
Tag: wisdom
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How I’ve Learned to Stop Running from Things That Scare Me

“The beautiful thing about fear is when you run to it, it runs away.” ~Robin Sharma
At the age of eighteen, I started running. It was a rainy night, and to get home quicker from the gym, I began to run. As I approached a park about a mile from my house, I decided to run around it rather than going straight home.
It wasn’t a conscious decision but felt natural and necessary.
The rain had gotten a bit heavier, but I wasn’t worried. All I could focus on was the lack of internal heaviness as I ran. That lack began to change to lightness with each stride. I had a walkman with me, so I put on a tape and my pace quickened even more.
The lightness became openness, and visions of possibilities entered my mind. Solutions seemed simple. And awe at the newness of my mind opening made its way into my body.
On my third loop, my pace quickened even more, and I began to sing along (out loud) to the tape in my walkman. It was dark, and I was soaked. I could feel the water pouring on my head, and I relished this feeling of being bathed by the sky.
I stuck out my tongue to taste it, and with heavy soaked clothes at the end of my third loop, I stopped and began walking the mile toward my house. Noticeable was how slowly I was walking in a downpour, and how completely at ease, open, and elated I felt.
On this dark, rainy night, I discovered a way out of myself: running.
Yesterday my head began to ache, my body became weak, and nausea set in. I sat on my floor crying for my mother and vomiting. The thought underlying all of this was “I have to get out of here.” I had not felt these symptoms in two years since healing from chronic issues, but here I was, suddenly in a relapse, with one thought running through my mind: “I have to leave.”
“Leaving” was a pattern I knew well.
As a child, I could not get out of situations I wanted to flee, so I did so only in my mind. Daydreaming, being quiet, and withdrawing were all methods of escape for me both in school and daily life.
I “ran” from bullies, from friends, from friends I was afraid were turning into bullies, from teachers, and I “ran” from family.
Running in an active way was not available to me, so, as I said, my escape was withdrawing internally, or avoiding.
In my all-girls high school, lunchtime was a source of angst because I did not have one set group of friends. Girls usually sat at the same table, same spot each day. It was with a group they had something in common with—the jocks, the rebels, the popular girls, the artists, etc.
I floated to whichever table allowed me to. But I didn’t stay long. The next day, I would find a different table, exposing myself only minimally. When I had exhausted the cycle, I started to eat lunch alone near my locker.
It was after high school that I started to physically run outside. From the first day of experiencing the ability to leave myself, I was hooked. Running became my top priority, and anything else, whether it was time with friends or family, came second.
I completed half marathons, marathons, and even ultramarathons. It satisfied my desire to flee, but also helped me access emotions like joy and a state of calm I could not reach otherwise.
As I began having intimate relationships, I withdrew anytime I sensed something was off, anytime I became uneasy based on a perception or reality. It was easier to run than to communicate my fears. It would be easier to run than to even acknowledge that there were fears.
Sometimes, I ran after the person, but eventually, it would be me fleeing.
At work, I started out with a group of friends and would spend lunch with them. But it wasn’t long before I found myself “running” from group to group. When absolutely no one felt safe anymore, I started to take my sneakers to school and run outside by myself.
Eventually, because I started to get overwhelming symptoms from chronic issues, my running became shutting off the lights in my classroom and sleeping at my desk. The same occurred even after work.
Any movement I enjoyed began to dissipate, and my running turned into a state of freeze. I slept more and more. I was still “getting out of here” in a different way.
I hung onto running as much as I could, traveling any time I could, because it felt better to be away. Traveling, like daydreaming and avoiding, was another way to flee.
When I finally completely crashed in 2018, there was no longer a way to run. I spent a lot of time in bed, sometimes unable to walk. The desire to flee showed up many times in the years I spent trying to heal, and once in a while I dragged myself outside, exhausted and in pain, and tried to run to satisfy the part of me needing this.
It would end with walking slowly, but a part of me felt relief.
I now had no choice but to listen to the sensations inside and notice the thoughts running in my mind.
As much as I loved running, as much as it helped me, it was time to learn how to walk.
I learned to listen to this part longing to flee to see what she needed. Just closing my eyes and observing the sensations, I began a dialogue with a part of me I had not really listened to. Safety is what she asked for over and over.
During this time of illness, I learned a way back into myself, being present with my inner sensations and the thoughts running behind them.
Each day, I went inward and sent messages of safety to this very scared part of me. This fear began long ago, and now, as I could no longer run away, I began “running” to it. I met this trapped fear inside with love and compassion, or at least I slowly learned to.
