, but since I had nowhere else to look, sometimes Brazilian telenovelas were my main source of information.

    When I think about it, there’s this particular day that comes to mind.

    I see myself, a skinny little black girl with short, relaxed hair, sitting on the floor, watching a telenovela with my mom and two brothers while dreaming of a telenovela-like, loving relationship. I recall the main characters on screen passionately declaring their love for each other. My eyes sparkled in awe, hoping that that would be me one day.

    I don’t know if my mother would notice how hopeful I looked, but she would bring my hopes down to zero by reminding me that that did not happen in real life.

    Good times, ay? Nowadays, I laugh about it while living my telenovela-like relationship, minus the toxicity characteristic of these shows. I’m so happy she was wrong!

    For years, though, I believed I did not deserve love and that no one would ever want to have a long-term relationship with me, and that got me into a cycle of unhealthy, loveless relationships.

    Luckily, as I started healing, I realized this was not true. It was just something the adults in my life taught me when I was a child, with words and actions. Let’s get real; I didn’t have the best examples growing up.

    But as I always say, just because you didn’t have good examples growing up, that doesn’t mean you can’t be the example.

    Still, I had to be honest with myself. Although I was open to a healthy, long-term relationship, I had no idea how that worked, so I knew I had to start from scratch. And let me tell you: I learned some invaluable lessons on this journey, and I cannot wait to share them with you.

    #1. Your relationship with yourself will dictate the type of relationship you attract.

    I didn’t realize I was still treating myself the way my abusers used to treat me until I was almost thirty years old. Before this realization, my self-talk was atrocious: I would call myself stupid, ugly, dumb, weirdo… As I said, atrocious. On top of that, I’d deny myself things, sabotage all chances of real success, put everyone before me, and bully myself all day long.

    I later learned that even though we tend to do these things in the intimacy of our thoughts, they inevitably show up in all areas of our lives. For example, people with bad intentions see we don’t have self-respect, so they step in and disrespect us. Self-centered individuals notice our lack of boundaries, and guess what they do? Yes, they cross the line over and over.

    I’ve learned the hard way that others will treat you the way you treat yourself. So, when you’re looking to have a healthy long-term relationship, the first step is healing the relationship with yourself.

    #2. Boring is good.

    I’ve noticed that most of the time, when survivors like me talk about being bored in a relationship, we’re not actually talking about being bored; we’re just unfamiliar with peace and “normality.” This was something I definitely experienced.

    I remember being confronted with this feeling on a particular day; nothing special happened, but I felt weirdly uneasy while walking down the street. My survivor’s brain immediately started thinking something was wrong; I started screening my mind for problems and things to worry about. And then it hit me: I was just feeling peaceful and calm. There was absolutely nothing to worry about, and that’s healthy and okay. I was simply not used to it. At all.

    When it comes to relationships, if we’re used to unhealthy patterns and make them the norm, it feels strange when things are good. That’s why we may try to look for problems and things to worry about in our relationship when, in reality, everything is okay, because we don’t realize that’s what healthy feels like—peaceful.

    Of course, if you’re really bored and there’s no love, that’s a different story. But I think it’s worth doing a check-in just in case our brain is trying to trick us into sabotaging true, healthy love to make us go back to the “familiar,” which, for many of us, means unhealthy.

    I know how crazy that sounds, but trust me, our brain thinks all familiar things are good, and it takes some time to reprogram it. I feel like this is an excellent opportunity to start doing the reprogramming work. What do you think?

    #3. Healthy love is easy.

    As someone who grew up watching toxic relationships in telenovelas, endured abuse, and also suffered from society’s pressure and influence, I used to firmly believe that love was hard, painful, a struggle, and that it took work. A lot of work.

    I spent half of my life chasing butterflies in my stomach, only to realize the butterflies were actually anxiety because my now-ex-partner didn’t make me feel safe.

    Today, if there’s one thing I’m confident about, it’s that healthy love is easy, and it flows. Yes, you’ll have challenges, but the whole relationship does not feel like a struggle.

    I promise you, you’ll know healthy love when you see it, especially after you start healing the relationship with yourself and begin looking for peace instead of trauma-related emotions.

    Do you know the feeling of carrying the weight of a relationship? It’s not going to be there in a healthy partnership. The same goes for questioning your partner’s love and dedication to you and the relationship.

    But here’s the thing: We can only experience this if we start healing and stop wasting time in unhealthy relationships.

    You see, the chances of finding someone incompatible with you are infinite, and of course, you will encounter some interesting characters. The secret lies in not wasting your time there. Keep moving. True, healthy love is around the corner!

    I hope this inspires you to welcome and nurture true love and healthier relationships and not let your past experiences tell you what you can or cannot have.

    You are worthy of a beautiful, fulfilling, and loving relationship. Let it in.

  • Healing Anxious Attachment Patterns to Create Space for Love

    Healing Anxious Attachment Patterns to Create Space for Love

    “Anxious attachment stems from a deep sense of inner instability where old wounds make people anticipate that they will be abandoned again and again.” ~Jessica Baum

    I have recently met the love of my life. Yay!!! He is the person I’ve been imagining for as long as I can remember, hoping and praying that one day I would find him.

    It took such a long time that I began to suspect I was delusional for imagining that such a love was possible, and I almost gave up on the idea of him. But now he is here, and we share the most incredibly beautiful love and my soul is so vibrantly happy to be next to him.

    But the story isn’t so simple because my soul shares this space with my conditioned mind (old parts of myself that developed their own ways of being). To these parts of my ego mind, love feels alien and threatening. When these parts take over, I fall out of alignment with the frequency of our love and tumble back into the fears and worries that trigger me to play out old patterns.

    Until quite recently, I believed myself to be unworthy of loving or of being loved. I was born into a toxic family, to parents who were mentally and emotionally unwell, and as a result, I experienced much neglect and abuse. As is usual after such childhood trauma, I developed a deeply ingrained insecure attachment style, a deep mistrust and fear of others, and a consuming sense of unworthiness.

    For decades, these wounds led me unconsciously down the same paths I had witnessed around me as a child. My idea of love was deeply confused. I sought validation and reassurance of my worth continuously, while feeling in my core that I was unworthy of love. I was only attracted to unavailable men who couldn’t, didn’t, or wouldn’t love me, confirming my idea that I was unlovable and unwanted.

    As a therapist, I knew enough to try to manage my thoughts and feelings and work on myself. But in all truth these patterns of being anxiously and obsessively codependent continued to play out, making me both deeply miserable and also ashamed of my inability to fix, change, or manage them well enough.

    After my divorce four years ago I was so broken, vulnerable, and devastated and so tired of these repeated patterns within myself that I made the decision to invest wholeheartedly into my relationship with myself. I wanted to heal these old childhood wounds that still haunted me so powerfully.

    While these old parts still nudge me with their thoughts and feelings of being unlovable, of not feeling safe, of needing to remain vigilant and needing to perform as they always did, they are now way less consuming. I’ve healed enough that I’ve been able to find my love, and I’m able to separate enough from them that I can see them as they arise and support myself as they do.

    I want to share with others the things I do to ride this inevitable wave of oscillating between the old patterns and the new emerging, more securely attached version of myself.

    Last week our plans changed because his daughter was sad and needed him. It meant that I didn’t hear from him for the rest of that day and a little through the next one.

    I imagined that he would realize that he had been neglecting his daughter, hence her sadness, and that he would decide that he needed to end our love so that he could better focus on his important role of being a good father to her. I felt so saddened by the thought of him leaving that I cried as the anxiety coursed through my body and the old familiar feelings of abandonment threatened to overwhelm me.

    The good news is that I knew that I could soothe and support myself, so I stepped into the following action.

    I listened.

    I spent a good hour or so writing about my thoughts, feelings, and fears and letting this part of myself know that I was there and I was listening.

    I gave her (this young part of myself) space to process what she was experiencing without jumping in to judge her. I approached her with open, compassionate curiosity by asking her a variety of what, why, how, and when type questions.

    I let her write and share and come up with a plan to deal with what might happen (in the worst-case scenario), and I sat with all the heavy feelings it brought with it.

    I offered reassurance.

    I told her that it would be okay, that whatever happened I would be there and I would support and love her through this.

    I asked her to breathe and be in this moment with me—to just breathe.

    I reminded her that whatever happened was for our highest good.

    I reminded her of the journey we had been on and how far we’d come to get to this loving self relationship.

    I reminded her that she was just a ghost from the past, that she had already served her time in trying to protect me from harm, and that she could relax now because she was safe.

    I refocused my attention.

    All this managed to ease my anxiety a little so I could get on with my day; seeing friends, doing a little work, and keeping myself busy. While I could feel the panic and anxiety within, it wasn’t debilitating, not like it used to be. But it was definitely still there. I couldn’t quite shift the sense that I should pay attention to the uneasy feelings in my body.

    I resisted the urge to text him seeking reassurance. I simply gave him space (with some phone stalking) and respected that he was having a process.

