Coping

I don’t know about you but I don’t like New year’s resolutions. I never have. They have a way of making me feel less than, that I’m lacking somehow. It’s not the goals that bother me, because those are necessary, it’s the approach. If you’re one of those highly successful new-year-new-me achievers, then props to you! Seriously, I admire your resolve. But if you’re a lowly human like me who finds this daunting, then read on. 

We’re into the first week of January and I think about it every day as I see people discuss their resolutions or their disappointment of how they’ve already broken them. Really, do we need another stick to beat ourselves with?! Research proves that in those who do make resolutions there is an 8% success rate of follow through. Cool! So where does that leave the rest of us? I think if we struggle with the concept, we can reframe our thinking. Instead of trying to make ourselves over, we can acknowledge how far we’ve come and decide to love ourselves exactly where we are. This is not a new concept, but one we shy away from. Shaming is so much more socially acceptable. Why not own the resilience and courage we brought with us because of whatever we’ve been through, show ourselves some grace and give ourselves a pat on the back? We need more of that. That doesn’t mean we can’t improve, learn and strive for things that we want more of, but the objective needs to include loving ourselves. Where we are. Period. Without planning some big purposeful quest, and with the knowledge that showing up, with exactly what we have, is also enough.

In my attempts to move toward those things that bring me closer to the life I want, I have learned that we each have unique processes that are effective for our personal development.                                             

                                                    One size does not fit all.

Sometimes we are achieving monumental strides in simply surviving. 2020 gave us a lot to grow through, a plethora of emotions to identify that were foreign to us and ultimately revealed our badassery. To set a timer on transformation and frame our resolutions like a promise we can break, often carries the weight of regret, unworthiness or inadequacy. I’m giving you permission to take yourself off the hook, not that you need it. I just know that sometimes we don’t let ourselves coast until somebody tells us it’s okay. 

                              So, it’s okay. 

                                   Take a deep breath. 

                                              Enjoy where you are right now. 

If you want to know what would best serve you next then simply listen. Unless you’re a complete slug I really doubt you’re going to fall into the oblivion of apathy without a plan in place. Allow yourself to be. Remove the word ‘should’ from your vocabulary. Slow down and notice. Pay attention. To how the life you’re living makes you feel. How the people you spend your time with nurture or deplete you. How the things you spend your life doing support or take away from what you really want. We deserve this kind of self care. Not just because we’re in the middle of a pandemic that has stretched us to our limit but because we owe it to ourselves to know that anything we practice comes from a place that we design. 

This is about so much more than how we view resolutions. It’s about not buying into someone else’s idea of perfection, purpose, or anything that doesn’t come from a sphere of authenticity inside of us. If you don’t know what authenticity feels like, because you’ve been so busy living outside yourself, try this…next time you’re faced with any decision, make it, sit with it and see how it resonates in your gut. Does it belong to you, or does it come from a space that doesn’t feel organic? Do you have pangs of doubt or peace? 

It’s okay to stop doing shit we don’t want to do, and it’s especially okay to follow our own path toward anything in life that’s about us. 

I’ll confess that my disdain for resolutions came with some guilt, for not being ambitious enough, until I realized that was a lie. I have all the freedom in the world to embrace the way I move forward, and that, like everything I do comes from within. When I really listen, my Knowing always whispers what I need. The people in my life, the words I absorb, the lessons I learn along the way all help to get me there. It’s time to take back the reins of our own choices and lean into trust and intuition, which requires releasing the approval and expectation of others.

Maybe this year I’ll eat more brownies. Maybe I’ll decide to fit into that dress instead. Maybe I’ll spend more days doing nothing without regret. Maybe I’ll decide to wake up earlier, meditate and feel productive. The thing doesn’t matter, the motivation behind it does and how it makes us feel. Perhaps, after everything we would benefit most from just being present in the moment and loving ourselves so fiercely that we instinctively feel what aligns and what no longer fits. Doesn’t that sound more relaxed and less judgmental? 

As for me, I’m going to be resolute in my contentment…

                               Leaning in.

                                    Getting real. 

                                             Letting go.

                                                   Being honest. 

                                                       Practicing intention.  

                                                               Eating brownies.

2020. The Lost Year. The headline on the cover of The NY Times Magazine jumped out at me! I thought yes, that’s exactly, succinctly it. Gone, vanished. Then, I reconsidered. Maybe it wasn’t so much about the year we lost, because, after all, it is in the fabric of us now, but about finding our way through the losses. As with every time I have been in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by uncertainty and pain, it is there that I have unearthed deeper layers of myself. 

We’ve certainly experienced more than our share of the destruction in this pandemic year, crashing through unwanted waves of grief, growth, and reluctant acceptance or raging anger. Little pieces of us have been chipped away as our souls were forced to adapt to something so unexpected and unwelcome that we had to catch up just to navigate coping, even then holding on by a thread. Oftentimes, we could only subsist on the emotional fringes of whatever we were feeling at the time, as the turbulence bounced us about, day in and day out, and we did our best to show up, again and again. 