Along with these messages of love, safety, and compassion, I provided real evidence to this part of myself to prove that we were indeed safe, and I would always do my best to keep us so. My conversation with this part of me went something like this:
“I understand, and I am sorry that you are scared, and you have every reason to feel this way. It was hard; it wasn’t your fault. You shouldn’t have been treated as you were. You are a very special little girl. You deserved better. I love you and I will keep us safe now. I have kept us safe. Look at all the times I made good decisions for us. We live in a safe house. I cooked breakfast for us this morning. I make good money, I took a break from some things you are afraid of, and I am proud of you for letting go of some of that fear. You are safe and loved.”
The physical responses were of release and a deeper sense of ease. Before, these feelings were only accessible through running.
Slowly, I exposed myself to the things I was afraid of. I let go of those who didn’t want to stay. I made amends with those I’d wronged, as much as I was ready to. I forgave, as much as I was ready to. I faced the child inside asking me to keep moving and learned to nurture her instead of always giving into her. And I gave in to her, as much as I felt aligned with the desire.
I learned to reframe my thinking and decided that in the future I would no longer run from; I would only run to.
When I could, I walked slowly and mindfully, noticing each step. I spoke to flowers along the way. I watched clouds run across the sky before the rain. I watched sunsets. I spent time being still.
I spent time connecting to all the different parts of me, all speaking through emotions and beliefs, and acknowledged and validated them.
I gave myself grace.
This morning, after that momentary relapse, I woke up fine. It was raining. Memories flooded me, and I heard this part of me whispering, “Let’s go, I have to get out of here” again. In that moment, I spoke to this part of me who still longs to run when things are difficult and reminded her we were safe.
And I reframed: “We are not running away, but sure, let’s run to…“
So I put on my sneakers and running clothes and headed out, stopping once in a while to walk slowly, notice the flowers, watch the clouds running above, and relish in being bathed by the sky.
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3 Things I Learned About Healing from an Autoimmune Diagnosis

“To truly heal, we need to create a healing space—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.” ~Lynn Keegan
Growing up, I never understood the importance of taking care of myself. I thought my body was invincible, and I treated it quite poorly. I stayed up late, I ate out a lot, I partied, and didn’t have a care in the world.
In my early twenties this all began to shift for me. I began experiencing all types of symptoms. My body was doing things I was embarrassed to share with anyone.
I started having eight to ten bowel movements per day, I was afraid to eat anything, and I lost twenty pounds in the span of two weeks. I was confused and scared as to what was happening to my body.
After missing countless days at work and taking countless trips to the doctor’s office, I was eventually given a diagnosis.
In February of 2012, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, which is an autoimmune disease with no official cure. It causes inflammation and issues with digestion. It can affect the physical body anywhere from the esophagus down to the colon.
As if being told you have a disease with no real cure wasn’t enough, my doctor found precancerous cells in my colon. This meant I was at high risk of having to get my colon removed. I was in my early twenties at the time, and my doctor mentioned he had never seen a case so severe in someone my age.
I faced a lot of resistance with this at first. I was caught up in my old ways of life, not really having to care about my body. I continued to punish my body through my old habits of drinking, smoking, and eating an unhealthy diet.
I’m sure you can imagine that this got me nowhere. Things weren’t getting better, and I finally realized that no one was coming to save me. It was up to me to turn this situation around.
This is when I started what I like to call “my path of un-doing.” I began to step into unknown territory—health, wellness, and taking care of myself.
Step by step, I started adopting healthier habits. It started with physical activity, which naturally led me to eating a healthier diet. I started to see improvements with my symptoms and knew I could discover how to heal even further.
I started to explore my mental health. I had been through a stressful situation prior to my diagnosis and was dealing with energetic blocks because of this. I was able to work through these blocks with modalities such as yoga, meditation, journaling, and reiki.
It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually my symptoms decreased from all of the work I was doing. Fast forward to today, and I’ve now been in remission of Crohn’s disease for the last six years. I was very lucky that I never had to get my colon removed, and I’m thankful for that every day.
If you are dealing with a serious illness and are having a hard time right now, here are three takeaways I learned from my own experience with illness that will help you move forward on your healing journey.
1. Focus on a holistic approach.
When I first started my journey, I only focused on the physical side of things, nutrition and movement. I also followed my doctor’s protocol and took the medications he prescribed. These changes helped to some extent, but there was still something missing.
