Tiny Buddha

Tag: wisdom

  • How to Trust That You’ll Be Okay No Matter What

    How to Trust That You’ll Be Okay No Matter What

    “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.” ~Ursula K. Le Guin

    Did you play with cootie catchers as a kid?

    You picked a number and watched anxiously as your friend counted it out. Open. Close. Open. Close.

    You chose a color or picture or word and waited in anticipation as your friend unfolded the flap and read your destiny.

    Or how about that MASH game? Mansion, apartment, shack, house?

    I played these games with an insatiable desire for all the details.

    How is all of this going to play out?

    Where will I live?

    What will become of me?

    I was fascinated with details, and anyone who could supply them. Fortune cookies, horoscopes, and psychic phone readings all held the promise of telling me exactly what I yearned to know.

    Will I be okay? 

    With time, curiosity gave way to hard-core, type A planning. I’d plan everything out in excruciating detail and get my heart set on one specific outcome.

    I’d make a deal with the cosmos. Everything will be okay if it turns out just like this, okay? Okay.

    I craved certainty and the illusion of control.   

    The answer “surprise me,” made me uncomfortable. Playing it by ear was torturous. Penciling it in felt like the easy way out.

    I’ve made a lot of plans along the way: graduation plans, wedding plans, birth plans, career plans. Yet, no matter how painstakingly crafted these plans were, I was always a little surprised with where I ended up.

    My actual wedding dress was nothing like the pictures I collected with friends in high school.

    My thirty-eight-hour, two epidural labor was nothing like my 100% all natural birth plan.

    My house in Arizona is nothing like the one I’d dreamed of having in Northern California.

    And I’ve been okay.

    Okay, universe. I get the message.

    It’s not really about the details.

    We can make the best of difficult times, rising up after we’ve been dragged through the muck. We can surprise ourselves with what it turns out we actually want. And we can rain all over our own parades.

    The details are delicious, though.

    It’s so satisfying to make a list and check things off. It feels so good that sometimes we’ll even write down the things we’ve already done. And there’s something so soothing about having the who, what, when, and where sorted out.

    Best of all is knowing that the whole plan is exactly, perfectly the way you want it. It’s positively intoxicating.

    The only trouble is that the details hardly ever turn out as planned.

    This whole attachment to details thing is getting harder as time goes on. At a time when I most want to know if we’ll all be okay, I suddenly can’t figure the details out. Maybe I’ve lost my touch, or maybe the plans are getting more complicated.

    There are so many more variables and people involved now. Where it was once just me and my cats, there’s now me, my husband, my children, our families, old friends and new friends, employers, clients, school systems, licenses, and a mortgage to consider.

    With each new piece comes countless questions. So many, in fact, that I can’t even picture what all of this is going to look like.

    That’s got to be okay.

    I’m learning to accept that I’ll be okay if I don’t know the details because I know how I want to feel and what I want to leave room for in my life.

    As much as we’d like to take credit for them, the details are often things that just present themselves when they’re good and ready to be seen, anyway. They tend to sort themselves out in ways that we never could have planned.

    We take one step, then another. We prepare the best we can with what we know, knowing how we want to feel when it’s all said and done. Then we reassess along the way.

    Part of me really wants to fight that because it still believes that having all the answers now will guarantee that everything will be okay. Maybe it’s time to start having a little more trust that I’ll find a way to be okay no matter what happens.

    The more comfortable I get with letting the details reveal themselves when the time is right, the more aware I am of all the people who want to know the plan right now.

    They want to know when you’re visiting or moving back to your hometown or having your next child or finally graduating or asking for that raise.

    They ask all kinds of detailed questions about your plan, so much so that it can leave you feeling ashamed for not having figured it out.

    I get it, too.

    People want to feel closer to you or important or useful. They want to be heard.

    Maybe they’re kind of nosy. Or bossy. Or maybe they’re bored.

    Maybe they just really care and want to solve what they think is a problem for you.

    And maybe they also have a deal with the cosmos that everything will be okay if…

    I get it because I’ve been them. I’ve interrogated, and I’ve demanded answers. Even after understanding that I can’t have absolute certainty (or control), I’ve been that person squeezing out the details before it’s time.

    Understanding is different from knowing deep in your bones that you’ll be okay no matter what.

    When you know, you live and breathe it. Instead of seeking control, you seek clarity. Instead of certainty, you seek courage.

    When you know the truth, you also know that it’s supposed to be a little scary to look out into the uncertain future. It’s unnerving to say, “Here goes nothing.”

    It takes courage to walk into the future knowing that you don’t have all the details nailed down. Your next step may be right, it may be wrong, it may lead you nowhere, and people may think you’re crazy, but you have to take it at some point.

    The truth is, no one ever really knows how it’s all going to look, but you probably have a good idea of how you want to feel and what’s most important to you. And if you don’t, maybe that’s why the details are so elusive.

    (But all the same, you don’t need the details.)

    You don’t need to see the details to trust that you’ll figure them out when the time is right, and you don’t need to see your path to know in your heart that it’s there waiting for you to take that step.

    You don’t need to know exactly how every piece will play out to know what the most important pieces are.

    And you don’t need absolute certainty to know that you’ll find a way to be okay no matter what happens.

    I’m not saying, “Let’s all throw caution to the wind from now until forever.” Make plans, yes, but there’s no need to obsess over the details if the details aren’t clear. Meet planning with flexibility and trust. Be curious about what happens next, not controlling.

    So go ahead, daydream, plan, manifest, make a vision board, or whatever calls to you. Just remember to begin from living and breathing the truth: that you will find a way to be okay no matter what.    

    I have no idea where I’ll be working five years from now, what our house will look like, what we’ll do on the weekends, if I’ll have lost the baby weight, or if I’ll dye my greys, but I do trust myself to make the call when the time is right.

    I don’t know all the when’s, where’s, or even how’s, but I do know how I want to feel and what I hold nearest to my heart.

    I want to feel light, energized, and free.

    I want to find meaning in my work.

    I want to be home in time for dinner.

    I want to create space for contemplation and creativity.

    I think I’ve had enough of the heaviness that comes from dragging around a lifetime of plans. It’s too much pressure, and even the most carefully made plans might change in the end.

    I still make plans, and I’m not throwing my bullet journal away any time soon. I’m just not letting my fear that I won’t be okay or that I’ll choose wrong or that people will disapprove suck the life out of living any more.