Too many to count, the casualties have been numerous, the emotional toll overwhelming, the aftermath a swirling, simmering angst filled pot of sorrow and void. 

The sad truth is that we’re never going back. Some things will never be restored. Lives taken are gone forever. Broken hearts will remain scarred. Shattered dreams lie as the ashes, unrecoverable, eventually turning back into earth. Like letting go of a beloved childhood home, we will absorb every single misplaced longing that will never again be ours. 

Yet, I keep coming back to the grace peeking behind the curtains of this great pause. The surrender I was compelled to lean into so I could come out the other side. Therein lies my gratitude. That there is another side. That through this all, there have also been beautiful, shining moments of truth, light, resilience and goodness. That the flames of human kindness have not entirely burned out. My career as a caregiver constantly nurtures my perspective. I had a client who suffered a stroke. Her life is never going to return to any semblance of the normal she once embraced with zest. She misses it and she will always miss it. She will forever face the day with only her memories and whatever she can manage from here. We, on the other hand, will go back to something recognizable, albeit altered. Eventually. And, yes, because of our collective experience, we are forever changed and maybe, more evolved or aware. So perhaps not all is lost. What if this past year has been our compass, with a huge learning curve as we learned to read it? What if this was all leading us toward Higher Ground? New perspective, more inclusive views, a broader appreciation of who we are as humans, an opportunity to offer a more loving version of ourselves. I cannot imagine that there was no purpose in this global upheaval that rocked us to our core and created such profoundly meaningful shifts.

As we give 2020 the big send off or the finger, and open our hearts to this new year, one filled simultaneously with trepidation and hope of new beginnings, I see bittersweet glimmers of transitions. Somehow, all the gaping holes of loss and letting go have given way to new found respect for what is. For that cherished circle of people that kept me afloat, no matter the physical distance. For a loving relationship, in its infancy that provided me with strength and stability. For the value of intimate gatherings that filled the empty spaces of my social connections. Like everyone else, I have ebbed and flowed through my own sense of loss, as familiar pieces of me slipped away and something else took their place, as I navigated through relentless dark days and overwhelming sorrow wondering how to identify the life I live now, instead of the one I handcrafted and carefully nurtured. I mourned then, and now, with the whole of me as I released those rituals that sustained and fed my soul with vibrancy. And with time, I allowed this to redefine what it means to live a life of quality, to honor every emotion, no matter how uncomfortable, to embrace the shadows as lovingly as the light.

Today I choose anew, for what’s next. Less judgement. More paying attention. Less fear. More trusting. Less anxiety. More breathing. Nothing will change what is. But we can change how we receive this. All of it. 

Photo Cred; NY Times

Somewhere between the uncertainty and the coming to terms, there stirs in us a deep abiding mourning. We are a world engulfed in a perpetual state of grief. On a very palpable level our souls are exposed, vulnerable, with nothing but our internal compass to guide us, and that feels broken, off course. We are unmoored, drifting, at times quietly languishing, or simply watching the horizon, and then without warning being jarred about by angry, raging waves. 

Global Pandemic. A shot heard round the world. I believe this was the catalyst for the cavernous deprivation we would begin to feel and then internalize, with limited skills to identify the fallout and no place to put all the ensuing emotions. Incomes were ruptured, businesses irrevocably destroyed, massive death tolls mounted, our soul feeding connections were stripped from us and the music was silenced. Life as we knew it was shredded, almost overnight, accompanied by devastating losses, taking huge pieces of us with it. There were lessons in the air. We had been fractured, a house of cards society built on too much consumption, excess and exhaustion, and the universe was desperately trying to help us restore our purer selves. Prior to this, we lived life so quickly and so blissfully detached that we ignored our feelings and the feelings of others. Isolation and fear quickly cast light upon the gaping holes in our societal and economic infrastructures and mostly, our ability to self soothe, to reflect, to sit with our fear and precariousness. 

We couldn’t hear it then but it was beckoning us to look inward, to take stock, to pay attention. To find the gifts in this great pause.

But we didn’t. We slowed down out of necessity, but we didn’t cooperate, we didn’t come together. Not like we needed to. With so much uncertainty guiding us, many of us fell prey to the lure of self. Like a crack of thunder in a stormy sky. 

I think what happened next affirmed that the world was on fire, a second warning at our feet. Civil unrest exploded across our country, an opportunity for awakening in those of us who don’t experience the reality of oppression and had much to learn. Shockingly, or maybe not, our President then lit the match that fueled the fires of racism and anger that burned our cities and our spirits to the ground. This was a devastating and powerful piece of the heartbreak and the mourning as we watched our nation descend into this soulless, empty divide that had existed, but not been so blatantly encouraged. The soothing space between patriotism and homeland disintegrated to ashes, leaving us hopeless, wondering what was next. 