    I planned to talk with him, when he was ready, to shift our connection so that we could stay together and make more space for his important connection with his daughter. If that was what he wanted too. By now I was pretty sure he wouldn’t, and I reminded myself that if he didn’t, I would be okay.

    He arrived later that day, and I was ready for whatever was about to happen, but not actually what did happen.

    He was just the same—happy to see me, feeling good in our love—and absolutely nothing had changed for him. His daughter was fine, and he had none of the problems or concerns that I imagined he had had.

    And I was completely thrown!

    I had gotten so involved in the story, with a whole plan of how we could move forward from this place, that it took me completely by surprise that NONE of it was real or necessary.

    I just wasn’t able to see that the part of me that learned to be so vigilant of hurt or harm had imagined the whole thing.  I was so focused on practicing self-compassion and support that I hadn’t really stopped to question its validity.

    I guess the next level of my process is about recognizing when it is important and necessary to offer myself gentle compassion and support and when is it time for a tougher kind of loving compassion by saying “That’s enough, no more!” I’m pretty certain that both have their place and are necessary!

    What I’m learning is that loving and being loved is a huge process for the old parts of my ego mind, and maintaining the frequency of love is going to take some practice. And that my mind is really, really tricky!

    For now, I am oscillating in and out of higher and lower states of energy, thoughts, and feelings about intimacy, love, and connection. I am both in the process of becoming a higher vibrational version of myself AND of releasing the old ways of being that no longer serve me.

    I am choosing to remind myself that all these old energies, thoughts, feelings, and patterns are coming up in order to be released, and as long as I don’t believe in them, they will eventually pass.

    I want to detach completely from any shame I have about my humanness, so I am leaning into my humor and watching myself with loving curiosity as these energies pass by.

    For now, I am choosing to commit more fully to my daily mindfulness practice so that I can train my traumatized mind to stay present and enjoy this beautiful love.

    I write this for all of us who are brave enough to face our own ghosts so that we can love and be loved, just as we deserve. My hope is that by sharing my journey, it will help you with yours. 

  • When It’s Time Tell Your Story: How to Step Out of Hiding and Into Healing

    When It’s Time Tell Your Story: How to Step Out of Hiding and Into Healing

    “One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through, and it will be someone else’s survival guide.” ~Brené Brown

    “Hey, can I call you?” read the text from my cousin Dani.

    “Of course,” I responded, nervously drawing in a deep breath.

    I had recently shared some painful experiences with a family member we are both close to. I assumed Dani had heard what I’d said about our family, and I wasn’t sure if she’d be upset by the secrets I had exposed.

    Throughout my life I had always been told to put a smile on my face and pretend that everything was just fine. I was taught that expressing ‘negative’ emotions may upset others. God forbid.

    My mother died from breast cancer when I was only twelve, and on my last visit with her, I was told, “Don’t cry; you don’t want to upset your mother.” The “suppress all emotion” mentality continued after her death while I was conditioned to hide the verbal and emotional abuse I endured as a teen/young adult.

    In my mid-forties I began trauma therapy and was diagnosed with complex PTSD. I began journaling to process the various ordeals I had experienced throughout my life. I am a list-person and found cataloging each incident with its associated emotions a beneficial way to absorb all that I had endured.

    When the full inventory of traumas was complete, I just sat there and stared at the paper, my hand over my mouth. Seeing them together, the pain and the scars, I was stunned by the sheer volume. It was as if a blindfold had been removed, and I could see it all so clearly now.

    I had spent my entire life keeping quiet and acting like everything was okay. I would alter myself, lessen myself, bend to placate others and suit whatever narrative would keep the peace. When that blindfold fell away, I knew I was done.

    I purposefully made the choice to stop abandoning myself. I was tired of being the version of myself that everyone found tolerable. To keep the peace? Whose peace? I certainly wasn’t at peace, and I didn’t want to live like that for one more second.

    I would step out of hiding and bravely bare my scars and tell my story. I have heard the stories others have been bold enough to share and found such comfort in the similarities; I felt like maybe I wasn’t alone.

    I now felt the call to tell my truth in the hopes of being a source of encouragement for others who struggle with childhood trauma and mental illness.

    It was scary, but I hesitantly began telling those closest to me. My husband and children knew the main pieces of my trauma, but I filled them in on all the rest of it. I became more courageous after that and slowly confided in other friends and family, exposing generational trauma, abuse, and abandonment. I was fully transparent and spared no one, not even myself.

    As anticipated, there were unfavorable reactions where I received criticism over my sharing of this type of content. However, those negative responses were the exception, not the rule. I was pleasantly surprised that the majority were positive and incredibly validating. Some even thanked me for sharing my story, telling me what an impact it made or how helpful they found it.

    Some family members, including my cousin Dani, corroborated the trauma and abuse. That was so healing for me to hear, especially when facing disapproval from others. What happened to me was true, even if there are some who want to dismiss or minimize it. A handful even shared their own stories of survival with me after hearing mine.

    One critic asked why I felt the need to put all this negativity out there. They understood the need to journal to process my trauma, but talking to others about it seemed outlandish to them. They felt it would do more harm than good.

    My entire life I had been conditioned to hide the truth and pretend like all was well, ignoring my own needs in favor of everyone else:

    • Never be sad, even if your mom dies when you are a kid.
    • Never be disappointed, even if your dad doesn’t step up for you.
    • Never be angry, even if your stepfather screams at you.
    • Never be upset, even if your stepmother demeans and excludes you.

    In trauma therapy, I learned that hiding ‘bad’ emotions (spoiler alert, there are no ‘bad’ emotions) only causes more pain. The saying “the only way out is through” is popular for a reason. I had to walk through my emotions, honor my pain, and shine a light on it.

    I will no longer put my abusers’ needs above my own. I will no longer be silent. I will no longer hide. I will tell my story of survival and healing with the world in the hopes of it being a guide for others who struggle. A map, an atlas.

    Stepping out of hiding can be terrifying, and sometimes it needs to be done in baby steps. If you are at a point in your life where you feel it is time to shift from pain to healing, try the following.

    1. One Small Step

    • Start small: Reveal one minor secret, experience, or trauma.
    • Tell one person: a close friend, a trusted family member, or anonymously online.
    • Be transparent: Share that you are nervous; say this is difficult for you.

    2. Assess and Appreciate

    • Give yourself credit: Pat yourself on the back for taking a small, brave step.
    • Note how you feel: Proud? Relieved? Lighter?
    • Realize: You did it and survived, and you can do it again.

    3. Repair and Repeat

    • Hits: talking in person, via text, anonymously online?
    • Misses: online trolls, friends offended, certain family upset?
    • Continue: It becomes more comfortable and more healing with each shared connection.

    My reason for sharing my story with the world is that I will never be silent again! I stepped out of hiding to heal and you can too! Tell your story; show your scars. It may be just the map someone else needs to find the way to their own healing.

  • How to Stop Prioritizing Everyone and Everything Else at Your Own Expense

    How to Stop Prioritizing Everyone and Everything Else at Your Own Expense

    “Agreeing to things just to keep the peace is actually a trauma response. When you do this you’re disrespecting your boundaries. No more making yourself uncomfortable for others to feel comfortable. You have control now. You run your life. Take up space and use your voice.” ~Dj Love Light

    I read the text from my stepmother inviting everyone to the holiday dinner at her house, and my stomach began to churn. I did not want to attend, but I was instantly flooded with guilt at the thought of saying no.

    “How to kindly decline an invite” I typed and hit search.

    I felt like I should go to their dinner, even though I didn’t want to. My stepparents were always disappointed when some of us RSVPed no. Would they be mad if I said no this time? Would they ask why my family couldn’t come?

    Also, my sister was coming to town for the holiday, and I didn’t want her to be disappointed that my family wasn’t there. All kinds of scenarios were playing out in my head, fueling my shame, while my guilt dug in its heels.

    The following day I replied to the group, “The Montgomerys can’t make it. Have a happy holiday,” and let out a nervous sigh while I tried to let myself off the hook. I’d been so overwhelmed lately; I just needed a break.

    I’ve spent most of my life being conditioned to believe that my needs do not matter. My mother got breast cancer when I was eight, and she and my stepfather kept it a secret to ‘protect’ the kids. All that did was rob me of being able to express my fears and be comforted.

    I was told to put a smile on my face when we’d visit her in the hospital—“Don’t cry. You don’t want to upset your mother”—teaching me that my sadness was irrelevant, and I should focus on my mother’s happiness instead.

    She died when I was twelve, and even then, as I sat in the backseat on the drive home, I was handed a tissue to wipe the tears off my face without so much as a hug or a comforting word.

    When my stepfather remarried, my stepmother’s narcissism only solidified the notion that my needs were unimportant. Her kids mattered; I did not. Her feelings took priority; mine were an inconvenience. I learned that conceding to my stepparents’ wants and preferences, even at my own discomfort, equaled safety.