    So go ahead, universe. Surprise me. I’ll be okay no matter what.

  • Don’t Be Afraid to Start Over

    Don’t Be Afraid to Start Over

  • Avoiding Certain People to Protect Your Emotional Health

    Avoiding Certain People to Protect Your Emotional Health

  • From the Spouse of a Narcissist: Here’s What You Need to Know

    From the Spouse of a Narcissist: Here’s What You Need to Know

    “You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren’t alone.” ~Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children 

    When I first met my husband, when he had just started medical school at a large university, I thought he was just insecure. I believed that he would grow out of his need to be the center of attention, receive constant validation, and appear correct and knowledgeable about everything.

    I believed he would become surer of himself and would develop the capacity to listen, love, and be empathetic.

    I humored him by listening to him talk, I tried to help boost his self-esteem by giving him compliments and asking him questions I already knew the answer to, and I expressed pride in his accomplishments.

    His lack of empathy was a concern, but he told me that this is how people in his culture are, and I believed him. I convinced myself that he would get to a place in his life where he would have space for me. I continued to love and support him despite how he treated me.

    As years passed, I began to think that he had Asperger’s. This explained why he lacked empathy and why he behaved the way he did, didn’t it? When I brought this up with him, he got angry and convinced me that I was the problem in our relationship. He even managed to convince our marriage counselor of this.

    I continued to support and listen to everything he had to say, although he rarely reciprocated. When I would bring this up as a concern, he would state that he knew how I would respond because I’m a liberal, and they always respond like X or think like Y.

    In social situations he would demean me and make fun of me, and then call me too sensitive and ask me why I couldn’t take a joke.

    He would justify his actions by saying he thought people would find it funny, even though he was insulting me. When I was firm about the fact that I would not tolerate this behavior, he went out of his way to ensure that I felt invisible. When I brought this up with him, he would tell me that I was boring.

    I was tolerant of this behavior because I grew up in an abusive home, so verbal abuse felt normal.

    I did so much work preparing for social gatherings in the hopes of hosting a fun evening with my friends, but it always ended the same way: with my husband being the center of attention and impeding others from talking and connecting.

    After these events, my friends would often feel hurt about something he said or did. I would bring this up with him, and he would play the victim and tell me that they didn’t have the right to an apology because of what they said or did to him.

    Many times my friends and family would tell me to leave him and would try and show me how his behavior was hurting me, but I wasn’t ready to see it. I didn’t believe them because he had convinced me that I deserved to be treated poorly.

    He burned bridges with my friends and family, and I found myself justifying his actions in an attempt to keep the peace. In order to save these relationships, I asked my friends and family if they felt comfortable around him, and if they didn’t, I would spend time with them when he wasn’t around. This hurt, but these relationships meant so much to me that I could not afford to lose them.

    Whenever I tried to assert boundaries, we would fight, and he’d blame me for trying to set boundaries that went across his. I started surrendering space to him and giving in, even though it hurt, because it felt better than fighting.

    I started to become used to not being seen, not being able to have boundaries, not being treated with dignity and respect. I became used to feeling shut down and drained.

    I looked forward to times he worked out of town so that I could get enough sleep, be alone with my thoughts, do what I needed to do for my health and well-being, and start to feel like myself again.

    The Realization

    One day as I was doing research for my PhD, I came across an article on personality. As I read about narcissistic personality disorder, it hit me like a wave of understanding. He does not have Asperger’s; he is a narcissist. This explains his lack of empathy, his inability to love people, and his inability to be present in situations.

    It explained why he has to be the center of attention—because he needs something called “narcissistic supply” to feel whole. Narcissistic supply can be thought of as a drug in the form of social admiration and attention.

    This explained why he always picked fights and/or tried to make me feel down on my birthday, my convocation, and other events that meant a lot to me. It explained why he would leave events that didn’t allow him to be the center of attention and sulk and go on and on about how bored he was.

    His NPD explains why he cannot be present with me and why he has to go on and on about anything and at the same time nothing. It also explains why trying to connect with him means putting on an invisibility cloak and giving him all my attention and energy.

    The more I read about NPD, the more I began to understand my husband. The literature indicates that people with NPD do not change and do not feel that they have a problem. Adults with NPD have been described as “children who are forever emotionally trapped.” Therapy is not often successful for people with NPD, if they are even willing to go.

    Spouses of people with NPD are encouraged to end the relationship as safely as they can. I know from my own experience that leaving is not always possible and is much more complex than the abuse itself.

    If you are like me, the thought of giving up on another person can be heartbreaking. Sometimes giving up on a relationship can feel like giving up on a part of yourself. So hope, empathy, and compassion propel the relationship onward.

    Also, the thought of being alone can be terrifying. If you’ve been in a relationship with a narcissist long enough, you need time to gain confidence and reclaim your self-esteem.

    If your relationship has been like mine, you have likely been told that you are incompetent, that you are incapable of caring for yourself, and maybe a part of you believes these lies. So don’t rush unless you are in physical danger. Then please, for your own safety, get out! Give yourself time and trust that you will know how to move your life forward.

    I have taken the advice of these authors and have created a life for myself away from my spouse. I engage in meaningful hobbies, have friendships outside the relationship, and take time for myself every day to meditate and recharge. I have stopped feeling guilty for excluding him from parts of my life. This is what I have to do, and I am reasonably happy.

    The more I read and learn about NPD, the more I start to grieve. I grieve for the person I thought he was and what I hoped he would become. I grieve for the relationship I longed for, a relationship with empathy, reciprocity, support, and shared space both physically and ideologically.

    Slowly, I have forgiven myself for enabling him, for giving him supply, and for subjecting my friends and family to his behavior, and I’ve stopped blaming myself for the issues in our relationship.

    Relationships involve more than one person, and both parties are responsible for what arises. Sadly, spouses of people with NPD often carry all the responsibility for the relationship.

    I have stopped telling him sensitive things about my life because he uses them to bring me down or as a source of narcissistic supply. I don’t owe him access to my innermost thoughts and feelings.

    Also, I am in the process of acknowledging the role my past played in this relationship.

