Tag: wisdom
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Being Grateful for the Peaceful Coexistence of Joy and Pain
“It’s a gift to exist, and with existence comes suffering. There’s no escaping that, but if you are grateful for your life, then you must be grateful for all of it.” ~Stephen Colbert
Life is not a war; you do not conquer it, nor do you overcome it. You simply accept that suffering is an inevitable and necessary rite of passage on our paths throughout life.
No one is immune to pain; it is only dished out at different levels, and our own internal experience is incomparable. We share similar human experiences—that is the tie that binds us all together—but we cannot compare one’s suffering to the next because we are all individuals.
We exist in a world filled with duality—light and darkness, good and bad, right and wrong as well as joy and suffering. One cannot survive without the other, so to embrace both wholly and have gratitude for their existence is essential to move forward beyond our hard times to a place of peace.
The darkness will always be there, but to what degree we allow it to exist is up to us. We decide if it defines us, we decide if it controls our emotions, and we decide whether we peacefully cohabitate with it.
For years I felt that I had been given an unfair shake in life. I watched and held together the people I love the most when they were broken in pieces on the floor. I gently picked them up and held them together until they healed, often sacrificing myself in the process.
Some of my life’s challenges have resolved themselves completely, but some struggles will last a lifetime.
My youngest son was diagnosed with autism at three and a half years old. I am incredibly grateful for his existence. I wouldn’t be who I am without him. The lifelong advocacy, care, and responsibility make you an especially hardy breed of mother.
I struggled with tremendous guilt for so long when feeling burdened by his diagnosis and the impact it had on our family. Many parents of special needs kids suffer burnout, marriage failures, and depression at a much higher rate than other parents. It has been a constant fight for his education and social services, which created the warrior in me, but the right to exist in a world that doesn’t appreciate diversity shattered my heart.
I struggled for so long trying to be less resentful and more positive. As much as possible, I fought to keep at bay the deep depression and PTSD I carried silently on my shoulders for years. I kept it hidden, as I never wanted my innocent son to sense my sadness that life wasn’t what I had expected and over how unfair it was to him and to our family.
One morning, I stumbled upon Anderson Cooper’s podcast. Stephen Colbert was a guest, and Cooper discussed the lasting impact the death of Cooper’s father and brother had had on him at a young age. Cooper went on to ask Colbert about something he had previously said:
“It’s a gift to exist, and with existence comes suffering. There’s no escaping that, but if you are grateful for your life, then you must be grateful for all of it.”
As the interview progressed, Cooper started to cry, as this conversation resonated with him deeply. I replayed this conversation many times over and cried even more. It was very apparent that it had moved Cooper emotionally and gave light to a subject that had daunted him (and me) for many years.
How do we come to be at peace with both the hardships in life, especially when they are continuous, and the better times?
The interaction between these two men was profound, and it inspired me to embrace my pain as a gift.
It’s an anointment and a difficult, precious task we must all embrace wholeheartedly. Life becomes far more peaceful when we find a way to be grateful for both the hard moments and the joy in our lives.
To exist is to live in both realities, and there’s something to be gained from both, so we need to honor and respect both equally. One cannot exist without the other. We would never know love if we never experienced grief; they are intrinsically intertwined.
It was a significant moment for me when I realized this; and it unravelled years of trying to compartmentalize my darker emotions away from my family and the world.
Seeing my pain as a gift enabled me to fully embrace it. It wasn’t about suppressing my emotions or pretending the hard things don’t hurt; it was about allowing them to hurt with a new sense of perspective—recognizing that pain serves a purpose, and it means I’m alive.
I started to realize that I did not have to feel guilty for being overwhelmed some days. That it’s okay to cry and there is no shame in feeling defeated because acknowledging the hard times is just as important as celebrating the triumphs.
I felt the strength to push past those heavy emotions because of the good in my life. The moments when my son laughs, smiles, or hugs me are so incredibly uplifting. Those times would not feel so sweet if not for the days when I feel physically depleted and mentally lost.