    My stepparents were emotionally and verbally abusive. My stepfather was a screamer and used rage as a weapon. My stepmother was a narcissist with a powerful sense of entitlement and superiority. They demanded compliance.

    I buried my needs and made myself small as a means of survival. I became a people-pleaser to endure the trauma. I spent decades in survival mode, never having a voice, never taking up space.

    In my mid-thirties, I finally realized that the narrative I had been told, “you don’t matter,” simply wasn’t true. After years of therapy and establishing a happy, healthy family of my own, I came to understand that I do matter, and my needs are valid.

    Even into my adult years, with marriage and kids, I continued to try to foster a relationship with my stepparents. I tolerated their abuse and made excuses. “That’s just how they are,” or, “We have to go; they’re family.”

    I finally hit my breaking point after my stepparents stood me up for the second time. We were supposed to have lunch, and they didn’t show. It had happened the previous month as well, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt. This was the final straw.

    I had spent so much time and effort trying to get them to be a part of my and my children’s lives with invitations that were ignored, all while being required to show up for them whether it worked for our schedules or not.

    I decided that I would go low contact. I would no longer reach out to them and would only attend holidays or birthdays when I was available and felt like it. I did not want to go full no contact, because I still wanted to interact with my siblings and their families.

    The boundaries I put in place were extremely helpful. They decreased the harm my stepparents inflicted upon me and my family. Anytime we gathered with them, and a cruel comment or snarky remark was made, I found it had lost its power. Instead of bringing me to tears, I would now say, “That’s just how they are,” with a shrug and an eye roll.

    I refused to give my power away to them anymore. Their attempts to hurt me failed now. I no longer subscribe to their narrative of me.

    The boundaries and reclaiming my voice are now my norm; however, I still have moments when the feeling of I don’t matter creeps back in, and I go back to my factory setting of being a people-pleaser. Trauma is tricky that way.

    When I find myself in people-pleaser mode, shoving my needs aside to take care of everyone and everything else, those are the times when I need to remember how prioritizing others at my expense ends in exhaustion and resentment. I remind myself that I have control of my life, I matter, and my needs are valid.

    Prioritizing your needs and developing boundaries can be daunting when you are not accustomed to using your voice and taking up space. To stop putting others’ comfort above your own, try the following.

    1. Assess the situation.

    • Check in with yourself: How are you feeling? Are your needs being met?
    • If/then: If you are exhausted and your needs are not being met, then what needs to change?
    • Be mindful: What people/places are challenging for you?

    2. Create an actionable plan.

    • Having my needs met looks like: going for a daily walk and saying no when I’m overwhelmed.
    • Challenging people/places: Establish boundaries and eliminate toxic environments.
    • Reminders: Be kind to yourself, respond as if you were talking with a friend, and no shaming.

    3. Adjust and continue.

    • What worked: Setting a boundary of helping neighbor only when free went well.
    • What went wrong: Family getting upset with boundary caused guilt and shame.
    • Pivot: Practice giving yourself grace and remember that “No” is a complete sentence.
    • Learn: It gets easier; you can do it again; you are not responsible for other’s reactions.

    The saying “you can’t pour from an empty cup” is popular for a reason. Give yourself some grace as you reclaim your value and worth. Use your voice and take up space. You matter.

  • 4 Practical Techniques to Heal from Childhood Trauma

    4 Practical Techniques to Heal from Childhood Trauma

    “It is important for people to know that no matter what lies in their past, they can overcome the dark side and press on to a brighter world.” ~Dave Pelzer, A Child Called “It”

    I grew up in the shadow of my pathologically narcissistic father. From a very young age, my role in the family was that of the scapegoat, a role that poisoned my entire childhood. I lived in a constant state of fear, shame, and self-doubt, always trying to please my father and earn his love and approval.

    But as I grew older and began to understand the true nature of my father’s behavior, I realized that his love was never something I could earn or deserve. It was simply not within my control. And so I made the conscious decision to release myself from the burden of trying to gain his love.

    Letting go of this childhood trauma was not easy. It took time, and notwithstanding the fact that I am now well into middle age, there are still days when I feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. But as I began to peel away the layers of hurt and pain, I also discovered a newfound sense of freedom and self-acceptance.

    By acknowledging my past experiences and their impact on my life, I was able to take control and make positive changes. I learned to use my voice, set boundaries, and prioritize my own well-being. And in doing so, I found that the more I released myself from the hold of my childhood trauma, the more empowered and hopeful I became.

    Letting go of childhood trauma does not mean forgetting or denying what happened. It means accepting it, learning from it, and using it as fuel for growth and healing. It also means embracing vulnerability and allowing ourselves to feel and process our emotions.

    The Dysfunctional Dynamics of a Narcissistic Family

    In the cast of characters within my family, each of us played a specific role in my father’s drama, almost as if we were following a script.

    My father, the puppet master, was the archetypal narcissist, continually seeking admiration while lacking empathy for others, making family life a perpetual performance.

    My mother played the part of the enabler, softening and justifying my father’s actions, her support acting as the grease that allowed the machinery of his narcissism to run smoothly.

    My brother, the golden child, lived in the glow of my father’s approval, unwittingly being shaped into a younger version of the man who was destroying him.

    And then there was me, the scapegoat, taking on all of my father’s projected anger and shame, often being punished for things I didn’t even do.

    Understanding these roles has been a painful yet illuminating part of my journey. This insight is a bittersweet liberation, lifting some of the burdens that I’ve carried for so long—and with each step in awareness, I’m crafting a new life narrative, built not on the foundations of trauma but on hope and self-compassion.

    The Importance of Letting Go

    For the longest time, I clung to my past, believing that the pain I refused to shed was somehow integral to my identity. Yet, the power I gave to those memories only helped them grow roots in the present.

    In the end, it took a total mental breakdown to shake me out of this mindset, ironically triggered by an act of total altruism by my oldest and closest friend. She fostered a little girl, and when I met her I was catapulted back to my own childhood and all the pain and fear it entailed.

    It was like opening Pandora’s box, but instead of the evils of the world flying out, they pulled me in and closed the lid behind me.

    But it was in this dark place that I finally found the strength to let go. I couldn’t keep living a life where my past weighed so heavily on my present. I was no longer a child, bound by my father’s whims and expectations. I had the power to break free from that cycle of trauma—but this required me to release the past.

    The Healing Process Through Release and Forgiveness

    Healing from my childhood trauma was not just about shutting the door on my past experiences, but rather understanding and empathizing with the self that had to endure them.

    Forgiveness, I learned, isn’t about absolving others of consequence. It’s about forgiving myself for all the things that I did to cope with my pain.

    Through therapy and self-reflection, I slowly released the anger and hurt that had consumed me for so long. And as I did so, I was able to replace it with a sense of peace and self-acceptance. It’s an ongoing process, but one that has brought immense healing and growth into my life.

    Practical Techniques for Letting Go

    The path to release is different for everyone, and there is no one right way to let go of childhood trauma. However, there are common threads that tie the experiences of many trauma survivors in their quest for freedom from the past.

    Therapy and Counseling Options

    Seeking professional help was a pivotal step in my personal growth. It took a while for me to find the right therapist – someone with whom I felt comfortable discussing my most painful memories. But when I did, it was a game-changer.

    Therapy gave me the tools to process my emotions and memories in a healthy way, allowing me to gradually let go of the hold they had on me. It also provided a safe space for me to explore and understand the dysfunctional dynamics within my family.

    I had to face the fact that some of the behaviors that I had adopted as a child as a means of survival were no longer serving me in the present. With the help of my therapist, I was able to challenge these beliefs and develop healthier coping mechanisms.

    For example, as a kid I learned to overachieve in an attempt to prove that I was more than the nothing my father insisted I was. Therapy helped me understand that I didn’t need to prove my worth through accomplishments. I now practice embracing my imperfection and loving myself regardless of what I achieve.

    Self-Care Practices

    Taking care of myself physically, mentally, and emotionally has also been crucial in my healing journey. This includes regular exercise, eating well, getting enough rest, and setting healthy boundaries with others.

    But self-care also means allowing myself to feel and process my emotions, without judgment or shame. It means practicing self-compassion and being gentle with myself as I work through the trauma.

    Journaling and Creative Outlets

    Journaling became my confidante. The act of writing was a release valve for my emotions, allowing the chaos within me to take shape and form on the page. I also started a blog, which helped me connect with many people who had gone through similar experiences. For the first time, I did not feel alone.

    The Gift of Gratitude

    I have now come a very long way. I no longer see myself as a victim, a damaged person constantly trying to convince others, and herself, that she is worthy of love. My family of birth had not nurtured me, but somehow, along the way, I met people who were not related to me by blood but who held out their hand and helped me pull myself out of the hole I had almost been buried in.

    These people finally offered the validation and affection that I had always longed for, and I learned that family is more than a biological fact. It is a spiritual and emotional bond that is chosen and nurtured.

    I learned that healing is best not done in isolation, but within a community. Reflecting on the love and support they’ve given me, I feel a profound sense of gratitude that fills me with hope and gives strength to my journey.