    Growing up in a home with verbally abusive parents, I never learned to love or respect myself. Verbal abuse was a normal part of my daily life. As a result, I was conditioned to accept derogation, living without healthy boundaries, and being treated without dignity and respect. Because of my past, I was blind to abuse.

    The future will be different; it has to be. For the first time in our relationship of over fifteen years, I see my husband for who he really is, not who he has led me to believe he was.

    As I see him, I try to have empathy for him. I have learned that people with NPD feel empty inside when they are not seeking supply, and beneath the façade they try so desperately to protect is a person who feels insecure, a person who does not love themselves and is ashamed of who they really are, although they will never admit this to anyone, not even themselves.

    I don’t know what I want to do about the relationship, so I’m giving myself time and permission to reflect and grow. My downfall is that I don’t like to give up on people, but sometimes you need to give up on someone because, if you don’t, it means giving up on yourself.

    I can’t live my life on edge. I can’t be either invisible or demeaned and insulted on a daily basis, and I will not go on feeling sleep-deprived, shut down, and in a state of physical and psychological distress.

    For Anyone Who’s in a Relationship with a Narcissist

    Know it is not your fault.

    You are not too sensitive or needy. You have been told these things by a person who cannot feel deeply the way you do.

    Trust yourself.

    People may have told you to leave, but you need to trust yourself to know what is right for you, and when. In time, you will know.

    Educate yourself.

    Read books and articles on NPD; there are many helpful resources available, such as the Gray Rock method, which allows me to protect my time.

    Find support.

    Your friends and family might not understand what you are going through because narcissists often wear a mask, and the person they are in public can be very different from who they are behind closed doors.

    Seek out support from a therapist who has experience with narcissistic emotional abuse. This individual can provide you with coping strategies, education, and resources that will make your life a little better.

    If this isn’t an option for you, join a social media support group, such as the Facebook group Living with Narcissistic Emotional Abuse (where I am now an administrator). Facebook groups for spouses of narcissists continue to be a source of comfort to me because I have connected with people who understand my experience in a way that friends cannot.

    Keep a journal.

    Narcissists try to twist facts to make themselves look good or make you appear crazy. This is called gaslighting. In order to give yourself validation, keep a journal of events that happen. If you feel comfortable, show this to someone you trust who can validate these situations. This will help you regain confidence in your lived experiences of events.

    Be prepared.

    If you need to confront the narcissist, script what you are going to say first. Write it down, memorize it, and follow it exactly as you have written it. It can be useful to have someone you trust look it over because the narcissist will often try and accuse you of being abusive or unfair in order to suppress your ability to call them out on their behaviors.

    Get clear about your boundaries.

    This may take time. For me, it involved noticing what triggered me when I was with the narcissist. Know what you will and will not tolerate, as well as consequences for violating each boundary. For example, if the narcissist insults you at events, tell them that you will not invite them to join you the next time you go out.

    Do not allow yourself to become drained, and do not feel guilty for needing to take time away to recharge.

    It can take a large amount of energy to be with a narcissist, and you need to invest some of this energy in yourself and in your healthier relationships. Remember that you don’t owe anyone all your time and emotional energy. You aren’t selfish for taking time for you.

    Try to find something joyful in every day.

    Narcissists can be very negative people, and they can suck the joy out of your life. Try to do something you love every day. I go for a walk in nature or watch animal videos, as this reminds me about the joys of life. I also play with my cat.

    Control your own finances.

    Some narcissists try to control their spouses through money, and this can limit your ability to do things you need to do for yourself. Have some money saved and/or obtain a source of income that the narcissist does not know about.

    Be good to yourself.

    Don’t blame yourself for what you could not see before. This can take some of us years. Narcissists are good at wearing a mask. Just educate yourself, and you will peel off the mask and see the narcissists with new eyes.

    As the Spouse of a Narcissist

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I have someone who talks at me, not with me. Someone who needs me but does not respect me. A child who demands attention and has tantrums if he does not get it. A person who does not listen and does not feel what others feel, or understand how others are affected by his behaviors.

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I must walk alone through my struggles, silently feeling my pain while no one sees it, no one sees him.

    Nothing is mine or can be about me; he has to be the center of attention.

    In public, he wears a mask that no one can see through, but at home, the mask comes off and I am subjected to emotional abuse.

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I am the one with the problem—the one who is too sensitive, the one who cannot take a joke. I am the one who needs help, not him. He is not the problem; I am. I am because I see him for who he is, and I cannot pretend anymore, and that is a problem.

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I need to be strong and educate the people around me about narcissistic emotional abuse so that they might never fall prey and never feel my pain.

    As spouses of narcissists, we cannot keep silent because the pain of being with a narcissist can be prevented.

  • I Can Respect Anyone Who…

    I Can Respect Anyone Who…

  • The Importance of Solo Adventures

    The Importance of Solo Adventures

  • Some of the Most Generous People

    Some of the Most Generous People

  • How Unhealed Childhood Wounds Wreak Havoc in Our Adult Lives

    How Unhealed Childhood Wounds Wreak Havoc in Our Adult Lives

    “The emotional wounds and negative patterns of childhood often manifest as mental conflicts, emotional drama, and unexplained pains in adulthood.” ~Unknown

    I am a firm believer in making the unconscious conscious. We cannot influence what we don’t know about. We cannot fix when we don’t know what’s wrong.

    I made many choices in my life that I wouldn’t have made had I recognized the unconscious motivation behind them, based on my childhood conditioning.

    In the past, I beat myself up over my decisions countless times. Now I feel that I needed to make these choices and have these experiences so that the consequences would help me become aware of what I wasn’t aware of. Maybe, after all, that was the exact way it had to be.

    In any case, I am now hugely aware of how we, unbeknownst to us, negatively impact our own lives.

    As children, we form unconscious beliefs that motivate our choices, and come up with strategies for keeping ourselves safe. They’re usually effective for us as children; as adults, however, applying our childhood strategies can cause drama, distress, and damage. They simply no longer work. Instead, they wreak havoc in our lives.

    One of my particular childhood wounds was that I felt alone. I felt too scared to talk to anyone in my family about my fears or my feelings. It didn’t seem like that was something anyone else did, and so I stayed quiet. There were times I feared I could no longer bear the crushing loneliness and would just die without anyone noticing.