I’ve also learned to appreciate the many gifts his diagnosis has given me. I would not be the person I am today without suffering to create this unstoppable warrior, leader, mother, and human rights activist that is driven by purpose.
It has made me an incredibly strong person mentally, as we have overcome so many obstacles as a family. I’ve learned to always forge forward and never go back; that life is many problems that just need solving.
Nowadays, I don’t have to hide my struggles but embrace them and accept them as a part of the grand scheme of life. Recognizing my pain allowed me to release it instead of burying it in a dark, inaccessible place only to grow by the day.
The greatest gift I bestowed on myself was realizing that I needed to look at life through a different lens by challenging my current beliefs system. My known coping mechanism, tucking heavy emotions neatly away in the back of my mind, wasn’t working. I was slowly coming apart, and I needed to redirect.
Listening to the conversation between Colbert and Cooper was the catalyst for change inside me. And with that came rebirth. I started to slowly open up about my struggles and connect with other parents, not as an advocate ready to tackle the next fight but as a person struggling in my daily life with a child with disabilities.
I felt more authentic in that I didn’t have to hide my grief; it was okay to not be this impenetrable positive fortress 24/7. I felt more connected to other parents in our shared pain, challenges, and celebrating our children’s achievements. Expressing all of it, not just the parts I wanted to project out to the world, helped me to live in my truth.
There is a particular sense of freedom in accepting that our hardships are necessary parts of our beautiful existence. Our pain strengthens us and, collectively, we are bonded by it. I am now at peace with all life has given me, and I am grateful for every moment.
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How I Overcame Self-Hatred and 6 Ways to Love Yourself
“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~Sharon Salzberg
When was the last time you looked at your reflection and extended love to yourself? Before I discovered the life-changing power of self-love, I had not extended love to myself for years. This is the story of how I transformed my self-hatred into self-love, how it changed my life, and several tips to practice in your life.
For a long time, I believed self-love was something to be avoided at all costs. Like many, I had become habituated to the “hustle and grind” mindset. Little did I know, I used this as an excuse to continue with my same habits of self-hatred.
I was surrounded by voices telling me I needed to work harder. There was no escaping the voice that said, “You are not good enough yet! You’re a loser! You don’t deserve success! Keep working harder, or you will remain the same!”
Was this voice telling the truth?
I isolated myself because I thought I did not deserve to have time with friends. The needs of myself and my loved ones were disregarded.
Every day was a constant struggle to get through. There was nothing to look forward to. I was living the same day repeatedly, constantly engulfed with an overwhelming feeling of shame and guilt.
Of course, this only made my circumstances worse, although I overlooked the issue. All that mattered was getting things done.
Self-punishment became my first response if I got off track, lost focus, or made a mistake.
One tiny mistake would throw my whole day into chaos. I would feel like there was no point in continuing the day because “I already failed.” It felt like a sober rain cloud circled over me, raining down with all its might.
Even more saddening was how this affected the way I treated others.
The hatred I extended to myself snowballed into how I perceived and treated my fellow humans, including friends and family.
I had set extremely high standards and expected others to have the same standards. I was judgmental, critical, and rude to others, all without realizing it.
I was living in a state of unconsciousness. I had no idea what harm I was inflicting on myself and others. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I only created more struggle.
Things had gotten to a point where I didn’t know if I could continue to move on. The feelings of guilt, shame, and anger became the only thing I was familiar with. It had been ages since I experienced joy.
Like many, I dwelled in these familiar feelings because they had been part of my life for so long. Only briefly would I feel happy, but I would quickly return to despair and hopelessness not long after.
I suspected life was supposed to be like this, that I was supposed to suffer. I made things so much more challenging than they needed to be without even knowing.
The Realization
After becoming acutely aware of the damage my lack of self-love created, I knew something needed to change. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up with this.