    Conclusion

    If you stand where I once stood, weighed down by the chains of your past, I offer you one simple truth: release is not the end, but a beginning. It is a step into the unknown, where the freedom to redefine yourself lies in the courage to shed the familiar, even when it’s painful.

    I encourage you, fellow survivor, to take that step, to release and heal, and to discover the world that waits beyond the walls of trauma. It is a world of limitless potential, a life in full color, where the past is not a prison, but a whisper, and you hold the pen to write your own story.

  • Trying Your Best to Stay Calm and Kind

    Trying Your Best to Stay Calm and Kind

  • How I Found a Beautiful Identity Beyond My Trauma

    How I Found a Beautiful Identity Beyond My Trauma

    “Today I want you to think about all that you are instead of all that you are not.” ~Unknown

    When I was nineteen, something happened to me that felt like a death. I had spent a lot of my teenage years feeling lonely and invisible, desperate for someone to break through to me and convince me of my own value. And then finally, I developed a crush on someone that was reciprocated. He liked me back!

    I walked around all day beaming and giggling, consumed by thoughts of him and how he made me feel beautiful. Every time he sent me a text message, inquiring about me, initiating hanging out, merely displaying some interest in me, I felt like I had won the lottery.

    You probably already know the latter half of this story—not only was my euphoria short-lived, but it also ended in tragedy. By the third time we hung out, he had convinced me to “come over,” took swift advantage of me, and that was that.

    He made it obvious that he was interested in other women, and I was simply an addition to his count. He had no reason to invest in me further; he didn’t care about me as a person, and he never had.

    I left his bedroom feeling numb and like a piece of trash. I was angry at him, but more so at myself, for foolishly believing that the superficial attention he gave me rendered me loveable, that it could reverse years of my feeling worthless. It was all so pathetic.

    I deeply believed, and still believe, that my anger, shame, and sadness over this experience were more than warranted and deserved ample space to unfold. However, the trauma haunted me for years, even as I moved on to other noteworthy life experiences.

    I couldn’t soften the weight and impact of how it felt to be used by him, and as a result, the whole incident played an unintentionally large role in how I viewed myself and how I engaged with other people.

    I thought about the incident, and thought about it and thought about it, in some capacity, every single day, and despite all this thinking, nothing about it ever changed.

    There was just this painful voice that replayed the scene with added commentary, taunting me, “Remember how you thought he liked you? Remember how stupid you acted? Remember… remember… remember…. how it all felt?”  

    I knew that by allowing my brain to dwell so much in this difficult space, I was giving the trauma way more of my life than it deserved. But I would have argued this was involuntary; I couldn’t control my brain from returning, over and over again, to how badly he had treated me and how bad it felt.

    It wasn’t until many years later, when I discovered Buddhist philosophy and started incorporating teachings and practice into my daily life, that I realized, maybe I could be in control. Through my personal study, I was able to bring about some powerful shifts in perspective that helped me wake up to who I really was—the complex, nuanced, interesting person who could not be reduced to one unfortunate incident.

    The first shift I had: my terrible experience is one part of me, and I needed to shrink it to exactly that—one part.

     I am many things apart from a naïve college girl desperate for love: an accomplished student, a good friend, an athlete, a writer—I can really be anything that I want to expend effort on and draw attention to.

    That girl leaving the bedroom was shocked, embarrassed, and sad. She needed a lot of care, so I had been busy protecting her. But I needed to resize her to a more accurate scale of my life.

    Because, in fiercely protecting her, I was neglecting the innumerable other aspects of my identity. Now was the time to gently retreat my attention from her and take tangible action to let the other parts of me flourish.

    For example, I could devote more headspace to my writing practice and work on becoming a better writer. I could check in on a loved one, listen to them carefully and compassionately, and become a better friend. With such actions, these aspects of my identity would grow more prominent in the story of my life.

    With such actions, the incident could remain an incident and not speak for my whole existence.

    There were so many potential versions of me, and these did not all have to be at the mercy of my trauma. It was time to get excited about future me and who I wanted her to be.

    Which brought me to another big shift: if I can be whoever I want, including someone who isn’t controlled by my trauma, maybe there isn’t even one “reality.” I was clinging obsessively to my narrative of this incident and how bad it made me feel. I kept going over the injustice, over and over, as if I were trying to crack a code. The more I summoned the hard feelings, the more I convinced myself that they were true.

    But what if the truth was that I’m not the summation of the terrible feelings I had? That he didn’t have so much sway in my life? If I made the conscious choice to believe these more liberating statements into existence, maybe they could become my new truth.

    Believing him and believing my low self-esteem made my reality ugly. Believing that this incident was simply an incident in the grand scheme of the cosmos made my reality limitless.

    All that being said, I wasn’t going to ignore the naïve nineteen-year-old me or pretend she didn’t exist. She was here to stay, and she was here for a reason.

    I could look at her with tenderness and passion and make sure that I didn’t get taken advantage of like that again. I could always give her compassion. But rather than let her infiltrate my whole existence, I was going to designate a clear space for her, and always remember where she was.

    She would always have somewhere to live, but I wasn’t stuck there with her. There were other places where I could go, other realities I could inhabit.

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

    ASMR: The Powerful Practice That Helped Me Let People In

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Transforming Pain into Power: The Magic of Emotional Alchemy

    Transforming Pain into Power: The Magic of Emotional Alchemy

    If it weren’t for my darkest moments, I wouldn’t appreciate the life I have today. I’ve overcome a lot, and my biggest battle wasn’t the hurdles themselves but how they made me feel, draining my energy and desire for life until I nearly lost it completely. I’m sharing my story to give you hope. If I can transform pain into beauty through emotional alchemy, you can, too.

    I’m not going to lie and say my journey has been easy. Nor is it over; overcoming a lifetime of dysfunctional patterns from a toxic childhood and challenging adult experiences takes time. However, it is so very worth it. Here’s how I perform emotional alchemy, and you can, too.

    My “Shawshank” Moment

    Although I didn’t always recognize how childhood trauma led to my adult victimization, I now see how it created the conditions. My inner child wasn’t only wounded; I, in many ways, was still a child.

    I grew up in a household where anger was the primary emotion, and that seed remained within me. When an adult tragedy struck, I watered it, first directing it at a world I felt was impossibly cruel and finally against myself.

    The seed sprouted when I became chronically ill with disabling symptoms that gradually robbed me of my ability to work a traditional job. I lost everything, including my home.

    Because I had never learned how to relate to others, I didn’t know where to turn for help and was convinced that I would be ridiculed for asking. Having never learned how to set appropriate boundaries as a child, I pushed away the few people who tried to lend a hand, suspecting ulterior motives.

    Accepting assistance was burdening another, something strong, capable, worthy people didn’t do, and the people who offered aid had something up their sleeves.

    Homeless and feeling utterly powerless, I had no idea how to go on.

    Getting Busy Living

    Anger was useful in my recovery. It took well over a decade to find a diagnosis—an underlying heart defect.

    I now know that my emotional outbursts at the doctor’s corresponded to one of my biggest complex post-traumatic stress disorder (c-PTSD) triggers. As a child, I was constantly invalidated and dismissed, including when I had health issues.

    Any time I got sick, I was told it was a “cry for attention” and an attempt to “manipulate” my parents into caring for me. Experiencing similar suspicion again led to irritation and many tears that no doubt confirmed my provider’s impression of me as “hysterical.”

    My anger drove me to prove I was not causing my symptoms, exacerbating them, or making them up. But how? I went utterly straight-edge, taking up a super-healthy, nearly monastic lifestyle of whole foods intended to nurture physical and mental health, regular physical activity, and all the brain-and-soul healing holistic therapies I could find online.

    Little did I know I was laying the foundation of my recovery. Although people tend to think linearly, as though one thing leads to another like a straight line, existence is more like a circular mandala with interwoven threads creating the tapestry and holding that giant parachute together. When one thread wears thin, the others pick up the slack during repairs. My work on my physical body began to heal my mind. But how?

    1. Diet and Mental State

    My diet today still consists primarily of plant-based foods close to their natural forms. I also take care to increase my intake of certain nutrients necessary for brain health through the meals I choose, such as:

    • B-vitamins for neurotransmitter production.
    • Omega-3s to prevent brain disorders and improve mood.
    • Magnesium, selenium, and zinc for improved mood and nervous system regulation.

    I also eliminated anything that could adversely affect my mood. That meant cutting out:

    • Foods with artificial colors, flavors, and preservatives.
    • Added sugar.
    • Processed, bleached flour.
    • Unhealthy oils.

    It’s tougher to eat this way on a budget. I stocked up on dried fruits, nuts, and seeds that last; inexpensive tuna; and fresh, organic produce from the farmer’s market.

    2. Movement and the Full Nervous System

    While most of your neurons are in your brain, you have them all over your body. Emotional trauma can get trapped in your somatic system, but nurturing practices like Yin and restorative yoga can release it.