    Sometimes the feeling of loneliness would strangle and threaten to suffocate me. I remember trying to hide my fear and panic. I remember screaming into my pillow late at night trying not to wake anyone. It was then that I decided that I never wanted anyone else to feel like me. This pain, I decided, was too much to bear, and I did not wish it on anyone.

    As an adult, I sought out, whom I perceived as, people in need. When I saw someone being excluded, I’d be by their side even if it meant that I would miss out in some way. I’d sit with them, talk to them, be with them. I knew nothing about rescuing in those days. It just felt like the right thing to do: see someone alone and be with them so they wouldn’t feel lonely or excluded.

    Looking back now, I was clearly trying to heal my childhood wound through other people. I tried to give them what I wish I’d had when I was younger: someone kind, encouraging, and supportive by my side. I tried to prevent them from feeling lonely. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it’s kind to recognize others in pain and try to be there for them.

    The problem with my strategy was that I chose people who were alone for a reason: they behaved badly and no one wanted to be around them. I chose people healthy people would not choose to be with. People who treated others poorly and did not respect themselves, or anyone else for that matter. That included me.

    And so I suffered. I suffered because I chose badly for myself. And I chose badly for myself because I followed unconscious motivations. I obediently followed my conditioning. I followed the rules I came up with as a child, but playing by those rules doesn’t work out very well in adulthood.

    I never understood why I suffered. I couldn’t see that I had actively welcomed people into my life who simply were not good for me. It didn’t matter where I went or what I changed; for one reason or another, I’d always end up in the same kind of cycle, the same difficult situation.

    At one point I realized that I was the common denominator. It then still took me years to figure out what was going on.

    Eventually, my increasing self-awareness moved me from my passive victim position into a proactive role of empowered creator. Life has never been the same since. Thankfully. But it wasn’t easy.

    I had to look deep within and see truths about myself that were, at first, difficult to bear. But once I was willing to face them and feel the harshness of the reality, the truth set me free. It no longer made sense to play by rules I had long outgrown. I didn’t realize that I had become the adult I had always craved as a child. But I was not responsible for rescuing other adults—that was their job.

    I have since witnessed the same issue with everyone I meet and work with. One particular person, who had endured terrible abuse growing up, was constantly giving people the protection he had craved but never received as a child. He gave what he did not receive. And yet, in his adult life it caused nothing but heartache for him.

    When he saw, what he perceived as, an injustice like someone being rude to someone else or a driver driving without consideration for others, he intervened. Unfortunately, he often got it wrong and most people didn’t want his input, which left him feeling rejected and led to him becoming verbally aggressive. Eventually, his ‘helping’—his anger and boundary crossing—landed him in prison.

    He was not a bad person—far from it. He was simply run by his unconscious motivation to save his younger self. He projected and displaced this onto other people who did not need saving and never asked for his help. But his conditioning won every time and in the process wrecked his life.

    What ends this cycle is awareness, understanding, and compassion.

    We must learn to look at the consequences of our actions or inactions and then dig deep. We must ask ourselves: What patterns do I keep repeating? What must I believe about myself, others, and life in order to act this way? Why do I want what I want and why do I do what I do? And what would I do differently if I stopped acting on my childhood conditioning?

    Beliefs fuel all of our choices. When we don’t like the consequences of our actions, we must turn inward to shine a light onto the unhelpful unconscious beliefs we formed as children. Only awareness can help us find and soothe them. Only understanding can help us make sense of them. And only compassion can help us forgive ourselves for the patterns we unknowingly perpetuated.

    We didn’t know what we didn’t know. We couldn’t have made any different choices. But once we begin to see and understand how our minds work and how our conditioning drives everything we do, we grow more powerful than we ever thought possible.

    It is then that we are able to make healthier, wiser, and more life-enhancing choices for ourselves. We can then break the cycles that previously kept us stuck in unfulfilling and often harmful situations and relationships.

    There is always a different choice. We just have to begin to see it.

  • The Practice of Staying Present Will Heal You

    The Practice of Staying Present Will Heal You

  • Why Speaking My Truth Is the Cornerstone of My Recovery

    Why Speaking My Truth Is the Cornerstone of My Recovery

    “When I loved myself enough, I began leaving whatever wasn’t healthy. This meant people, jobs, my own beliefs and habits—anything that kept me small. My judgment called it disloyal. Now I see it as self-loving.” ~Kim McMillen

    I like to think of my inner self as a curly-haired stick figure who lives inside my chest cavity. Like most inner selves, mine has a simple, childlike quality. She smiles when she’s happy and cries when she’s sad. She has an intuitive sense of what is right and wrong. She speaks her needs simply, the way a young girl might.

    My inner self and I are on good terms nowadays, but it hasn’t always been this way. When I was addicted to booze, food, and relationships, I treated my inner self like a prisoner.

    For years, I dazed her with whiskey and wine and snuck away to make rash decisions under the light of the moon. Through a groggy haze she would slur warnings: “Don’t drive! Don’t sleep with him! It’s dangerous!” But I had abandoned her, lost in the sweet abyss of another blackout, and left her alone to handle the consequences that met the body I’d left behind.

    As I got older, I sought love in the way the women of my family had for generations: by getting thin. I fed my inner self rations and scraps, barely enough to get by. Her hungry cries were met with six almonds, a tall glass of water, one slice of bread.

    As my eating disorder progressed, I purged after most meals, eyes watery and kneecaps bruising against the linoleum floor. I monitored my inner self with scornful eyes. She shrunk under my gaze.

    As you might imagine, playing captor to my inner self got very tiring. I felt a wave of relief when I became romantically involved with a partner and could focus my attention on him instead.

    Finally, a respite! I was no longer trapped alone with my inner self and her incessant whining, her needs, her uncontrollable feelings! By contrast, he seemed uncomplicated. Unbroken. Better than I could ever be.

    Over the next two years, my visits to my inner self became more and more infrequent. She gathered dust like a china doll.

    Sometimes—after particularly debilitating hangovers, tortured binges, or grueling arguments with my partner—I would recognize, with a sharp burst of clarity, the unmanageability of my predicament.

    Remorsefully, I would vow to do better. I would rush back to my inner self and pant, out of breath, “This is the last time. I won’t treat you so badly again.” But those promises quickly collapsed under the weight of my shame.

    To alleviate my self-loathing, I cracked the whip above my inner self, desperate to improve. “Work harder!” I shouted. ”Do more!” “Be better!” “Fix yourself!”