I said from the beginning that this pandemic reveals us. There was a message for every human and we weren’t getting it. Good and decent people held tightly to fear because they had nothing else to cling to amid the unpredictability that polarized them, while others turned their hearts outward, searching for someone to help, for ways to matter. Many people did what was asked of them and many others chose not to and all of it seemed to be a desperate cry to get through something that was not only unprecedented but so unforgiving in its casualties. And every single thing that has come afterwards has been woven into the fiber of who we are as a nation, a nation built on our character. The enemy became us. Our subcultures, our near and dear. Long time friends and families, people we thought we knew who could not only avert their eyes against the storm but refuse to acknowledge that it existed, were unrecognizable to us. All of this came crashing against our already aching, broken hearts. If we thought we were treading water by then, we couldn’t have been more wrong. Our grief continues to evolve, but the biggest by far, that supersedes even all those things we have lost, is what we have yet to lose. It is inescapably uncertain. 

I sat on the porch with a dear friend the other night and we spoke of the losses that have set the patterns of our grief. She represents everyone I know. She has had several moments of emotional lapses and finds herself rising again to get through another day, then wakes to experience deep sadness again, as though her peace and resolve never existed. Unpleasant feelings, especially the ones that come with the five stages of grief, represent a death within themselves. There is not one person I know that has not been affected by some or every part of what this year has presented us with, and for too many of those people there have been dire, permanent losses they may never come back from. Theirs is a very particular form of anguish, a present, painful reminder that we cannot always choose our circumstances, yet must live with the fallout. With the passing of our dreams, the loss of the future we thought we would have, the huge void left by a stagnant, persistent virus that illuminated all the brokenness of our society, all the crevices that we would fall through and never recover from, all the ways that we were different instead of the same, we found a strange sense of oneness. I don’t know many people whose hearts don’t break daily from the relentless storms, with how we have been exposed in all our humanity and all our ugliness. As this current climate angrily simmers, civil unrest continues without justice, and the pandemic lingers, turning time into a slow march, we find ourselves continually being pulled into new realities for what this means in our lives. This grief is not as devastating as the loss of a loved one but it is visceral and actual, and must be respected as such. 

As self-aware and centered as I am, I have found myself drowning in the emotions of this abyss more often than I’d like to count. My body has done the mourning, through physical pain and many days of heartache for the life I created and loved, feeling like a piece of me has been unceremoniously torn away, leaving only a gaping hole. At the same time, I have savored the opportunities that have come with the isolation, have cozied myself into the arms of solitude and discovered that my intuition is more keen than ever. My personal awakening has served to challenge my inner paradigms, and will forever change the way I show up in the world, for which I am thankful. My foray into unfamiliar emotional places and activism has created tumultuous shifts in my relationships that require my willingness to move forward without some of the people that I love the dearest. So I grieve that too. I, like many, have been peeling back layers of thick emotions, some that I’d rather not have it all, only to find myself exhausted yet stronger for it when I come up for air from these powerful currents. I’m not sure how to dive in, immerse myself completely and enjoy the swim, but I know I must if I am to thrive here. So I drink from the reservoirs of my resilience, and strive to hold sacred every part of this process. 

“We used to believe there was solid ground.” 

                                                                       Glennon Doyle

This may all appear to be something we are waiting to get through, but it isn’t. We have been offered a unique opportunity to recreate our own solid ground, to dissect what our values really mean, to reaffirm what we cherish, to question everything we knew until we are unwaveringly confident, within the darkest recesses of our soul, in our truth. We will only be able to do that by looking inward as deeply and fiercely as possible, by loving ourselves through every negative feeling we have and allowing it to make us more intensely rooted in our ability to cope. 

This, in its entirety, is our defining moment. We are being internally transcended. We are becoming. We will not move through this unscathed, and there is no ‘normal’ to return to. What we build, what we tear down, what we fight for, what we stay silent to, is laid bare for everyone to see. It is who we are.

The shock waves of loss are complex and I think it takes our breath away sometimes, the force with which this pulls us in. So we do the best we can. We create little pockets of a familiarity, with virtual celebrations, Zoom calls, intimate gatherings and reaching out in new ways. It is not the same yet it offers us refuge, connection, and desperately needed unity. 

Our collective grief is the unseen veil that shrouds each of us, through every single breath and moment in our lives, yet is so difficult to navigate, because we have never experienced anything like this. As we seek small miracles and simple pleasures to be grateful for, we must first honor what is happening, carve out space and invite the nuances and disquiet of unwanted side effects, listen and lean into them instead of being at constant war with what is a very real part of ourselves.  

Perhaps, we can hold to the belief that there is something bigger than ourselves at play here. That hidden beneath all this anger, loss, sadness and disarming dubiety, there lies something lovely, spiritual and hopeful, and as we unearth, then embrace the meaning, we will surrender to something new, becoming more beautiful, more gracious, more humane, more equipped to compel equality, acceptance and true kindness toward one another, with a newly held and deeper appreciation for those things that align with who we really want to be. 
        If not that, then our grief is in vain.