    I find it’s best to get my heart pumping to burn off some of those excess stress hormones like cortisol before I can dig into deeper release on the mat. Find movement that soothes you, which can include pumping you up to blow off steam.

    My yoga mat has become a true home for me. It’s where I go to sit, or passively stretch, with my emotions when they overwhelm me. If you have c-PTSD, you know that your triggers don’t disappear — you train yourself to notice them and react to them less so that they don’t control you. Sometimes, that means creating a necessary pause before responding, and my yoga mat is my place to do that.

    3. Mindfulness

    Mindfulness is the true key to transforming pain into power through emotional alchemy. I’m convinced it’s the one tool that can help with the epidemic of narcissism American society faces—and I speak as someone who learned such traits from the dubious “best.” People with such personalities have defenses so sky-high that they react to even the most well-intended advice with distrust.

    However, mindfulness creates space for deep truths to bubble up from inside. You aren’t being “lectured” by someone else who threatens your sense of self and the worldview that protects you. Simply focusing on your inhales and exhales provides a sense of separation and objectiveness that lets you realize two critical truths:

    • You are not your thoughts.
    • You are not your feelings.

    You have thoughts and feelings, but you also have the you that’s sitting with them on the mat, deciding how to best manage them. Recognizing that you have power and choice over how you direct your energy teaches you that if you want anger or distrust to grow, you water those seeds through your actions and decisions.

    The beautiful part? You also realize if you want to nurture love, hope, health, camaraderie, faith, optimism, joy, and happiness, then you water those seeds.

    One small act of goodness can start a ripple effect. Think of it like the frayed strands of a worn tapestry weaving themselves back together, one string at a time. It starts with self-love.

    I didn’t fully realize when I began my journey that I was essentially reparenting myself from scratch, but that’s what I was doing. My higher self was acting like a good mother, ensuring I had healthy foods, the right amount of exercise and sunlight, and plenty of nurturing.

    Creating Emotional Alchemy

    Mindfulness also helped me manage the overwhelming anxiety I felt without my usual coping mechanisms to handle stress. Anyone who has experienced morning-after hangxiety knows that withdrawal from alcohol ramps up this emotion, and my life stressors hadn’t magically disappeared. I was still battling housing insecurity, trying to earn enough money to keep a roof over my head while managing necessary medical appointments and the associated travel time.

    However, I couldn’t have transformed my pain into power through emotional alchemy without identifying my feelings and learning how to manage them in healthy ways. For that, I dug into everything I could learn about human psychology. I engaged in therapy whenever possible. Although there was limited help available, I briefly found someone who listened to me rehash my childhood without judgment.

    Mostly, though, I self-directed my treatment, making use of the resources I had available. I engaged in the following practices, often more than once per day, to slowly heal my central nervous system. These activities decreased my emotional reactivity and helped me make wiser choices based on mindful contemplation instead of a panicked need to do something, anything:

    • Yoga: Not all styles require high energy or physical fitness, and many poses have modifications for differing skill and mobility levels. Try Hatha, Yin, or restorative if you’re new.
    • Meditation: While there are many styles, I find that guided meditations are best for beginners. They acclimate you to sitting quietly with your thoughts while providing just enough direction to prevent falling into a rumination trap or taking a dark trip down anxiety lane.
    • Nature walks: Oodles of studies show nature’s healing power on your body and mind. Hike, or better yet, go camping. It’s free or close to it.
    • Grounding: Grounding or earthing puts your skin in contact with the earth’s natural magnetic field. While it sounds new age, it works.
    • Nutrition: Although I give myself more dietary leeway today, my meals are still primarily plant-based. I continue to avoid unhealthy substances, including alcohol, knowing what it does to my neurotransmitters.
    • Learning: Educational materials and online support groups are invaluable resources.

    I’m not a celebrity and certainly not among the elite. However, my message of hope is that you don’t necessarily need an expensive retreat or inpatient care to transform pain into power through emotional alchemy.

    Use what you have. YouTube is a fabulous resource of free nutrition and exercise videos, and the internet abounds with information. It’s a matter of feeding yourself the right input instead of getting sucked into social media. Seek websites and channels by credentialed individuals to ensure the information you receive is accurate and helpful.

    Emotional Alchemy: Transforming Pain into a Beautiful Life

    Today, my life continues to improve. Working on myself made it much easier to get the other pieces of my life under control.

    It might take reparenting yourself if you have severe c-PTSD. You might have to actively decide to stop doing the things that hurt your mind, body, and emotions and start nurturing yourself like you would a child. However, over time, you can create emotional alchemy and transform your pain into power, sharing what you have learned in your journey to bring hope to others.

  • How I Overcame My Fear on My Trauma Anniversary

    How I Overcame My Fear on My Trauma Anniversary

    “It’s okay that you don’t know how to move on. Start with something easier…. Like not going back.” ~Unknown

    I’m one of the 70% of people who have experienced trauma, and it can be hard to deal with. Actually, I’ve experienced more than one traumatic event, which is also common.

    In fact, sometimes it feels like trauma and the symptoms have ruled my life.

    The gut-churning, confused thoughts, sweating, shaking, inability to breathe and panic are horrible parts, though to me there is something worse.

    The fear.

    The fear that it will happen again. The fear of what it took from me and how will I continue to live.

    The fear that I will never be the same again. Forever changed.

    So you kind of repress it as much as you can and learn to live with the symptoms.

    When trauma impacts your life permanently, the diagnosis is post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)— the continual fear of reexperiencing what you went through and the avoidance of any potential trigger.

    When people know about the trauma, they often treat you differently. They see the trauma, not you. They just see what happened.

    This week is a significant anniversary of workplace trauma.

    I previously worked in security and was very good at my job. I was a supervisor, and my concern was for those I worked with and the people where I worked.

    As the only female security person there, I made the decision to be approachable to others. Especially women. I wanted them to feel safe to ring up for a chat at any hour if they felt alone working in their office or if they wanted someone to walk with them to their car.

    I used to go for a walk around the area every night, with my uniform covered. Night shifts are long and can be lonely and boring. A good walk helped me stay focused.

    One night, at 3 a.m., I was walking with my uniform covered when I ran into a woman walking home. She was a little tipsy, so I walked her the last little way home. After I left her, something felt off.

    Walking back, I knew I wasn’t alone. I looked around and couldn’t see anyone, but I felt them. I was being watched, and it was terrifying.

    At that moment my brain registered that this was personal, not professional.

    My uniform was covered, so it wasn’t an attack by someone who was angry with me relating to the job. I was a woman, and I was being hunted.

    All my extensive training went out the window. The fear was paralyzing. A fear that, commonly, men don’t understand. They are rarely the prey.

    I walked as fast as I could in the middle of a street with poor lighting, and I kept looking but couldn’t see anyone.

    I was aware that there were four sexual deviants in the area. I’d read all the reports of assaults, rapes, and indecent exposure. Where I worked was a great ‘playground’ for disturbed people.

    This person was in the shadows; I was in the center of the road. At that point, I couldn’t breathe.

    I was almost at the building I was aiming for when I saw him. Right in front of me. And I saw his knife.

    That moment felt like an eternity. When reality slows down and every action is like a dream.

    I got inside the building, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him through the window. He was waiting for me to leave. Even if I hadn’t read the incident reports, there was no doubt about what he intended.

    I tried calling the guards for help on my two-way radio, but I couldn’t speak. No words came out. I tried three times while watching him move back into the shadows.

    Twice I tried to use my phone to call the office (500 meters away) to get help, but again, no words came out. Alone in a brightly lit building, I was terrified to move. I didn’t want to move into the building further. It was dark, but I didn’t want him watching me. My decision was to stand still near the entrance, where most of the cameras were.

    The third time I called, my number was recognized, and all I could say was “help.” I managed to give him a building number and could hear him dispatching help.

    The man who had been following me silently left in the shadows. We never found him, despite the guards hunting for him. Back at base, these men had never seen me fazed by anything. I was always the calm one, the one you call in a crisis, even the physical ones. They didn’t get it.

    This man didn’t have to touch me. I knew his intent; I could see his weapon and his eyes. I had read the reports. This was personal.

    It was something that my employer couldn’t understand; as aggressive men, they were never ‘prey.’ As a rule, men are stronger than women and more violent.

    While some men have been prey, it is far less common. Women have to deal with these feelings and fears so much more. In this case, it was more than just the fear that got to me.

    It was the shame, the humiliation, and the shock.

    Shame that I was incapable of protecting myself and he was left there to hurt others. While I already felt that hit, my employer stated his disgust at my inability to act.

    Humiliation, as I was always seen as the ‘strong one,’ but I felt very much the victim here. I know what being a victim feels like. I’ve been there many times, though I never dreamed that I would be there when working.

    It’s been ten years, and I am still affected by this experience. It has affected my quality of life and how I live.  

    With any trauma, you learn to manage it. Live with it and come to terms with it in your own way. You have a choice: Will you allow the experience to leave you a victim, or will you move through it?