I was not making the progress I expected to be making. Never did I pause to reflect on my purpose, values, or goals. All that mattered to me was productivity, not relationships, happiness, or health.
My current behaviors had landed me here. Clearly, I was doing something wrong.
This is when it hit me.
My perfectionism and negative self-talk were the creators of my pain, hindered my personal growth, and created constant challenges and hopelessness.
The hatred I was extending to myself not only made me less kind to others. It made me harder on myself.
The anger I inflicted on myself took away the self-encouragement, optimism, and positivity needed to move in a new direction, so I remained stuck in the same patterns.
After witnessing accomplished individuals change history with love, I decided to take a different approach. Few have achieved beauty in a state of lack and anger.
Let us not forget about Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., and Mother Teresa. Every one of these transformational leaders changed the world without using violence. They experienced extreme forms of struggle but continued to move forward with peace, stillness, and determination.
It was time to break free and take a different approach, an approach these history-changers would take.
The Switch
After realizing that I had been doing things wrong for so long, I began making subtle changes in my life.
I started to change how I viewed myself. Instead of seeing myself as some monster, undeserving of happiness or success, I began to see myself as another human being on a journey, just like everyone else.
Embracing Imperfections
We are all imperfect beings on a journey. What we need is not more hatred. We need more encouragement, love, kindness, and compassion.
My imperfections were not an obstacle or something to be angry about; they were beautiful opportunities to learn, grow, and develop. Every flaw I uncovered became a powerful motivator to keep pushing forward.
My imperfections were not something to be upset about; they were something to celebrate and appreciate. Without my flaws, I could not enjoy the journey of personal development. Flaws inspire us to become a better version of ourselves, but only if we change our perception of them.
Self-Love: The Portal to Transformation
Self-love did not just help me uncover the beauty of imperfections. It opened a magnificent portal to transformation.
Self-love is like the key to the door of development. It frees us from our past mistakes and allows us to soar into the future with excitement, gratitude, and joy.
I started to see just how powerful this whole self-love thing is. The more loving I was to myself, the more inspired and motivated I felt to overcome my limitations.
At last, I could escape from the negativity loop instead of repeating the same thoughts, feeling the same feelings, and acting in the same ways.
Transforming how we think about ourselves daily influences how we feel. How we feel affects what we do. What we do determines the results we get, and the results we get determine our future.
I chose to embrace self-compassion and self-encouragement instead of the usual self-aggrandizement. Do not get me wrong, this was hard to do, but it helped me tremendously.
Having embraced imperfections and recognizing the transformational power of self-love, I embarked on the journey of redefining it.
Redefining Self-Love
One of the most challenging changes I had to make was how I viewed self-love. I previously viewed it as a weakness or something that would not help me. I held the belief that self-love would move me farther back.
Many of us hold beliefs like these, but they are largely incorrect.
Self-love is simply about doing what is best for us regardless of how we feel. It is a habit, just like self-discipline.
I started to see self-love as a catalyst for growth, not something that would hold me back. I was already holding myself back tremendously with my current behaviors, so something had to change.
Self-love is like a healthy, nourishing meal that energizes and motivates us to keep moving forward. The more nutritious the meals we consume, the more energy we obtain to transform our lives.
How can we become the best version of ourselves if we neglect to nourish ourselves?
A Catalyst for Compassion
After discovering the unwavering power of self-love, I came to realize that the more love and compassion I gave myself, the easier it became for me to show empathy toward others. This was one of the most immediate and valuable lessons I learned from practicing self-love.
When we cease to hold ourselves to impossible standards, we stop doing the same to others. Breaking free from my high standards was difficult but necessary to reduce my constant misery.
We are all unique human beings with different goals, values, and visions. We each have our own standards and purpose in life. Just because I might have higher standards does not make me a better person.
Shifting My Mindset
Self-love even made it easier to overcome challenges. Approaching challenges with a mindset of optimism, positivity, and trust produces much better results than pessimism.