Since I was a young girl and continually found myself crushed beneath the feet of people with more power, there has always been a deeply rooted part of me that wanted to excavate love and inclusiveness in the world. With time, I recognized that I had a gift for making people feel like they matter, for inviting conversations from different points of view and valuing people for their individuality. When I began posting on Facebook my messages were about love, self worth, kindness and making our corner of the world a little bit better. I invited people to look inward and cast their net as wide as they could make a difference. I believe that to my core more than ever right now. But my messages do not look the same because we are not living in the same world. The cracks have been illuminated and the light it shines on our inequities demands our attention. Make no mistake, we are in a revolution my friends, one that requires every ounce of our conviction. Or our regret forever. 

There is a huge storm brewing in our country, one that will lead to our demise. Lines have been drawn, weapons both physical and emotional are being used, voices are louder, stronger and angrier than ever. Within a few short weeks into the pandemic, I had taken my stance for wearing masks and shared those reminders on Facebook. I believed then, as now, that it is the simplest, kindest thing we can offer to help get this virus under control. I couldn’t have been more shocked when it became a political talking point and all of a sudden you could look up and see who was who by whether they were wearing a mask or not. There was no discernible voice of reason in the hateful, judgemental responses I was getting and I made a lot of people angry who justified and refused to look at their own behavior. Of course, I don’t like that but it doesn’t deter me when I am standing in my truth. That is vital for each of us to identify.

Soon after that, civil unrest exploded with the death of George Floyd. It had been a long time coming, but with the world being more sensitive, stripped of all its comforts, financial security, music and art, it all bubbled to the surface. Our emotional safe places and diversions were laid bare and we had nothing to do but look at our feelings and they terrified us. The rage and fear was palpable, and we began to recognize a great divide. With that event and the uprising, there was a deep and permanent shift in me, and it was powerful and undenaible! By that time I was already blogging, and like everything I share, I was compelled to use my voice for this cause. It came from the deepest part of my soul, the part of me that I call my Knowing that tells me exactly what I should do and when I should do it. It is not always comfortable or something I would ask for, or even understand, but it always leads me to growth and to what someone else needs. I could not in good conscience, with my black and brown friends who I adore, surrounding me, remain quiet to the violent injustices that are going on. It wasn’t new for them, but a huge wake up call for me. I was heartbroken, aware in a new and meaningful way and could no longer carry the shame of my inherent ignorance and be unwilling to do something about it. I knew it would mean discomfort to many of my good and decent white friends who were not yet ready to look. 

All of a sudden I was certain that I was no longer being loving or kind to remain silent. How can I advocate kindness and love when so many people I know live in fear and are being destroyed?

My silence is compliance.

I don’t have the right to be comfortable in my little bubble while violence, centuries old brutality, and blatant racism burn through our cities. 

I was raised in a family that was neither political or even involved in current events, making any kind of free thinking an evolution for me and always a fight against the status quo, in every aspect of life. I don’t even remember watching the news growing up, so much of what I learned was a whitewashed version from school or any research I did on my own. For the majority of my life I was a conservative Christian and not because I believed in a certain party but because my values were more aligned there. This is the interesting thing…although the region I lived in wasn’t very diverse I always had an innate sense of fairness, but there were things I obviously didn’t know and always found myself searching for. Something existed that aligned with who I knew I was and it called to me. Over time I have found that my open-mindedness and tendency to act for the greater good allowed for a more diverse political view, and I found common ground with some good friends that helped me expand my thinking further. It felt like home to me to include everyone. 

I’ve always been able to respect other views and agree to disagree, until now. This is no longer about party or partisan, it is quite simply about the narcissistic power driven man himself, Donald Trump, devoid of moral fiber, who has been entrusted to nurture and guide our country, and does so with an eye single to destruction. He dehumanizes people, promoting rage and vengeance as he strives to eradicate entire classes of human beings. He is popular because he gives hate a voice and a flag to wave. This is not tolerable behavior, this is not human decency. This is soulless. The President of The United States just threatened a coup if the election doesn’t go his way and if that doesn’t scare you or make you realize who he is I can’t agree to disagree with you. He is decimating the democracy he vowed to protect, and I wouldn’t care WHO he is, red or blue, right or left. This is not about how we want our eggs in the morning, this is about human beings. I draw lines in the sand when it comes to morals, to racism, to the rights of anyone that is different than you or me. It is a deal-breaker. Everything in me has to speak up. 