I needed to work through energy blocks I was experiencing from my past. I needed to find healthy ways to cope with stress. I needed to find ways to work through challenging emotions that came up along my healing journey.
This situation taught me that we are more than just our physical selves. We are multidimensional beings, and because of this need to focus on the mental, emotional, and spiritual sides of ourselves as well.
Meditate and journal daily to tune in with your emotions and clear out blocks. Get clear on your why so that when motivation trickles down on challenging days, you have a strong drive to keep moving forward. Spend more time in nature to help regulate your nervous system.
Healing requires a holistic approach. There is no shame in taking medication, but it’s important to not rely on this alone. Focus on making shifts with your entire lifestyle to support yourself the best way possible.
When you focus on nurturing all aspects of the human being you are, you take your healing journey to a whole new level.
2. Be patient with yourself.
Your symptoms didn’t show up overnight, so you can’t expect them to go away that quickly either.
Healing takes time, dedication, and consistency. There were many times along my journey where I felt like giving up, or that my efforts weren’t paying off. I kept going anyway.
Some days you will feel like you’ve made major progress, and some days you will feel like you took five steps back. This is a normal part of the process. When you feel like you aren’t getting anywhere, take a break and reconnect with your why to help you regain momentum.
3. Celebrate the small wins.
It’s easy to get swept up in the “all-or-nothing” approach when you’re first starting your healing journey. The problem with this approach is that it isn’t easy to sustain it long-term.
The key to long-lasting results along your journey is taking small actions every single day. It’s the small changes you make every day that eventually lead to change and transformation.
Find something to celebrate every single day, no matter how big or small. This is going to help you stay positive about your journey and will help you build a new lifestyle for yourself that is actually sustainable.
Dealing with a life-changing illness is overwhelming and it can feel like no one understands what you’re going through. Trust that you are not alone on your journey and that you can make your way out of this. Your body was designed to heal, it just needs the proper environment to do so!
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How I Found the Courage to Leave My Unfulfilling Job

“‘What if I fall?’ Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?” –Erin Hanson
Have you ever considered how much you’d be willing to tolerate before feeling forced to leave a workplace?
In this economy, people wonder whether leaving their jobs to preserve their mental and physical health without another lined up is worth it if it means financial insecurity. So many people feel stuck in their jobs, and I was no exception.
I told myself any money was better than no money, so I stayed with a job that made me miserable.
After spending several years with the company, I thought I should’ve been paid more than what I was getting, but I lacked the confidence to bring it up to my boss.
Also, the working environment grew hostile over time. I thought I had no room for error—it all had to be perfect. I had to get it all right on the first try without asking questions, or else I would feel like my job was at risk.
I say it was my thinking because that’s important to differentiate—how you feel about a situation versus what others tell you to feel. Everyone has their own perceptions and feelings, but when you feel uncomfortable in a specific role, you have to ask yourself: Do I need to change, or does my workplace need to change?
Or do I need to walk away from it entirely?
I had to ask myself: How badly do I want to change? Will it alter my experience at work?
After confronting myself, I had to recognize whether I felt comfortable confronting my boss about my feelings. Would it have the outcome I wanted? Would it assist my co-workers or future employees in their journeys? Even more important, was I willing to put myself out there for the chance of something different happening?
Next, I had to consider my own feelings. I tend to avoid confrontation because it often isn’t worth the anxiety it brings. It’s disheartening when no talks yield the result you want.
So I had to think to myself, and it took a while for me to decide the answer. Did anything make me want to stay at the job, even if the discussion wasn’t fruitful?
Ultimately, I decided to stay at my workplace. While I didn’t thoroughly enjoy what my workplace offered, I loved what I did. I stayed because I felt like I was making a difference.
Things were fine for a while—especially once I accepted that “it is what it is.” My supervisor showed me empathy often, but I was still uncertain of their reaction if I addressed that the company culture didn’t work for me.
Unfortunately, ignoring the problem went exactly as you might think. It didn’t make things easier for me.
If I could go back in time, I would make different choices. The confrontation may have been worth the potential opportunity to open my employer’s eyes. Standing by only ensured things remained the same.
Were I to do it again, I would approach my boss with an open mind and an honest heart. In my experience, employers value honesty about certain situations, and my supervisor was more than willing to help me with solutions.
Still, I always feel nervous when approaching a supervisor because I worry they won’t take me seriously. If I could go back, I would go in with a plan and substantial evidence to support my claims. Having the proof to show something was amiss might have influenced my boss more than my anxious words alone.