    Around the addiction carousel I went, stumbling from drinking to eating disorder to codependency to perfectionism. My inner self bore the brunt of my cruelty. Eventually, she stopped trusting me entirely.

    Years of therapy and self-reflection later, I reached an impasse.

    By most definitions of the word, I was utterly free; I made my own work schedule, enjoyed financial security, and could travel any time, anywhere. In the presence of friends, I radiated enthusiasm and laughed straight from my belly. But in my own company, when the afternoon sunlight cast shadows across my carpet and the muted sounds of the city came through my open window, I felt utterly alone.

    I couldn’t deny the truth: I was trapped in a life dictated by vicious, anxious cycles. The life I wanted—the liberated, peaceful, inspired life—would be unattainable until I confronted my addictions. Not just one of them, but all of them. I had to tug the weed from the soil at the very root.

    And so I took a deep breath and stepped off of the addiction carousel. Squinting and dizzied beneath the carnival lights, I took a hard and honest look at my inner self—the first I’d taken in years.

    She had become unrecognizable. Emaciated, exhausted, fearful. Anxiety ran through her veins, rich and red as blood. She was afraid of me. And her voice—the voice that had called out:

    “I’m overwhelmed. Can we slow down for a second?”
    “I’m tired. Can we go home and sleep?”
    “I’m so fucking sad today.”
    “Don’t sleep with him! You don’t even know him!”
    “I’m doing the best that I can.”
    “Can you hear me?”

    That voice had disappeared entirely. Like newborn babies whose cries go unanswered, my inner self’s voice had died. My heart broke as I reflected on the years of neglect I’d shown her.

    I realized then that my newfound sobriety was much more than a refusal to pick up the bottle. It was an uncompromising commitment to rebuild trust with my inner self. After years of neglect, I had to show her, with my words and actions, that I would care for her

    Since then, I’ve come to learn that each of us enters recovery with a traumatized inner self. Every time we acted addictively by taking that drink, or eating all three pints, or spending our savings, or losing ourselves entirely in our lovers, we neglected that quiet voice that was always there, that knew we were harming ourselves, that begged to be treated with love.

    I have been untangling my myriad addictions for almost three years, and this conception of my inner self has been my greatest tool in my recovery. Every time my inner self speaks up, I am presented with a choice. I can listen and act accordingly. Or I can disregard her wishes and begin another cycle of neglect.

    In recovery, my work is to rebuild trust with my inner self by feeling and speaking her truth by:

    • Naming and feeling my feelings instead of numbing them
    • Prioritizing my reality over others’ perceptions
    • Setting boundaries with others

    Naming and Feeling My Feelings

    During my addictions, I became an expert at self-medicating my anxiety, shame, fear, and sadness. A hearty glass of cabernet, I believed, was the respite I deserved after a long, weary day of trying not to feel my feelings.

    When I woke up the next morning with a headache and drinker’s remorse, anxiety was the only emotion accessible to me. Grief, loss, anger, and sadness were buried under layers of shame that hardened over time. I effectively exiled my full spectrum of human emotion.

    Recovery, especially early recovery, has been a process of reclaiming the sensitivities that make me human. Without the vices that numbed my heart like Novocain, my feelings arise swiftly, uncensored and colorful. Not just the painful ones, but the happy and beautiful ones, too. I cry most days with equal parts sadness and joy.

    At times, I feel like there must be something wrong with me, as if someone cranked the volume dial on my emotions to the max and left it there.

    My work in recovery is learning to sit with, and work with, those feelings. What makes this challenging work possible—enjoyable, even—is the relief my inner self feels when, for the first time in ages, her simple truth travels from her heart to my lips without interruption. With every potent emotion comes an opportunity to make her feel seen and heard.

    Prioritizing My Reality Over Others’ Perceptions

    When I was in the throes of my addictions, I became an expert at keeping up appearances. Nightly, my inner monologue went something like this:

    Can I get away with sneaking another drink? I wonder if Joe saw me pour the last two… Probably better to put this one in my water bottle…

    I wonder if this bathroom has a fan to hide the sounds of my purging… I better turn the water on. And fake a sneeze or two to explain my watery eyes…

    Did they notice that I blacked out at the party last night? God, I hope not… How can I find out what I said without seeming suspicious?

    Managing appearances became my part-time job. I cared more about others’ perceptions of my reality than my own reality. White lies and half-truths flooded my conversations, even when I had nobody to impress and nothing to prove. Every time I distorted my story, I became more distant from my inner self.

    In recovery, I uncompromisingly follow my inner self’s judgment. I am accountable to her first and foremost. My friends’, family, and colleagues’ opinions of me are secondary because, at 1AM when I’m sleeplessly staring at the ceiling, my inner self is the one I’m stuck with.

    In recovery, when I’m swept away by the cacophony of others’ needs and wishes –

    “Will you sign up for this?”
    “Want to go back to my place?”
    “Can you help?”
    “Call me back”
    “I need—”
    “Will you—”
    “I want—”

    I get quiet. I listen. And I whisper, “What do you really need right now?”

    And this time, I really listen.

    Setting Boundaries With Others

    As a recovering people-pleaser, I hate disappointing others. I spent most of my life avoiding it as much as possible. As a result, my calendar was packed with tedious obligations and my relationships were all give and no take. I left social interactions to massage the corners of my mouth, which ached from forcing a smile. I hooked up with people I didn’t even like. Basically, I felt like a shadow of myself.

    In recovery, the reason why I say no to that beer is the same reason I don’t go to the party, or don’t sleep with that stranger, or don’t call during my lunch break. The same reason I say “No thanks, I don’t drink” is the same reason why I say “I felt hurt when you said that” or “No, I won’t.”

    Boundaries are honesty in action. Every time I set one, I teach my inner self that she can trust me.

    When I get nervous to set a particular boundary, I remember that my inner self is gaining strength under my protection and care. In this delicate stage of early recovery, she is fragile, like a seedling. She requires a safe, secure, reliable environment in which to grow. If I’m committed to bringing her to life, it’s my responsibility to shape that environment—even if that means erecting a fence to keep the pests out.

    —

    My addiction was characterized by living out of alignment with my inner self. My recovery, by extension, must be characterized by the opposite. For me, recovery and speaking my truth are inseparable.