I had an enlightening conversation with my daughter Chelsea the other day. She has taught me so much about political evolution, ahead of her time way back in junior high, always challenging the narrative and leaning into truth, love, equality and justice. She heard her own voice much sooner than I heard mine and I am humbled by her. We talked about white privilege and the inherent racism that many of us have and why it is so frightening for us to take a look at that sometimes. We agreed that it is our time to be uncomfortable, and that without that discomfort we might never challenge our own internal narrative. It doesn’t mean we’re bad unless we decide to close our eyes to it. 

My daughters have always been my Touchstone. They are brave, strong and independent, and we have this gloriously liberated relationship where we can say anything, seriously anything, to each other and call each other out on our shit. They have held my hand and heart through my evolution. When I told Chelsea that a dear friend had acknowledged her discomfort with my new political posts and said that I am dismantling character and devaluing people who think differently, I asked for her insight, just to check myself. She didn’t hesitate and said to me, “Mom, no. YOU are dismantling and devaluing the white, racial, patriarchal system that has been the cornerstone of an unfair government.”

And today, she sent me this, my sweet and beautiful girl…

“We all have a lot to unlearn and unpack. I’m glad we’re on this journey together.” 

If I had a shred of doubt about my purpose and my truth going forward it completely dissipated. Another reminder that my truth is never going to steer me wrong, the people who really need it will receive it, and a way will always be provided for me. 

This is a revolution. You have a place here. If you are compelled to create change right now, then quiet the outside chatter, the opinions of others, even your closest friends who need you to stay where you are, and listen. Go forward with your voice, encouraged and strong, however that looks for you, and trust that you are right where you belong doing exactly what is called of you.

I was having a difficult day yesterday and was aware of it so I thought I had a handle on it. My body was experiencing a lot of physical pain and I was emotionally vulnerable, so I was processing, identifying and talking myself through it. Then last night I snapped at my boyfriend when he tried to help me with something. Like, really snapped. It was careless and mean, and I am neither one of those things. At that point I was scrambling to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me! 

Earlier in the afternoon, I had randomly reached out to a friend and when I read her response this morning, I cried, because her reply mirrored exactly what I was experiencing, and suddenly it all came together. “Wavering many times daily between feeling fine or happy, to frustrated and sad.”  

Everything in me not only relates, but feels this deeply. To my core. I have a sadness that I cannot escape, not permanently anyway. Unfortunately, I have many friends who share these feelings. So this became the thing I wanted to talk about today.

It’s time to rethink depression. 

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.”                  Stephen King

I was born an old soul and forged resilience through necessity, time and time again, from my childhood to now. In the process of survival, holding steadfast, letting go and doing whatever it took, I learned what I was made of. Somewhere between the innate joy, the fierce tenacity, the chronic illness, the love and zest for life, the empathic compassion, lies a profound depression, one that has taught me patience and courage. It was a natural byproduct of a stifled, abusive environment and constantly being told how to feel or rather, how NOT to feel. I had no map or blueprint for traveling through this ‘blue and lonely section of hell,’ but I didn’t let it take me and I won’t now. I could. I certainly would not say that I enjoy this gloomy shadow of mine. However, it has lent itself to the whole of me and added another dimension to my substance, my passion and my voice.  

As mutual friends began sharing their isolation and frustration with this topic, I noticed that as a society it’s not something we allow as part of an accepted narrative. For so many right now, regular depression is exacerbated by the upcoming seasonal change, the uncertainty and isolation of the pandemic, the anger from both the current political climate and violent civil unrest. It weighs heavy on the heart of those of us who feel things deeply. Then, of course, there are those tragic life things that keep coming at us no matter how much our depression takes from us…death, illness, money issues, etc. Yet, mental instability and mood disorders generally make people uncomfortable, unlike heart disease and diabetes that are readily accepted as the norm. Throughout history we have shown disdain and treated people with these conditions as disposable, even using it as a weapon of weakness or unworthiness against them. There is usually a sense of judgment about how people deal with and navigate their way through it. Our coping skills are silently, and sometimes not so silently, assessed by people who have never experienced it on any kind of real level and have no idea what it feels like, except for how it affects them. They want to give us simple answers, offer platitudes and tell us how to fix something that they have not done anything more than bear witness to. I do understand that it’s because they want to help, and I agree that there are many valuable ways, even aside from medication to nurture ourselves through this, but that’s for another post. There is no one-size-fits-all for depression, because depression looks different for each person, and careless responses can have the opposite effect. When we are not allowed to show all of ourselves to someone we trust, it may make us feel marginalized, to the point of withdrawal. That has a ripple effect which may cause us to confide in them less when we need their perspective, or their arm to hold while we find our way. That only adds to the weight, the loneliness and despair. 