It became easier to see opportunities and possibilities. Before, everything felt like an insurmountable obstacle. Instead of giving up like usual, I chose to persevere, trusting that things would be okay.
I encountered a plethora of obstacles along my journey. There were times when practicing self-love became a burden, but I knew that all I needed to do was trust in the transformational power of it.
It is time for us all to step into the portal of self-love. Doing so will change our lives in more ways than we can imagine.
How to Practice Self-Love
1. Honor your intentions.
This is one of the most essential aspects of self-love. To show how much we love ourselves, we must keep the promises we made to ourselves. Extending love to yourself is about staying committed to your goals, values, purpose, and vision.
2. Get clear on your values and purpose.
Knowing who you are, what matters to you, your life’s mission, and the person you want to become allows you to align your actions with these values. The more you know about yourself, the easier it will be to love yourself. Self-understanding is the key to self-love.
3. Embrace self-appreciation and gratitude.
Dedicate a few minutes to write characteristics or qualities you admire about yourself. These can be material or nonmaterial. You may even enjoy writing something seemingly unimportant, such as “I am proud of myself for getting out of bed this morning.” Only when we reflect on our achievements and honorable qualities do we recognize how accomplished we are.
4. Encourage yourself.
Instead of resorting to self-hatred or self-criticism after making a mistake, move into a state of encouragement. Encourage yourself to keep moving forward despite obstacles. Encourage yourself to try a little bit harder. Move forward in a state of love, joy, and forgiveness.
5. Embrace your imperfections and flaws.
The more imperfect we are, the more opportunities we gain to learn, grow, and evolve. Imperfections are a gift to be cherished, not an obstacle to be pushed aside. Without imperfections, we would not get to enjoy the journey of personal growth. Life would be monotonous and boring.
6. Surround yourself with love.
Spend time with people who encourage you, hold you accountable, and inspire you. The people we spend time with influence who we become. If we surround ourselves with optimistic and loving people, we will cultivate the same qualities in ourselves. Not only should we surround ourselves with loving people, but we should also alter our outer environment to support our habits. This might be hard to do at first, but making minuscule changes to our environment and friend group will program us to engage in self-love.
Before I go, remember, “You yourself, as much as anybody in the universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~Sharon Salzberg
I look forward to hearing which self-love practice you will implement!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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How a Rescue Dog Helped Heal My Lonely, Longing Heart
“Maybe it’s time for the fighter to be fought for, the holder to be held, and the lover to be loved.” ~Unknown
There’s this cheesy saying I heard once—“Dog, when spelled backwards, is god.” As a companion to my dog, I can honestly say this is truer than you might ever imagine it to be.
There is something special about dogs or perhaps animals in general. They are not plugged into the matrix of human dramas and suffering the way we are entrenched in it. And because they are out of that cycle, in a way, they become our bodhisattvas.
I Was Blessed with a Runway Before Takeoff
It all started when I moved into a shared home with four other strangers. One of them had an eight-year-old pit bull named Kima.
Until this point, I never thought I could live with a dog. They’re dirty, they shed everywhere, it’s too much work, it’s too expensive, and it’s a lot of commitment. Essentially, dogs would ruin my independence and make my pristine little life very inconvenient. But that’s exactly what I needed—I needed stability, and I needed someone to shake up my self-centered world.
Basically, all the things I needed in my life were the very things I resisted. Don’t we all do this?
Kima taught me every day that life with a dog wasn’t so bad. Her wiggly butt, her tendency to contort herself into a tiny ball to fit into my 5’2’’ sitting frame, and her awoooo howls were things I looked forward to every day.
Things like shedding, smells, and minor annoyances didn’t seem to bother me as much as I thought they would. So naturally, when I moved out of that shared house and into my gorgeous loft, I started fostering dogs.
Sometimes we become the very people we thought we would never be, and that can be a good thing.
Keep in mind I was still very commitment phobic. So fostering puppies was perfect—love them, train them, and give them away. To say that fostering was one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done is an understatement. It triggered my nervousness, anxiety, anger, shame, low self-esteem, and guilt—all the things I thought I had “fixed” in myself.