    Recently, someone asked me, “How will you manage the anniversary?” They asked in a caring way, wanting to know that I had support during this time. But it left me in a challenging place.

    In my heart, I know that it is not about repressing, hiding, pretending it didn’t happen, or pretending that I am okay when I’m not. I truly believe that to heal from something, we must stop running from it and look at it, feel it, and allow it to heal.

    I also know that a bad experience can make us stronger, and that we can inspire others with how we rise above adversity.

    The day after that person asked me, “How will you manage?”, my right knee went numb.

    It didn’t hurt, but it did make me limp. Suddenly, I was scared.

    I was thrown back into the energy of being a victim because someone was worried about how I would manage to deal with this thing that had changed my life.

    I spent most of my life in that victim space, and it was a struggle to get out of it.

    It is more than a mindset shift. It is breaking old beliefs, changing old habits, and being willing to see that there is something else there. It was a personal challenge for me to see that life can be more than a meager existence.

    I will be forever changed by my trauma, and I may never be able to do what I used to do, but that doesn’t mean that I cannot live the best life that I can.

    If one looks at the energetic issues around knee pain, it is often related to a fear of moving forward in life. A fear of stepping into your path. A fear of change. So we stay stagnant.

    I am at a crossroads in my life. I am seeking a new path, while aware of my limitations.

    Thrown back into the old energy, it is hard to take the next step and move forward.

    The irony is that this week I was planning to go to a very special crystal garden. A place that feels like a deeper ‘home’ to my soul. Being there is always special, healing, and empowering.

    Yet suddenly, I could not walk easily. Stepping into my power and letting go of the impact of trauma seemed impossible.

    I had to identify that I was sabotaging myself from stepping forward. From progressing with a dream, with a desire, with a passion. I had caused myself to stall.

    Can one truly cause a physical problem, based on fear?

    In my world, yes.

    This does come down to your beliefs, though, to me, this is how I stop myself from moving forward in life.

    Now that I have learned to recognize this (which takes time and courage), when I identify it, acknowledge it, and reconnect with my heart regarding the situation, I can heal the emotional wound, which then frees the energy that causes the physical issue.

    This takes practice, and I’m trained in various healing modalities, so I have a head start here, but this is how I’ve worked through things many times over the years.

    When my knee went numb and it felt like I was trying to walk through cement, I knew that I needed to clear this energetic resistance that had formed in my mind.

    Here’s what I did to regain feeling in my knee again, to release the victim mindset I’d slipped into.

    1. I acknowledged my fears out loud. “I fear stepping into my power.” “I fear not coping.” “I fear I am stuck in trauma.” I had to verbalize these fears, then change them.

    2. I wrote lines in my surrender notebook. “I no longer fear stepping into my power,” “I no longer fear that I am stuck in trauma,” and “I longer fear that I am not coping.”

    3. Then I wrote positive lines: “I am easily stepping into my power,” “I am capable of managing all situations that I am in,” and “I am free from trauma and stress.”

    I kept writing and saying these statements out loud until I could feel them. I wrote several pages worth, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was shifting my mindset and energy.

    After a hot Epsom salt bath, which is a powerful energy-cleansing ritual, I felt better, and my knee had more feeling. I wasn’t fully where I wanted to be; however, I wasn’t dwelling on the trauma and the negative. I was back in the moment.

    Now I needed to visualize and see what I wanted to happen. This is such a powerful skill to learn. I often use my phone voice recorder to create my own visualization that I can play as I sleep or throughout the day.

    What was important here was that I take a step in the direction I wanted to go in.

    I jumped online and purchased the tickets needed for the crystal castle I wanted to go to. I committed to moving forward.

    Then I very slowly started walking on my treadmill.

    Again, as I slowly walked, I was repeating out loud, “I am easily stepping into my power. I am free. I am achieving my dreams.” This wasn’t about exercise or heart rate; it was about showing myself and my body that I am moving forward in life.

    I closed my eyes and visualized walking through the crystal gardens, through the bush, touching the crystals, and letting my vision move into my next life steps.

    At one point, I noticed that I was walking more easily. I could feel my knee again. But I kept going, holding on to the positive, progressive feeling.

    After thirty minutes of slow walking, I felt refreshed and, importantly, I felt in my flow of life again. Able to walk normally and not be caught up in the trauma anniversary.

    In fact, at that point, I was determined to stop remembering this anniversary date and decided to accept it as a time in my life that gave me the opportunity to grow.

    This is a challenging way to look at things, but when you are ready to look at an experience this way, it empowers you and inspires others too.

    This is not saying that any trauma is justified or condoned. It is saying that I refuse to stay a victim of this experience, and if I can, I will find a way it can help me grow as a person.

  • How Embracing Grief Can Open Us Up to a Beautiful New Chapter

    How Embracing Grief Can Open Us Up to a Beautiful New Chapter

    “When we are brave enough to tend to our hearts, our messy emotions can teach us how to be free—not free from pain but free from the fear of pain and the barrier it creates to fully living.” ~Kris Carr

    It’s crazy how you go about your life thinking all is okay, and then BOOM, something happens that changes you forever. Grief and loss come and hit you in the face.

    You know… the days that you start as one person and end as someone else.

    But it’s not your first loss or trauma! You had a childhood of pain and suffering, which resurfaces when the latest loss happens.

    The old stories and beliefs you had about being jinxed come back. You think, “Maybe the world, the universe, or God does, in fact, hate me.”

    This has happened to me multiple times, and I thought I was a pro, especially since I help others process trauma in my work.

    The first big time was when I was twenty-six and a policeman called to tell me my dad—who had been an utter nightmare when I was growing up—had taken his life.

    In theory my life got easier without him, but that phone call triggered a lot of pain from enduring his abuse as a kid.

    I didn’t have the tools to deal with this pain, so I numbed my feelings with alcohol, busyness, helping others, and chasing after unavailable men.

    But I couldn’t outrun it anymore when another grief came along: the loss of the dream of a future with a man I loved deeply, who didn’t choose me or love me back.

    That second grief moment seems smaller and was nearly ten years after I lost my dad, but it seemed to affect me more. My way of surviving grief by running from it just wasn’t working anymore.

    The pain got so bad that I didn’t want to live. I felt hopeless and lost. I had to find different tools, as I wanted to move forward with my life. And find love. Running from my emotions was not helping me.

    This launched my path to healing, which started with self-help books, podcasts, and blogs like this one. I wanted to understand why this relationship-that-never-was had pushed me over the edge.

    I remember reading Facing Love Addiction by Pia Melody. It showed me that this pain I was feeling from the lost relationship was actually from my childhood.

    Slowly, I came back to my loss of my dad and the way he treated me when he was alive.

    I found my way to somatic therapy to help my body process what I had been through.

    I found other tools like mindfulness, emotional freedom technique (EFT) tapping, meditation, inner child work, journaling, and self-care practices. Slowly, I began to heal the past version of myself. The one who lost her dad at twenty-six and the child who didn’t get what she needed from him. Then the thirty-five-year-old who was grieving a relationship with a man who didn’t choose her.

    As the clouds parted I saw the light again through my healing. Therapy, the world of self-help, and personal development saved my life.

    I found a beautiful, healthy man to love me, and we got married. All my dreams were coming true. I even left the corporate world to help others, as I was passionate about the modalities that had changed my life.

    I genuinely believed I was fixed!

    Then the third big grief came along. Maybe small for some, but it rocked my world. I miscarried at ten weeks pregnant. A pregnancy that came so easily at forty was gone like a dream.

    I did the same thing I’d done when I lost my dad: I numbed myself. Mainly with my work and clients. Running a business keeps you busy and is a great escape from yourself. Soon, my friend wine was back to help too. I found all kinds of ways to escape the pain.

    But I couldn’t run from this grief for as long as I ran from my past griefs, as my biological clock was ticking loudly. It was time to try again for a baby, but I just couldn’t do it.

    I was frozen in fear.

    Numb from the loss.

    Not feeling good enough again.

    The darkness was back, and I was lost in it! Thoughts of giving up were back too.

    I thought I was healed! And helping others with their traumas. How could I be struggling with my own?

    Fortunately, I knew to use the same toolkit I had used the last time, but my nervous system was frozen in time.

    So I took baby steps to get help. It started like before, with books and podcasts. Like I was dipping my toe back in.

    I read a book specific to miscarriage loss, The Worst Girl Gang Ever by Bex Gunn and Laura Buckingham and, more recently, Kris Carr’s I am Not a Mourning Person.

    I started to invest in a space where I could process grief. This time, I chose to work with a somatic therapist who could help me release the trauma of this loss from my body through nervous system repair and also does integrated family systems (IFS) parts work. This helped me understand the parts of myself that do not want me to proceed with my dream of being a mum.

    Parts of our minds are trying to protect us and keep us safe. We shame and hate them for limiting us. But when we get to know them, we understand why they are holding us back. It’s such a beautiful way to get to know our inner selves.