    I’ve heard folks describe addiction as one’s isolation from others. I think that first and foremost, addiction is one’s isolation from one’s self.

    The more we treat our inner selves with compassion, the less important it becomes to please others and manage appearances. Our emotions thicken, arise, and depart. When we break the cycle of abusing our inner selves, our own company becomes bearable. And when our own company becomes bearable, sobriety becomes possible.

  • You Deserve Happiness

    You Deserve Happiness

  • How to Listen to Your Body and Give It What It Needs

    How to Listen to Your Body and Give It What It Needs

    “And I said to my body softly, ‘I want to be your friend.’ It took a long breath and replied, ‘I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.’” ~Nayyirah Waheed

    For more than half my life, I took care of my body “by the numbers.” Every day, I walked a certain number of steps, no matter how sore, sick, or tired I was. I worked a certain number of hours, often going without sleep in order to finish my work and check off all the numbered items on my to-do list, no matter how my body begged for rest.

    For weeks I’d follow a strict diet, counting points or calories or carbs, ignoring hunger pains and my growling stomach. But when the diet was over, I’d stuff myself on sweets and junk food until I felt sick and ashamed. At the same time, I struggled to see a certain number on the scale and to fit into a certain dress size.

    Not only was I miserable physically, but when I didn’t meet these “number goals,” I felt like a failure and told myself there was something wrong with me.

    Maybe some of this sounds familiar to you. Maybe you’re exercising through pain, working beyond exhaustion, and eating in ways that leave you feeling tired, bloated, or sick.

    Maybe, like me, you’re blaming your body for not being strong enough, thin enough, tough enough, or just plain not good enough.

    But here’s the truth: None of this is your body’s fault.

    Whether you know it or not, your body is speaking to you all day long. It’s telling you on an ongoing basis what it needs to keep you healthy, comfortable, and happy.

    The trouble is that we’ve all been taught to ignore what our bodies are telling us in order to please the people around us. From our earliest days we were told when and what to eat. We’re told how we should look, act, and live in order to fit in. And, over the years, we’ve learned to judge ourselves and our lives “by the numbers.”

    But what if you decided to stop letting those numbers run your life and started listening to your body instead? What if you could trust that your body has a deep wisdom you can rely on to keep you healthy and strong?

    Here are some techniques you can use to connect with your body in a way that helps you feel, hear, and then honor its needs. Try them all and see what works for you.

    Listening to Your Body

    1. Respect it.

    Begin by thinking about and speaking to your body with love and respect. If you’re not sure how to do that, try repeating this.

    Dear Body:

    I love you exactly the way you are.
    I thank you for all the things you’ve done for me throughout my life.
    I respect you for all the things you do for me daily.
    I honor you for having the wisdom to know how to heal.
    I trust you to take care of me, and I will take care of you.
    I promise I will always listen to you and give you what you ask for to heal and thrive.
    My beloved body, I will speak to you with love and care for you as long as we’re together.

    Thank you.

    Commit to replacing any negative thoughts you have about your body with thoughts of gratitude for how well your body works and how many ways it serves you throughout your day. If you’d like, pick the body part you like best, and resolve to replace any negative thoughts about your body with a positive thought about what you like about your nose or your hands or your teeth.

    2. Connect body and mind.

    The easiest way to connect your body and mind is to use a combination of your breath and your sense of touch. Begin by putting your hand over your heart. Notice how your heart beats under your palm and how your chest rises and falls with each breath you take. Now close your eyes and draw a deep breath into your belly. Hold it a moment, then exhale slowly.

    As you continue to breathe deeply and rhythmically, bring your focus to the sound of your inhale and the sound of your exhale. Breathe in and breathe out as you continue to relax.

    Now, tune into your body and what it’s telling you.

    Is it tense? Relaxed? Tired? Hungry? Thirsty? Jittery? Notice if there’s a part that’s holding tension. Is that part tight or stiff? Does any part of you feel achy or anxious? Take a moment and really listen. You may be surprised at what you learn about what’s really going on inside you.

    3. Ask what your body needs in the moment.

    Now ask your body what it needs to feel better right away. When it answers, be ready to honor that need.

    • If your body is feeling anxious, try this breathing technique. Pull your shoulders all the way up to your ears, then exhale with a whoosh and repeat until you feel calmer.
    • If you’re hungry, grab a quick, healthy snack.
    • If you’re thirsty, drink some water.
    • If you’re restless, take a break and go for a short walk.
    • If you’re achy or stiff, stretch or try a few yoga poses.
    • If you’re tired, take a nap if you can. If not, try taking a two-minute vacation. Close your eyes and imagine yourself relaxing in a beautiful, peaceful place. Let your worries and exhaustion go for those two minutes while you soak up the feeling of calm relaxation.

    4. Ask what your body needs to stay healthy in the future.

    Next, take some time and ask your body what it needs on a long-term basis to heal and thrive in the future.

    • Do you need to go back to the gym?
    • Do you need to stop eating at night?
    • Do you need to replace your mattress to get a better night’s sleep?
    • Do you need to ask for help at work or at home?
    • Do you need to schedule a massage?
    • Do you need to forgive yourself or someone else?
    • Do you need to start speaking up for yourself?

    Pick the one thing you know your body needs right now to help it heal. Decide on one small step you could take right now to make long-term healthy changes. Commit to taking that step. Then commit to taking another small step tomorrow and the day after that until it becomes a healthy habit.

    5. Stop living “by the numbers.”

    Resolve to stop letting numbers run your life. Instead, commit to allowing your body to be your guide to good health and peace of mind. No more fear of failing, because you can’t get this wrong. Your body always knows what it needs.

    Remind yourself how important you are, not only to yourself but also to the people around you. What you think and feel matters. Your body matters. And when you honor that body by treating it with love and respect, it will respond in kind.

    As Jim Rohn says, “Take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live.”

  • They Aren’t That Person Anymore

    They Aren’t That Person Anymore

  • Why My Grandfather Was Happy Even When He Was Dying

    Why My Grandfather Was Happy Even When He Was Dying

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

    Is there anyone in your past that inspired you to become the person you are today? For me, that was my grandfather, Charlie.

    Charlie grew up a poor farm boy in a small South Carolina town and ended up an executive in a Fortune 250 company. He was a poster child for the American dream, and I respected him for it.