If they peed on my rug, I’d be blinded with rage on the inside. If they got sick, I thought I had failed as a human. If they were fearful of a leaf, I thought it was because I didn’t make them feel safe. I made all their problems a reflection of myself—no surprise here; it’s a tendency I’ve had my whole life.
Serendipity Moves In
Three foster dogs later, I was waiting for my fourth foster to arrive. He was a puppy being driven to Seattle from California. Except the driver’s car kept having issues and breaking down. I was getting impatient. I had been waiting for this foster to arrive for over a week. So I asked my case manager to assign me to another foster, and she in turn asked me to pick a foster from the dogs in line.
I looked online and saw this beautiful caramel-brindled, light-brownish gold gentle-eyed soul named Cappuccino. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t picked up to foster yet. Yet I didn’t sign up to foster immediately. Looking back, it was fear. But in the moment, I thought it would be good to wait for my assigned foster instead. I thought I should be patient and just wait.
How our mind rationalizes things away to keep us from really feeling our feelings, eh?
I kept checking the website trying to see if Cappuccino had been picked up to foster. Subconsciously, though, I was waiting for an excuse not to foster him. “See? Someone else fostered him, so now I have no choice but to wait for my assigned foster.”
Isn’t it interesting how sometimes we wait for the universe to decide for us so we can avoid taking responsibility for our big feelings and our big destiny?
I don’t know what came over me, but one day, before I knew it, I had signed up to take Cappuccino instead.
The Gentleman Monk Arrives
As soon as Cappuccino arrived, I fell in love with him. He was everything my intuition had picked up on when I first saw his picture online—he was a gentleman monk. But I was very clear that I was going to enjoy being with him, train him, and then give him away.
Within the first few days of his arrival, it was clear he had a gut infection, which led to bloody diarrhea. He was uncomfortable all the time. He pooped on my carpet. He was terrified of everything, from cars to the wind. He tripped me a few times from getting spooked by nothing. And worst of all, he didn’t seem to like me. He didn’t wag his tail at me. He never seemed excited to see me. In short, he triggered every wound in my heart.
When the time came to write his bio for his adoption profile, I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to keep him just a little while longer, so I did. But then “a little while longer” came and went. That’s when I started panic-calling everyone I knew. My secret desire was for them to tell me why I would be a good human companion for a dog. In short, I was asking for validation and for permission to adopt him.
Most people I called did validate me, but it fell on deaf ears. It’s just that I couldn’t believe them. The permission I was seeking came in an unexpected way.
One friend said, “If it doesn’t work out, you can always give him back up for adoption.” That thought entered my body like a frozen icicle. I would never, ever give him up, no matter what. My passionate commitment came as a surprise to me.
Another friend said, “You know having a dog is a big responsibility. It’s really tough. They’re expensive too. And you don’t want to be tied down.” These were my own inner thoughts being reflected to me through someone else’s mouth. I heard my own inherent fear and doubt hidden in those rational statements. And I found them to be silly.
In February 2022, I made the decision to adopt Cappuccino. I named him Azar—a variation of the word Atar, which in Avestan (Zoroastrian) means holy fire, son of god, light, or the visible presence of the divine. Because that is who he is to me.
Adopting a rescue dog is a heroine’s/hero’s journey, a quest, and an activation.
A lot of us single people are hurting.
We don’t feel well-met by the world, we cannot find partners, we start self-obsessing (in the form of self-doubt, self-criticism, etc.), and we can’t find anything about ourselves that we love. The vicious cycle is that, for a lot of us, the longer we stay single, the more entrenched we get in this state of loneliness, longing, and heart emptiness. And the longer we stay in this space devoid of intimate, reciprocal love, the longer we stay single.
A dog companion can start to chip away at our loneliness, longing, and heart emptiness. And that chipping away begins a whole new life for us.