If you love someone and you know that they are struggling, and doing the best they can, but you have no idea where they’re coming from, I imagine they would appreciate you taking their hand in yours, telling them that you’re there for them and asking what they need from you. Then be prepared for them to not be sure. None of this is personal. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard when I’m in the middle of a depressive swing that manifests as anger or frustration, for me to even recognize my own needs or behavior. Articulating myself during depression is very challenging, and my thoughts become overwhelmed by tears or confusion. It can be a burden for us, the depressed ones, to constantly teach other people how to deal with our mood disorders because our energy is so limited, but there is a very specific magic in being loved through it that builds a bridge to understanding for both sides. That is the common ground and gateway that can connect you to something you don’t personally experience. Also, there is endless availability for resources to help you if you know someone, but aren’t quite sure what to do next. 

Just as we would come together to learn about a physical illness the other one had, we can foster communication in our relationships, remove the stigma to engage in open conversations that invite uncomfortable feelings, creating safety and allowing honesty. 

If you’re at a point with your depression that you feel out of control, and you haven’t already, it’s time to seek professional help, knowing that it is just as vital for you as seeking a medical opinion for physical health issues. If your main frustration is that you feel like you are alone with this and you’re not sure where to put all these feelings, I want to offer you a place that is safe to say, I Am Not Okay. And I am whole. I am struggling. Yet I rise. I feel the shame. And I do not own it. I see the inner workings of all the pieces that create my existence, both cracked and pristine, and I embrace them. 

“She did not know if her gift came from the lord of light or of darkness, and now, finally finding that she didn’t care which, she was overcome with almost indescribable relief, as if a huge weight, long carried, had slipped from her shoulders.”  Stephen King

My evolution has brought me here. I know who I am, with fierce clarity and that every experience is woven into my soul. All things, including my passion and purpose flow from that sacred space. There is no good or bad to that, just things that I choose to grow through. I will continue to check myself for ways that will serve me to be a better person, especially when I have been mean or hurtful. And I will not apologize for the human condition that makes me exactly who I am.

I have been drowning for three weeks. Feeling dragged under a  current so powerful that I can’t catch my breath. Fighting my way to the surface just long enough to convince myself that I’m really okay…because if I know anything about me, it is that I am strong, I am a ‘get-er done’ kinda girl!! I can kick anything’s ass!! HA!! TAKE THAT!! But about halfway through week two, I found myself running out of things to take hold of, as this remained relentless. This pain, this bouncing between a constant autoimmune flare up, which causes a weakened immune system, still navigating recovery from hand surgery, feeling depressed and overwhelmed, then guilty for feeling overwhelmed when I know other people have it so much worse. And feeling like I know better than to let this get the best of me!! I have dealt with this for a really long time, since 2003, in fact, so I should have all the needed skills by now. But I haven’t had to do it to this degree, every single day without a break, and the energy it takes is incredible. 

I feel it as soon as my body starts to wake up in the morning, the weight of liquid lead moving through me, languid and hot, wrapping first around my neck and shoulders and then into my joints, muscles and through my limbs. The weight of it is enormous, making it a challenge to climb out of bed, to hold up my head. The nerve endings in my body feel like they have all turned inside out, even making my skin tender to the touch. The mundane necessities of living become chores I must do with intention, like walking, which feels like carrying quicksand over the tops of my feet, where neuropathy thrives and bones often feel fragile and as though they will shatter when they hit the floor. Going up and down the stairs requires holding not even as much as a cup of coffee, only the handrails on both sides, sometimes leaning over and using the actual steps to help get me to the top. The idea of wrapping my hand around the refrigerator door handle to pull it open, and the pain that will ensue in my swollen hands, is something I have to prepare myself for every time. Lowering myself to get in my car or, TMI, even onto the toilet, is often excruciating because of the sluggishness in my glutes and thighs. I’m not sure why it settles more deeply in certain areas and lies listlessly in the rest, but once it’s here, it never let’s me forget it’s my annoying constant companion, like a devil on my shoulder, but not as much fun. While all of this is happening it signals my body as a threat and everything implodes. Daily pain and side effects that I routinely live with get ramped up, and recovery from anything becomes more complex, like the common cold I am also currently fighting. Due to my connective tissue disorder, my insides collapsed in 2014, requiring reconstruction with mesh, and any remaining issues with that also have become agitated. Between the pain, the shrill headaches, the unexplained tremors, the fierce severity of it all, it’s been taking its toll. Throw into the mix a healthy case of pandemic loneliness, some upheaval with a few personal relationships, and I find myself feeling emotionally and physically vulnerable.

I don’t deal with life by way of denial, except for those times I really need it, and I just kept thinking, this will pass. It always does. Until it didn’t. I kept waking up feeling like shit, not just sometimes like it was before, but every day, exhausted, hurting and having to plan around it, not sure how I would progress. An amazing beach trip and a social distanced birthday celebration helped lift my spirits, but did little to relieve this mass denseness I’m carrying. Sleep has eluded me, and recently, new unexplained symptoms are rearing their ugly head, leaving me to feel helpless. Scared. Hopeless. I have had no energy for anything but this, yet, strangely, like burning embers inside of me, something was whispering to me that I needed to speak up and write about it. I needed to give life and acknowledgement to someone else’s pain. I was at a loss as to how I would organize my foggy thoughts and most afraid that if I gave it a voice, if I shared this, it would consume me. That I would be swallowed whole in this excruciating vortex of ugliness, weakness and inexplicable, constant heaviness. 