    But what I admired most was his character. Charlie was always content with life, regardless of his circumstances. He prioritized servant leadership and measured his self-worth based on how well he served others.

    People were drawn to him because of these characteristics.

    I only had twenty-five years with my grandfather, yet he had a tremendous impact on my life. Although I learned much from him during that time, the most significant lessons came near the end of his life as he was dying.

    For most of his life, Charlie was active and fit. He played football in college, golfed throughout adulthood, and was a master gardener (he had a spectacular rose and tomato garden).

    But all of that quickly came to an end after he was diagnosed with ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease).

    ALS is an incurable and fatal disease of the nervous system marked by progressive muscle weakness within most of the body’s muscles. Its symptoms cause difficulty with walking, picking things up, and even breathing.

    Over a short time period, Charlie went from regularly golfing and gardening to being unable to do much (other than watch his body slowly waste away). He couldn’t drive, needed full-time oxygen, and had trouble walking on his own.

    Given his condition, you’d think he would have exhibited (at least some) anger, frustration, or depression. Yet he didn’t. Instead, he was the happy, content man I’d grown up with.

    Initially, I assumed that he was hiding how he really felt so that he could remain the strong patriarch of our family. But over time, I realized that he wasn’t faking it. He was happy despite all that he was going through.

    As a young, stressed-out law student who couldn’t fathom handling his situation half as well has he was, I wanted to know how this could be. So, I got up the courage to ask him.

    Charlie told me that happiness has nothing to do with your circumstances or how you feel physically. Happiness is about who you are. 

    Unfortunately, I had no clue what he meant. But Charlie had a way of ending conversations when he felt that he’d said enough, and this was clearly one of those moments. So, I shut up and hoped that I’d one day get it.

    That day came only a few weeks later when I helped Charlie drive my grandmother’s car to a local service station he frequented. The day was cold, grey, and misty—and Charlie was having an especially tough time breathing and walking.

    When we got there, the mechanic made a point to come talk to my grandfather (which should have been a clue of what was to come, but I was oblivious). After chatting for a few minutes, he went outside to get to work.

    To my dismay, Charlie wanted to follow him. As I assisted my grandfather up and outside, I wondered if following was the best idea and worried about how he’d be affected physically while standing in the cold, wet weather.

    For the next forty-five minutes, Charlie stood outside and talked to the mechanic while he worked. I often had to repeat what my grandfather said, because his voice was going, but that didn’t seem to matter. Both men laughed and enjoyed each other’s company.

    On our way home, Charlie nodded off and his breathing sounded terrible. Later that day I asked him why he’d used so much of his energy to talk to a man he barely knew and had nothing in common with.

    He looked me in the eyes and told me that what he was about to say was important and I’d better listen.

    Charlie told me to never discount or disrespect people so easily. He emphasized that most people are wise and have lessons to teach. The key is to be open and willing to listen.

    That’s when I finally got it.

    Charlie was happy and content because of how he viewed himself, his place in the world, and even the people in it. For him, life was about being of service to and in relationship with other people.

    My grandfather believed that everyone has unique gifts to share with the world, and that his role in life was two-fold:

    1. To fully understand his own gifts and use them to serve others
    2. To allow people to use their gifts for his benefit and be open to learning from them

    Charlie believed that serving people is part of being in relationship with them. And he understood that service comes in many forms, including through simple everyday moments such as taking the time and effort to talk to your mechanic while they work on your car.

    One of the things I learned from Charlie that day is to stay curious about people, especially about those who seem different. He was fascinated by these differences and wanted to know what motivated them and what they dreamed about. He aimed to see their soul.

    This viewpoint enabled him to look at people as human beings who are vulnerable, dream big, and feel. That’s what enabled him to be so open to and accepting of others no matter who they were, what they did for a living, or how different their beliefs were.

    Charlie also understood that relating to and connecting with others is a two-way street. To connect with people means allowing them to help you. You must be willing to be vulnerable.

    The interesting thing about vulnerability, accepting help, and allowing yourself to learn from others is that it’s actually an act of service. By opening yourself up this way you’re allowing someone else to fully realize and use their gifts.

    That’s why Charlie so gracefully accepted the vulnerability his illness brought upon him. And it’s why he was content and even happy those last difficult years.

    Once I understood the answer behind why Charlie was always so content with life, regardless of his circumstances, it raised an important question. How could I be that way?

    I wish I could tell you that I immediately figured that out. Truth is, I’ve worked for years to get to a place where I can finally say that I’m closer to where I wanted to be. And I’m still a work in progress.

    I’ve tried just about every mindset practice there is out there, from self-affirmations to focusing on the positive. Many have been dumped and all have been revised over time.

    Here’s what has worked for me (that I still do consistently):

    1. When dealing with negative and stressful situations, I remind myself that every experience is an opportunity for growth and development.

     I identify what can be learned and focus on that. This isn’t the same thing as always being positive. It’s about not getting stuck in negativity.

    2. I observe people closely when in public and try to identify the emotions and feelings that they’re exhibiting.

    And then I take it further by imagining what their dreams might be and what they fear. Basically, I get curious. This practice has made me a more intuitive people-reader (which has helped me both personally and professionally). And it’s also made me more accepting and less judgmental of people and their differences.

    3. I try to add value to someone’s life daily by being kind or of service to someone.

    It might mean complementing a co-worker on a new outfit, reaching out to an old friend I haven’t talked to in a while to tell them I care, or going out of my way to be kind to a waitress who’s been rude (and obviously not having a good day). Doing this has made me more aware of my surroundings and the people in it and helped me to better connect with people more quickly. It’s also made me more compassionate and kind.

    4. I’m grateful for something small every day.

    I’ve found that gratitude helps me to see the good in the world (and in people) and to have a more positive attitude, especially if I focus on the so-called little things. And when times get tough, I force myself to be grateful for what others are doing to help me. I started that practice when I battled breast cancer. It helped me accept my vulnerability with more grace.

    —

    My grandfather was a wise man. I wish that he were here with me now but am hopeful that sharing what I learned from him will continue his legacy. A legacy worthy of being passed to (and by) others.