Having our dog by our side gives us safety in relationship.
For many of us, our relationship with our dog may very well be the first relationship we’ve ever felt safe in. It doesn’t matter if it’s not a human one. What matters is that it’s one relationship that just gives to you and feeds your heart.
Azar taught me that I’m just a much better person when I’m around people who are self-assured, sensitive, playful, goofy, and at peace.
When I’m around Azar, I don’t feel put upon or burdened by his state of being. He taught me that any other qualities were just not as important to me as I thought they were—qualities like intelligence, ambition, and edginess. I began to prioritize my relationships based on whether they made me feel a similar way Azar did.
Having our dog by our side challenges us in safe ways to explore our shadows and wounds.
Dogs are so forgiving and accepting. They don’t hold mistakes against you. You see all your own shadowy crevices as soon as you begin to take care of a dog. At first, this process is uncomfortable, like all growth is. The purity of their mirror reflects you in your entirety. You’re motivated to address your shadows more than ever before and in a much gentler, more self-accepting way.
Azar challenged me to address my rage. He’s such a sensitive and fearful dog that the slightest irritation in my mood makes him shake. I didn’t want him to feel that way. So I began to figure out what techniques work for me to address my rage and channel it productively.
Having our dog by our side combats our strong, independent person archetype.
This archetype is mostly a mask for how hurt we have been in relationships. We take on hyper-independence to avoid hurting and being betrayed. Our dogs give us stability in the form of something reliable we can commit to. We begin to be happily interdependent with another being.
With Azar, I found myself more ready and willing to ask for help. I no longer see asking for help as weakness. I see it as a mandatory part of being healthy in this world. On the flip side, I also feel more ready and able to help others. My cup is so full now that I’m no longer guarding what few drops are left in an almost empty vessel.
Having our dog by our side enhances our understanding of true commitment.
We begin to see that true commitment sets us free on the inside. That is the feeling we were looking for all along anyway. It doesn’t matter anymore if we’re not able to go certain places or do certain things. Because those things cease being important to us. We’ve reversed our relationship to freedom. Instead of looking for it on the outside to give us the liberation on the inside, we’ve now felt it on the inside and it spills out on the outside.
For example, if you told me even one year ago that I would drive hundreds of miles doing the nomad life with just me, my dog, and my two-door Honda, I would have said you didn’t know me at all.
You see, I used to detest driving. I used to feel insecure with the thought of having no home. I used to be terrified of all the potential obstacles of such a risky lifestyle. Yet Azar by my side freed me up to think of the wide-open road as a friend and as a guide.
I’ll leave you with this:
You have much to give. You just need a chance to give it in your own special way. Dogs will learn your love language just as much as you will learn theirs.
I’m not saying go out and buy a dog just so you will feel better. I am saying that if or when the opportunity arises to have a fur baby by your side, just do it.
You don’t have to commit to a lifelong dog companion. Maybe all you do is foster. Or maybe all you do is volunteer at a dog shelter to take dogs on walks. Or maybe you pet sit for a friend.
Don’t be afraid. Start slow. Walk a dog. Play fetch. And watch how your presence alone is enough to give a being peace and joy.
Much love to you on this journey.
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Think You Need to Prove Your Worth? A Simple Exercise That Might Help
“You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anyone.” ~Maya Angelou
A few years ago, I operated on the belief that my worth was tied to what I could offer others. If I couldn’t assist with job opportunities, provide transportation, or support someone in some way, I didn’t see the point of forming a connection.
This mindset stemmed from a period in my life when I was married to someone battling drug addiction. He often remarked, “Without you, I’d probably be in jail or dead,” and deep down, I knew it was true. It was a perfect match, and I felt that my sole purpose was to serve and help him.
Many people in our circle lauded this dynamic, praising my loyalty and dedication. It gave me a sense of purpose and self-worth. I even became a marriage mentor, guiding others down the same path I had trodden. Concurrently, I was a workaholic, and if you’d asked me about my week, weekend plans, or hobbies, I’d have recounted work-related stories—they were my only experiences at the time.