For those of us who deal with any kind of chronic illness there are times when we wonder if our last good day was the last good day we will ever have. And if this is the most we have to look forward to, we wonder how we will ever do it. We’re beyond depleted. I never say why me, but I have questioned if my resilience will outlast the uncertainty of what this disease will bring, like flaming batons constantly being thrown at my body, that I have to catch so I don’t ignite and burn to dust. The sensations moving through me are so visceral that oftentimes I feel my life expectancy is being stripped away from me a little at a time.

This isn’t unbearable. I bear it. It’s just the most difficult thing I do in my life and it takes up more space in my head and time in my life than any other thing. 

And I know, this sounds bad. Depressing. It is. But stay with me, I have a point here, because this has been a catalyst for me…

More than anything else, this illness, layered with its insidious effects, has taught me to listen. It has gifted me with the knowledge that my entire being is equipped to tell me everything I need to know. I am a firm believer in surrender, but in this one area that has been very difficult for me. I’ve been resistant to the limitations that have asked me to slow down, accept help and the idea of progressively getting worse, perhaps dying. I don’t want to be the sick girl. I want to be the strong, empowered, self-reliant, independent woman that I know I am. But in order to connect with that part of myself I must be willing to accept every aspect of what makes me who I am. I continue learning to relinquish control and reach inward, connecting to not only what is living in my body, but to my intuition, my emotional responses, and mostly to my pain, not as an invader, but as an ally I can draw closer and glean knowledge from. Ironically, my limitations feed my strength, and as those pieces of me work together, we create a sense of understanding, build and nurture a relationship of trust so I can navigate the very tricky business of knowing when to push myself and when to rest, when to do things that are difficult and when to step back and let someone assist me. Over the years this has been a tightrope of finding balance between powering through and knowing when enough is enough. I often feel like I have no choice but to stay there, walking from end to end and back, moving with grace, determination, and steadiness as I embrace this offering placed before me. If I stumble there is no net to catch me, other than my own belief in what I know I can do. I think perhaps in life that is all any of us have. We take leaps without a net, we fall many times to eventually learn that we are the reason we get back up again and again. To find ourselves soaring. Thriving. Being okay in a world that is not okay. Or in a body that is not okay. 

Like usual, with this flare up, I kept plowing through, but I told no one, not really, about what else was going on, how this has upended me, sent me into an identity crisis that is confusing me. Making me doubt the very essence of who I am, sucking the life from my motivation and usual ‘go get it’ attitude. It is ruthless, daunting, unforgiving and has been so completely foreign in its constancy that I really didn’t know what to do. It has made me withdraw, feel like I have little to offer, become afraid to reach out and even be a bit mean at times. I was empty. We’d go out and I’d feel uneasy or unsure of myself. I’d find it difficult to make conversation and I’d be very aware of my perceived inequities, like my recently amputated finger. It was as though the illness became me, this second skin and all my demons reveled in the darkness there. That’s not like me at all. Anyone who knows me knows that I am very confident and comfortable with who I am. I’ve done the work. With time and listening I recognized this emotion as shame and that is something I have been intimate friends with and continue to work on because I refuse to claim it as my own when it is not.

It also helped me recognize how much we need to talk about this.

From the feedback I have received over the years, I believe society needs awareness and conversations that encourage true understanding and a safe space to express our fears, experiences and especially victories, making this part of the norm and not something to be hidden in the shadows. As you can tell there are many layers to chronic illness, not just the disease itself.

We are far deeper and more complex than one thing that is happening to us. We are a beautiful combination of all the light and the dark, the limitations and the power, the circumstances that chip away at our identity, and those battles that reveal us as warriors! We are able to harness the energy from everything that is given us and wear it proudly, not just as survivors but as people who thrive in a world with color, life and magic! I Am The Sick Girl. I am also the social butterfly. The dancing queen and the woman who cannot bear weight on her feet. The woman who loves and lives with passion, and the woman who has shattered and rebuilt herself. The girl who gets giddy about simple things. The woman who believes deeply in love and romance. I am both girl and woman, sensitive and frightened, compassionate and struggling, joyful and depressed, broken and kind. I am light, magic and beauty, because that is how I choose to see the world. Mostly I am grateful. For every experience, every emotion, every fiber of life that is woven through my soul to make me who I am. 

This has taken me weeks to talk about, and finally, finally I am turning a corner, and the words just came. And with everything in me I am here to tell anyone out there who is struggling that I see you. I hear you. You are whole, even under the weight of your despondency. It is in the sharing that we see our collective humanity, as we shine a light on our humanness, suffering and our frailties. There are fewer things more empowering in this world than bringing our perceived brokenness to the forefront not to say I am bad, I am shamed or I am damaged, but to say, I Am Here, vulnerable, uncertain and scared, in the abyss of my own suffering, and I recognize you, out there, doing the same. My vow to you is this…

You are not and will never be alone in this world as long as I have a voice.