  • Singing Daily for 10 Minutes

    Singing Daily for 10 Minutes

  • How Little You Actually Need to Be Truly Happy

    How Little You Actually Need to Be Truly Happy

  • Walk Away from Things That Poison Your Soul

    Walk Away from Things That Poison Your Soul

  • When You Start Believing in What You Deserve

    When You Start Believing in What You Deserve

  • When You’ve Lost Your Passion for That Thing You Once Loved

    When You’ve Lost Your Passion for That Thing You Once Loved

    “Do it with passion or not at all.” ~Rosa Couchette Carey

    If you’ve ever had a passion for something, you are probably well aware of the peaks and valleys that are natural side effects of pursuing the thing you love most.

    Whether it’s music, writing, sports, fitness, or anything else, sometimes you lose sleep because the thing you love keeps you up all night, and some days you just feel tired and uninspired. There are ebbs and flows in following your passion, which is completely natural and healthy.

    But what happens when the “valleys” stay valleys? Maybe you have a few days when you don’t feel excited. When the thing you once loved feels more like a job than something you look forward to doing. Then, maybe those few days turn into a couple of weeks. Maybe even a couple of months.

    As time passes, you start feeling sad and frustrated. The activity (hobby, career) that once was a burning fire in your heart no longer is. You may even begin to feel guilty for not feeling love for that thing anymore. After all, you did love that thing before. Nothing about it has changed.

    You may become frustrated with yourself, wondering what’s wrong with you for not feeling excited about something that brought you so much joy in the past.

    What began as a strong, bright, and hopeful fire is now a much smaller flame. You try to fan the flame, attempting to make it bigger and trying harder to bring it back to its former glory. But you end up becoming more and more tired as it becomes clearer that the fire is dying. 

    Some passions become a part of who you are. They become etched into your being, your identity, and your sense of self. So once that passion fades, a moment of panic may set in. You may feel anxiety or deep depression at the thought of no longer doing that thing that once defined you.

    As a professional dance instructor, I’m thankful to say that I have been able to turn the thing I love into a career. However, I went through my own peaks and valleys in dance.

    My personal dance journey has gone something like this:

    Walk into a ballroom dance studio one night. No dance experience or intention of becoming a dancer whatsoever. Attend the social anyway, just for fun.

    Dance with one of the dance hosts. Dance with others. Dance the night away. Feel happy and inspired. Fall in love with whatever this new feeling is.

    Sign up that night to take ballroom dance lessons. Train in dance for five years. For those five years, forgo everything else that regular early twenty-somethings do to focus solely on my passion.

    Leave my old studio to accept a teaching opportunity at a new studio. Begin making a living doing the thing I love.

    At this point, I feel happy. I don’t feel the burning passion that I felt when I was training and dancing just for myself and my own enjoyment. But it’s okay. I feel satisfaction in knowing that I am helping others to feel that same passion, which gives me a sense of fulfillment.

    I continue teaching at that studio for two years. Little by little, I begin feeling drained. I convince myself that it’s “natural” to feel drained all the time, that it’s just part of the job.

    Coworkers tell me that it’s “not supposed to be fun.” I try to find humor in it. I continue teaching. Slowly, I no longer enjoy it. I no longer want to dance. I no longer feel good about teaching others how to love dance when my love for it isn’t genuine.

    One night, fate steps in. I visit another studio to dance socially, just for fun. Just for myself.

    I feel renewed energy. I see dancers who are much better than I am. I feel humbled and challenged.

    I decide to start working here. Initially, it gives me a new feeling of hope and excitement. However, just like anything else, passion needs to be sustained from the inside—if it comes from outside factors, it can only last so long. Which is exactly what happens.

    Just like before, I begin to feel slowly uninspired. I long to feel something. But I don’t understand why I don’t. I feel sad. However, this time, I don’t deny it or fight it. I realize that I need to do some inner work. I need to figure out whether I should hold on or let go.

    When passion fades, it can be a very difficult thing to accept. It might seem almost impossible to take a step back from that former passion. You may feel a loss of identity and wonder who you are without it, regardless of whether or not it inspires you anymore.

    But from personal experience, I can say that stepping back, even just temporarily, is one of the best remedies. When something you once loved leaves you feeling bored, stressed, or uninspired, it’s often a clear signal that some inner work and reevaluation need to take place.

    Don’t be afraid of your gut feeling. When something no longer brings you the joy it once did, it’s often the soul’s way of saying, “It is time to take a break.” 

    For those of you who become so emotionally and spiritually intertwined with the people, places, and activities you love most that the very thought of taking a couple of steps back sends you into an identity crisis, I am here to say that I understand. I know the discomfort.

    But your soul knows better. Your innermost self knows when it’s time to create a little space.

    And here’s the good news: By giving the thing you loved some space, you are allowing one of two things to happen:

    One: You are giving yourself time to recharge and recover. Sometimes, this is all you need. You may have simply needed a little time off to get inspired again, and you may return back to that passion at a later time with inspiration, energy, and clarity.

    Or two: If you don’t return back to your first passion, you are creating room for a new joy to eventually take its place. You’re giving yourself the opportunity to explore other hobbies and interests. And if you don’t find the “new thing” right away, don’t panic! You will. Your heart knows. It may take time, but you will be guided, once again, to that new thing.

    For me, it turned out that I needed to take a different approach to my dancing.

    For one thing, I needed to focus on my strengths as a dancer and dance teacher rather than compare myself to those around me. Comparison had left me with feelings of inadequacy and insecurity, which, in turn, made me not feel much motivation for dancing in general. I realized that I felt much happier when I focused on my strengths, as well as my own growth and progress.

    Secondly, I realized that I needed to spend more time dancing for myself. Not teaching group classes or private lessons. Not hostessing. Just going out and dancing. When I danced for myself, I felt joy again. I felt full of passion and purpose.

    This led me to realize an important lesson: You can only give as much love to something as what you currently have inside of you. If you don’t feel happy on the inside, how can you expect to make others feel happy and excited?

    Self-care and balance are essential elements in pursuing anything that you love.

    So if your passion is currently causing you to feel burnt out, tired, or stressed, don’t be afraid to give it some space. Don’t feel afraid to take a few steps back, breathe, and focus on something else for a little bit. Everything will be okay.

    By letting go, you are allowing the universe to work its magic and fill that void—either with renewed love and energy or with a new passion that you would’ve never imagined.

  • It’s Okay If You Fall Apart Sometimes

    It’s Okay If You Fall Apart Sometimes