However, looking back on it, it could have been just as likely that my concerns were ignored or dismissed. I’ll never know because I didn’t take the chance for myself. I wish I had—it might have made the decision to leave even easier.
Over time, I let the problems build and eventually snowball into something much worse—something that affected my self-esteem and my ability to perform well at work. I suffered greatly.
With over 60% of people saying they’re less productive at jobs they aren’t happy at, I realized I was in good company. It wasn’t a problem with me; I just wasn’t a great fit for this job. I was the puzzle piece that got mixed up in the wrong box, my true purpose lying elsewhere.
Unfortunately, these issues made me feel even more hopeless. Was there even a point to working? Did the good money I was making justify the environment that made me feel uncomfortable and unsettled all the time?
Only I could answer those questions for myself, but I did look to my loved ones for guidance. I asked my family and friends what they would do in my situation. Really, I just wanted some form of reassurance that I was doing the right thing.
Everyone I talked to agreed I should leave my workplace. They’d seen my mental state deteriorate over time and listened to my lamentations. When stress gets to you, it makes you do funny things, including questioning whether obvious decisions are the right ones.
You are not weak for wanting to remove yourself from a toxic situation.
Those words took me a while to process, but they’re true. I wouldn’t get a badge of honor for being mistreated at work. People don’t look at several hours of overtime as something to admire anymore.
It wasn’t worth it. Many workers are putting themselves first. I wish I would have, instead of wasting months before finally leaving the job.
My mental health mattered. I thought the money was worth it, but that was the only thing holding me back—and I should’ve found another job to serve that purpose. No money will ever make up for a job that hurts my mental health, robbing me of my time and leaving me burnt out beyond belief.
Looking back, the slippery slope to a lack of self-care happened faster than I knew. I poured more of myself into work, leaving less time for my own needs, and I chose to ignore my hygiene for late nights at the office. I skipped meals and sleep to ensure I met every deadline and still had some time for myself at the end of a demanding day.
Not every job would drain me the same way. I only realized that after some time of reflection.
For every bad boss, there are several good bosses. I’ve had supervisors who encouraged me to speak my mind and clearly valued my viewpoint. Though it took some time, I found an environment I belonged in.
As I healed from my past job and worked to improve my self-esteem, I realized boundaries are essential. I didn’t need to do anything outside of my job description and reminded myself it was okay not to want to work long hours. Having the luxury to say no to more work isn’t something everyone is afforded, but it’s a right everyone should have.
Not everyone will be in the privileged position I was to step away from a job that was actively hurting me. I was fortunate to be able to heal and identify my worth for a period after I left it, before I was ready to search for a new job. Many folks don’t have the same luxury, as their salary might be the only income for their household.
One of the worst things about a toxic work environment is just how hard it is to make that first step away. Taking that step, even when unsure where you’ll land, is likely to be worth it.
For some, that’s taking time off, even if just a little, to find something better. For others, that might be opting for another job—perhaps one not even in the same field—to make ends meet rather than continuing to waste away at their current job. Every job is as temporary as you need it to be.
This can even be as simple as putting out a first new application. Not everyone can take that leap away from a rotten position without a backup plan in place, but that doesn’t mean they’re without hope. It all just depends on taking that first step.
There is that turning point, though, and I knew it the moment I hit it. What would my loved ones do if I made myself mentally or physically sick working for a company that didn’t value me? There is only one me.
I’m not irreplaceable to any workplace. There will always be someone else with a similar set of skills that can take over for me if I leave my job.
My advice to my past self would be always to look for the job you feel fulfilled in. Too many people go to work depressed and come home burnt out. You may be just another number to a lousy job, but think of how much you matter to your loved ones. There’s only one you.
Being overworked is the leading stressor among employees. I’m still looking for the best ways to manage my stress, but I’ve actually made it a priority now. With less stress, I’ll also reduce my risk for chronic diseases and ensure I have time for myself whenever I need it.
One thing I learned was to prioritize myself, especially since I had the privilege of being able to leave my job. I could run fast and far from a situation that hurt me. Thanks to that, I could preserve myself and save people from worrying about my health more than they already did.
I was the only one who could have made that decision for myself. The “turning point” moment was all I needed to seek out better opportunities. I deserved more than putting myself through unimaginable stress in a subpar working environment, and realizing that was when it all changed for me.
When the time was right, I found a new job.
I felt refreshed and ready to tackle any challenge. I felt valued and celebrated by my new team. It made me realize I really deserve to be happy in what I do every day, and it was time I reminded myself of what that feeling was like.
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You Can’t Save People

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