    I also began to work with a coach who specializes in baby loss. I found resources and people that were specific to the pain I had experienced. Just how I did with my dad and the relationship loss previously.

    I did get pulled into my shadow behaviors like drinking wine, overworking, and eating sugar, as these had helped me in times of grief before. But they were just a plaster over my sadness and wouldn’t help me move forward to become a mother.

    I have uncovered that this loss is about my relationship with my body and the trauma that has been stored in it. And I have gone back to the childhood wounds around my body, related to my father constantly telling me I was fat, and how I have treated it.

    I have given myself space. To actually grieve. To cry. To be angry. To release.

    I am an EFT practitioner, so I use an EFT tapping technique to process any emotion right when I’m feeling it. In that moment.

    I don’t run from it. I sit with it. I allow myself to feel the discomfort of my emotions. The first time I did this, it brought back the loss I felt for my dad. My childhood. And every other relationship I lost along the way.

    No matter where you are on your journey of life, grief is something we all have in common. None of us escape it.

    We are guaranteed to experience it multiple times in our lives. We can numb and avoid it. We can run from it and let it sabotage our present. Or we can choose to meet it and love ourselves through it.

    After I lost my dad, running from my grief sabotaged my dreams of finding love with a healthy man. Facing it meant I was able to break that pattern. That is what allowing space for grief does.

    Years later, a miscarriage could have stopped me on my dream to have a family of my own. Because I didn’t want to face what this miscarriage brought up within me. The pain of the relationship with my body. How I spoke to it and treated it and what others had said to shame it.

    It is natural to want to avoid the pain. To run. But then you have to look at what the grief is holding you back from. A healthier, happier you. Your bigger dream and vision for your life.

    I had to change my calendar to literally create space for grief. To remove the busyness. To allow my nervous system to feel safe enough to process the grief.

    I decided to only spend time with people who could support me in it and socialize less so I could take really good care of myself. I canceled plans and just nourished myself all weekend with self-care.

    I am not going to pretend grief is not grim. You are allowed to be angry. Sad. All of the things. Don’t ignore your own emotions or try to ‘fix’ them. They don’t need to be fixed. They just need to be felt.

    Be a kind friend to yourself. Listen and allow yourself to cry. Slowly, the light starts to come in and you find your way out.

    It is such a brave thing to meet your grief.

    And just like I had to shed a mountain of grief before meeting my husband in order to start a new beautiful chapter, I know another one is on the other side of this miscarriage.

    Though I am still writing this chapter of my story, it has already taught me so much about coming home to my body. Allowing it to heal from all the traumas and repairing my nervous system after decades of dysregulation. Allowing myself and my body to feel safe enough to feel. After years of dissociation and pain, this chapter has brought a deeper healing.

    Wherever you are in your grief journey, take it slowly, one baby step at a time. Remember to be kind to yourself along the way. You can turn this grief, loss, and trauma into a new beginning.

    This moment too shall pass. Like the others before it and the ones that will come after it.

    We can’t control when these dark times come, but we can be brave enough to move through them by giving ourselves love and getting the right help for ourselves and our needs.

    Be with it and it will pass much more quickly than it would otherwise and cause less damage to your beautiful life.

    Healing has many seasons, and grief is like the winter, but spring soon comes with the buds of your new chapter.

  • How to Free Yourself from Pain from the Past

    How to Free Yourself from Pain from the Past

    “There are two levels to your pain: the pain that you create now, and the pain from the past that still lives on in your mind and body.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    When I read this quote, it stopped me in my tracks. So much of our pain and suffering in the present is caused by us repeating cycles and dwelling on pain from the past. We want so badly to resolve our suffering. But our search for resolution often involves repeating the painful cycles we have already been through, in the hope that someone or something will change.

    How many of us have gone through a divorce and realized in the process that the whole relationship was a repeat of a painful relationship from our childhood? How many of us are realizing that we continue to attract the same kinds of people into our lives? People who take advantage of us, want to use us, or have some form of agenda that creates more pain and suffering.

    We live in our minds trying to think of all the ways we can protect ourselves and avoid more pain and suffering. The irony is that this inevitably creates more of what we are trying to avoid. This is because what we focus on, we create. The law of attraction is always at play.

    For years, I lived highly dependent on my mind. I thought that if I got all the psychology degrees, considered all possible future outcomes, and created a well-thought-out plan of action, I would be able to fix my pain and suffering and free myself for a life of meaning and purpose.

    It was devastating to realize after years of chasing a meaningful life that I could not create safety, joy, and purpose through the actions of my mind.

    Subconsciously, I stayed trapped in cycles of pain while trying to resolve my past by hoping the people around me would change. I kept my life small so I could stay in control. I never wanted to be around crowds of people. I never wanted to share and be vulnerable, and I never wanted to let anyone see my feelings. I stayed hidden away behind my mind, where I felt in control and safe.

    But I also felt miserable. Empty and purposeless. For a while, I was suicidal.

    Thankfully, I left those feelings behind years ago, but the emptiness of going through the motions of life without a true connection to what I was doing or why I was here remained, and it was maddening.

    I have found that more people feel this emptiness than anyone would ever think. Many of us keep it hidden in the silence of shame because we desperately want it to be fixed and go away. It’s embarrassing to admit that we feel broken and sad behind all the layers of achievement and pretty social media posts.

    We attempt to fill this emptiness with eating, drinking, scrolling, having sex, shopping, collecting things, and so on. So many of us are terrified at the thought of spending a whole day, much less a whole lifetime, being alone with ourselves. Being with ourselves with no distractions.

    The thoughts in our mind haunt us. We torture ourselves with memories from the past and worries for the future. We torture ourselves with thoughts of how disappointed we are in how our lives have turned out. We recreate pain from the past over and over again by dwelling on the twisted and tormented thoughts in our minds and feel that life is unfair.

    Many people will tell you the answer is praying, reading the bible, going to a therapist, reading self-help books, or doing something with your mind. None of these things are bad in and of themselves, but no amount of staying in your mind will fix or heal the pain of your past that you continue to repeat in the present.

    Unresolved emotions of the past are stored in our bodies, and they’re in the driver’s seat of our lives, causing chaos, disappointment, and frustration everywhere we go.

    I used to think I was really bad at making friends. I usually would wait until someone approached me before striking up a friendship. I isolated a lot because it just felt safer and easier. Over time, I got frustrated because I realized that I kept ending up in these friendships with people who never really saw me.

    My pain and fear of rejection was in the driver’s seat, so I protected myself by keeping the real me hidden away. If I caught anyone’s attention, I would play the role I thought I needed to play to be friends.

    The biggest problem here is that this attracted other people who also played roles instead of being their authentic selves. The role they played was “take care of me,” while I was playing the role of “I’ll take care of you.” This match worked well initially, but always left me in the same broken pattern of not being truly seen. That empty crater in my soul just kept getting bigger and bigger.

    The only way to stop the cycle of pain is to become fully present with yourself here and now. To connect to your body and the spirit within you that is ever present.

    When you drop into your body and feel your emotions, you are then free to just be. So many of us are terrified of the silence of being with ourselves because the pain of the past combined with our present actions to distract ourselves haunt us. The secrets we hold inside are killing us.

    You aren’t a bad person for the things you do to find some form of pain relief. Life isn’t about being a good or bad person. It is about being authentic, real, and connected, or disconnected and fragmented because of the cycles of pain on repeat.

    Are you tired of the constant disappointment? Are you tired of hating yourself and your life? Are you tired of feeling like you are always behind, not quite enough, and devastatingly empty inside? It is so painful, isn’t it? It is so painful to feel the destruction and pain of the disconnection to our true selves. It is painful to face the things we do to distract ourselves from the reality of our emptiness.

    Healing happens in the body. Pain is released from your body. Get out of your mind and into your body and you will be set free. You will experience peace and joy. You will stop the cycles of pain and be at peace with the present moment just as it is. 

    I know it feels impossibly hard. There is so much chaos swirling around in your body that it feels dangerous to actually feel your feelings. A great quote from my mentor, Colin Ross, helped set me free. “Feeling your feelings won’t kill you; it’s your attempt to not feel them that will.”

    It is uncomfortable, it is painful, it can be overwhelming at times, but feeling your feelings will set you free.

    Here is a place to start: Play some music that brings you comfort and close your eyes. Pretend you are getting in a glass elevator in your mind and ride it down into your body. Once the elevator has arrived in your body, identify the emotions you find. Write them down.

    Lower the elevator a little more and see if different emotions are in a different part of your body. Explore your whole body and write down everything you discover.

    For the days to come, spend some time with each of those emotions and ask them what they have to say. Give each emotion a name if it’s easier. Once you feel more comfortable with an emotion, you will feel safer to actually feel it. 

    For example, when I ride my elevator down into my chest, I can see anger. I named my anger Carrie. In my journaling time I ask Carrie, what do you have to say? She tells me all the reasons why she is angry and feels that life is unfair.