Throughout this period, I battled chronic gut issues. While not debilitating, they were a constant annoyance, with my stomach reacting negatively to most foods. I tried various remedies, including doctor visits, medications, and dietary changes, but nothing seemed to work. So I went on, living with this persistent discomfort.
Then came the day I woke up with a haunting thought: “It hurts to live.”
Overwhelmed, exhausted, and still grappling with gut problems, I found myself in a dark place. I had no understanding of depression or why this thought had taken root in my mind. All I knew was that I didn’t want to get out of bed.
A compassionate colleague sensed my struggle and introduced me to her therapist. I had no experience with therapy and wasn’t sure what you even did in a therapy session, but I knew I had to make a change. So I began therapy right away.
Unveiling the Root of My Suffering
Fast forward a few years, and my life has transformed dramatically. I am divorced, free from gut issues, no longer a workaholic and, most importantly, I’ve realized that I am a human being, not a human doing. It was during this journey of self-discovery that I had a profound revelation about what had likely caused my suffering for so long.
In his book, The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness & Healing in a Toxic Culture, author Gabor Maté MD outlines five personality features commonly found in individuals with chronic illnesses. One of these features struck a chord with me: “overdriven, externally focused multitasking hyper-responsibility based on the conviction that one must justify one’s existence by doing and giving.” It described me during those years with astonishing accuracy.
Does this description ring a bell for you or someone you know?
This belief, deeply ingrained in my psyche, permeated every facet of my life—my work experience, my choice of partners, my circle of friends, my health, and much more.
But here’s the thing: I didn’t consciously choose this way of being. I didn’t wake up every day and think, “Today, I’ll justify my existence by putting everyone and everything above myself.” These patterns often develop subconsciously, often as coping mechanisms, especially in childhood when resources may have been scarce.
For example, if in your family, achieving more translated to receiving more love and affection, you might find yourself overachieving to secure that love. Over time, these behaviors become normalized and even celebrated by society and those around us. By the time you become aware of them, they’ve become deeply embedded in your identity, making it challenging to differentiate between these learned personality features and your authentic self.
Embracing Self-Worth Just for ‘Being’
The path to reclaiming your self-worth involves looking inward, getting curious, and embracing your true self. Since the belief that you must justify your existence by constant action isn’t a conscious choice, tapping into your subconscious can be a powerful means of shifting this perception.
One approach is to identify and befriend the parts of yourself that are trying to keep you safe through excessive external focus and action. Integrating these parts can help you move forward and rediscover your innate worth just for being yourself.
Techniques for this journey can be found in Susan McConnell’s book, Somatic Internal Family Systems Therapy: Awareness, Breath, Resonance, Movement, and Touch in Practice. Additionally, Dr. Lucia Capacchione developed a non-dominant handwriting technique to access your subconscious and uncover the needs of these inner parts.
Here’s how you can try the non-dominant handwriting technique:
1. Gather a pen, journal, and take a moment to calm your mind.
2. Reflect on a recent experience where you noticed yourself justifying your existence through excessive action and giving.
3. Pay attention to the emotions you felt during that experience.
4. Engage in a handwritten conversation with the part of you that believes it must focus on external actions to stay safe. Use your dominant hand for your rational thoughts and your non-dominant hand for the subconscious part. You can even use different pen colors for each hand.
- Start with a simple greeting using your dominant hand.
- Allow your non-dominant hand to express itself.
- Acknowledge and affirm the subconscious part using your dominant hand.
- Continue the conversation, repeating the process.
- Conclude with a message of support and understanding from your dominant hand.
Spending time befriending and integrating these parts can help shift your belief from “I am a human doing” to “I am a human being.” You are enough simply by existing. If you struggle to believe this, try the exercise and see what emerges. Your journey to self-discovery and self-acceptance is uniquely yours, and there are many paths to explore.