    She tells me about my former marriage and how much I was taken advantage of. She reminds me of all the times he silenced me when I tried to share my needs and shamed me when I tried to speak up for myself.

    She tells me about how enraged she feels that I never had a voice growing up. I was sexually abused and emotionally neglected, and if I expressed any emotion other than happiness, I was shamed and rejected by my family and culture. She is so angry for the “good girl” roles I had to play while never really being seen or valued.

    As I get to know her and hear all of these things she has to say, I feel compassion for her and also start to feel anger along with her myself. Each time I connect with her, I validate why she is angry. The intensity of her emotion gets smaller and smaller the more I connect with her and feel her.

    You can do this exercise with all emotions, and it can help you get to know yourself and not be so scared of what is contained inside. 

    When neither your past nor your emotions haunt you, you are free to love your life in the present moment just as it is. Flawed, imperfect, messy, and unpredictable.

    Now that I’m not scared of feeling my emotions, I am at peace. Sometimes I still need to grieve the truth of what has happened to me. I will never be okay with the abuse and neglect I experienced. However, I can feel those emotions when they come up, and they don’t overwhelm me. I feel them for that moment, and then I can move on to enjoy the life I have created now. A life that has people who really see me and care about me in it.

    Perhaps the biggest change for me is that I don’t feel I have to prove my worth to anyone. I am just me, and I feel at peace with that. This shift has allowed me to get out of my head and just be.

    We don’t need to dwell on the past or control how our life looks or what will happen next. We can just be here in the present, full of gratitude, hope, love, joy, and all the messiness from the past lives we have lived.

  • 5 Things I Did Because I Didn’t Feel Good Enough and What I Do Now Instead

    5 Things I Did Because I Didn’t Feel Good Enough and What I Do Now Instead

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

    Since I was a little girl, I believed there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

    So I was always trying to find a way to fix myself and be worthy. To feel good enough.

    No baby is born thinking they aren’t worthy, and neither was I—or you.

    This came from our early beginnings.

    I had a very traumatized dad, who I now understand was struggling with his own pain from his childhood.

    He would lose his temper and torment me. Tell me I was nothing and no one. That I was unlovable. That nothing I did was good enough.

    As children, we just believe our parents. We cannot understand or fathom why they would say these things to us if they weren’t true. So we internalize the belief of not being good enough or not worthy.

    We all find our own way to survive this pain of not being seen or loved for who we truly are.

    These are the five ways I tried to fix feeling unworthy but actually ended up ruining my life instead.

    1. I tried to please and fix people.

    I wanted to please my dad. In fact, I lived for it. Whether I was going to have a good day or bad day was all dependent on my parents’ moods. I was only okay if they were okay.

    As an adult, this meant I gave my power away to people. I allowed them to take out their emotions on me, and I took responsibility for how they felt. I didn’t feel safe when people were upset, and I believed to my core everything was my fault because of this deep shame I was carrying.

    This was all learned in my childhood and has a name—codependency. A great book to read is Codependent No More by Melody Beattie. She explains in detail why we do this!

    2. I got into toxic, codependent relationships. 

    I was a magnet for relationships where it was all about the other person’s needs and feelings. The codependency had left me so needless and wantless that we became the perfect match for each other! They wanted to be chased and adored. I (unconsciously) wanted to ignore my own needs.

    I was used to chasing love in relationships without compassion and kindness and being blamed for how other people felt, so these toxic relationships felt normal for me.

    A codependent’s wounds can attract a narcissist. Narcissists are also traumatized children, and these wounds create a trauma bond. I had this in friendships and romantic love. These relationships were never about me, and my low self-worth got lower and lower as a result.

    They become almost my higher power. I was obsessed with meeting their needs. I thought if I could make them happy, they would choose me and then I would feel good enough.

    Sadly, that never happened, and I just got exhausted and sick in the process.

    3. I obsessed over fixing my body. 

    When your body is criticized in childhood, not just by a parent but by other traumatized family members and society, you conclude that it mustn’t be enough.

    I went from a confident little girl twirling to someone who hid in the corners of a room in baggy clothes. I didn’t want to be seen or noticed in case someone shamed me for what I looked like. That stung!

    So, instead of recognizing that other people had created this issue in me, I spent years abusing my body, through excessive exercise and dieting, to make it perfect. Then, when my body would change, people would still make comments on my imperfections, and I would emotionally eat to numb the pain.

    I also overate because I didn’t really care about nourishing my body. I hated it so much. I felt like it was to blame for all these horrible things people would say about it. I never considered for one moment that hurt people hurt people.

    4. I got myself into debt. 

    I worked from a very young age, but my dad didn’t allow me to access to the money I earned. He controlled how I spent it, which sent the message that I couldn’t be trusted with money. Safe to say, this didn’t create the healthiest relationship with money.

    If I earned it, I felt uncomfortable holding on to it, so I would overspend. I was more comfortable rolling in debt, as that’s what I felt like I was worth. I would always be clearing debt, and then when I would have money again, I would do something to shift the balance once again. It was normal for me to be in these feast-famine cycles with money, kind of like my love life and my relationships with my parents. There one minute and gone the next!

    5. I overworked and overachieved.

    Since I was a little girl, I tried to do whatever I could to get my dad’s approval and love. One way to his heart was through education and achievement, so I went all in as a child and adult. Working long hours to pass my exams, applying for qualifications he wanted me to get, even though I had no interest in the subject areas. I learned very young to work lots because, if I didn’t, he would get angry with me, and that felt scary. So I did what I could to try to keep myself safe.

    My dad has been gone for fifteen years, as he took his life in 2008, yet I still find myself doing this one! It’s part of my unconscious programming. When I feel unsafe or unworthy around work or even my business, I will push harder. I will forgo my own basic needs, like food and water, to meet a deadline.

    —

    All of these characteristics are what we call “trauma adaptations”—ways my little brain learned to survive in an unpredictable environment. Between birth and seven especially, children should be nurtured so they can grow self-worth and self-belief. But children that grew up like me were too busy feeling terrified and surviving, so it’s no wonder we got older and struggled.

    However, I have learned first-hand that no matter what age we are, we can change our adaptations with awareness.

    I began to get curious about how I spoke to myself, and I soon realized that I wouldn’t even speak to an enemy the way I was talking to myself. So I consciously started to speak to myself with kindness and compassion, like I would a friend. I also began listening to affirmations to help me rewrite this negative narrative I had in my mind.

    All of a sudden, I started to unconsciously say the affirmations out loud. I would say things like, ”I am worth so much more than that” and then gasp that I had changed my beliefs.

    I learned, mainly from books and podcasts, how to show myself love and care. I introduced this slowly into my routine. I was learning to become my own nurturing parent, the one I missed out on growing up. Like little seeds, my self-worth began to slowly grow.

    After that, I felt worthy of investing in support from professionals. They provided a safe space for me to explore my story and to get a different perspective. I also found somatic therapy and Internal Family Systems parts work really helpful for healing trauma and growing my self-worth.

    I still had relationships in my life that needed changing, which required boundaries and even walking away from some people, but I had to grow that relationship with myself first. Then I had the confidence to expect more in my relationships. When the relationship with myself was no longer toxic and abusive, I was able to stop chasing the unhealthy ones and walk away from the abusive ones.

    The seeds in my self-worth garden were growing, and my life changed as a result. My reality was a mirror of how worthy I felt within.

    Because I believed I was worthy of true love when it came to me, I didn’t run away; I welcomed it.

    I chose new career paths, as I realized I was worthy of having more money and working a job that fulfilled me, not one I had taken to please my dad.

    My relationship with my body is changing too. I show it love and kindness with how I feed it, speak to it, and treat it. No more extreme behaviors. I’m learning to love it just as it is.

    I realize now that I always had this power to love and care for myself. When I learned to do this, my story changed, and I began to feel more than good enough. It was never about anyone else giving that to me or outside validation. It was about ending the war that began inside of me when I didn’t get my needs met as a kid.

    I lovingly use inner child parts work to tend to my younger self, who sometimes falls back into her survival adaptations. I let my inner child know that she is safe now and that I am here to take care of her needs. That we no longer need to chase, overachieve, or overgive in order to be loved and accepted. That I love and accept her for all of her light and her darkness. For her shadow parts.

    I listen to her fears, her sadness, her grief—the way I wished someone listened to me when I was younger. I attend to her needs with love and compassion so she no longer has to search for love or validation in the wrong places.

    If you can relate to any of what I wrote, start planting seeds in your self-worth garden today and watch your story change.

  • Why I Sense Threats Everywhere and Panic All the Time

    Why I Sense Threats Everywhere and Panic All the Time

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

    I have a prescription for Lorazepam.

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

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

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

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

    —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

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

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

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

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

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

    —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    I got through it.

    And I was elated.

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

    —

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

    I relayed all of this to my therapist.

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

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

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

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

    “What does your skin feel like?”

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

    I was not in my body.

    —

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

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

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

    —

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

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

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

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

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

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