I have walked the corridors of shame my entire life. My circumstances had taught me to be very comfortable with being the one cast aside, the girl whose nose was pressed against the glass, watching all the cool and popular people gather in groups that I would never be welcomed into. With anxious breath fogging my view, I observed them, the shiny, confident chosen ones, certain that they possessed something I didn’t have, some sort of magical, inherent hierarchy that for whatever reason I missed out on. Intuitively, and with my whole being I knew that the home and family in which I lived was not normal, and just as certainly, I didn’t know what normal looked like. I just knew it was a thing. A thing that meant light and beauty and laughter. A thing my friend had that made her mother smiling and kind. A blinding contrast to my life, that was filtered through a lens of intermittent joy, darkness, comfort and pain, both insidious and unimaginable, yet as familiar as my favorite ragdoll. Something in me burned to be on the other side of that glass, to know what it felt like to be included, to belong, completely and totally myself. Whoever that was.

I spent years doing persistent, gut wrenching, soul searching work to uncover the truth of who I really was, years of reading other people’s words and hearing other people’s voices before I could find my own. Mine was buried. Buried beneath the rubble of a city burning down, a city that enrobed a life that should have guided me, but was never fully lived. All because the cycle of abuse had never been broken, and my stunningly beautiful mother would bear the brunt of that and pass it on to me. You cannot raise a healthy child if you are nearly shattered and splintering at the seams yourself. You cannot instill in a child the worth that they deserve if you do not first see it in your core. And ultimately you cannot do anything else but punish a child for their strength when you see yourself as weak and unable to survive in the life you’ve been given, a picture perfect, white picket fence fairytale you were expected to live even though you were never up to the task. My mother didn’t know what to do with any of the emptiness that plagued her or the weight of responsibility that slowly crushed her. A Leave It To Beaver society and the trappings of religion created no room for her mental illness, her alcoholism, the shadows of a father’s wrath, the heartbreak of being abandoned by a cheating husband and the residual effects of living a domestic lie, raising 5 children, mostly alone and uneducated. When life gives you sensuality and abuse brainwashes to believe it is your only value, it is what you use when all else fails. And she did. It is where you tell yourself you feel most loved, even as the revolving door of men strips away your confidence, your dignity, and ultimately, your being. So when you turn to a liquor bottle and pills, you hide it behind yet another label of untruth called migraines. That was manageable, acceptable, that was something people understood. She could black out for days and never face the reality of her choices. Everything else bubbling beneath the surface, brutal, undaunted and painful in a way you didn’t know you could overcome, had to hide behind that label too. I know how lonely it is to live behind pretense and deception, to hide in the darkness of shame so no one will know the truth you’re drowning in. I think that was the most heartbreaking thing for me to realize, to watch my mother disappear into someone unrecognizable, never truly realizing her potential or living a life that belonged to her. As a family, my three sisters, one brother and I lived the story of the lie as expected. We pretended to be normal. We had chores, we sang together, we went to church and vacation Bible school and celebrated Christmas like it was the happiest, most sacred day on earth. We posed for traditional pictures in our Sunday best, happy, content, hiding behind a facade of big hair, toothy smiles, creased trousers, shiny shoes and matching dresses. But we lived in fear. In sadness. We lived waiting for the other shoe to drop, never truly safe. Always mistrusting. We faced each day, surviving, looking for our way out.

You’ll never have to wonder what shame looks like because you will recognize it by its darkness. It sulks in the corner, shrouded in layers of desperate lies, the lies that they created to make you responsible for their depravity. The falsehoods you have to spend a lifetime unlearning and unbelieving. My sexual, emotional and physical abuse would find its way into every decision I made, every relationship I encountered, every narrative I would tell myself for years. But I was always the strong one and there was a flame burning in me, a fire that smouldered quietly beneath the bitterness and pain. I was not about to let any of those people steal who I was or take my god given gifts of trust, sexuality, or wholeness. I would fight like hell to make my way back, to step out of the shadows of shame that never belonged to me. 

It took me a long time to realize what I was feeling, that the fire in me was my actual authentic self, my voice and essence. The person I was before the joy robbers told me who to be. Before the labels. Before the expectations. Before the darkness. But there is a Knowing deep inside, a voice that consistently whispers until you find your way home to it. I was always in there. I just didn’t know where ‘there’ was.

My mother died 9 days before my 20th birthday. She was only 47. It was a standard ulcer operation that caused an infection. But I believe mostly it was apathy. My mother was tired, she had nothing left in the world, did not like who she had become and had nothing more of herself to give. I think she needed to rest. I’m glad she is.

I’ve come to terms fully with the way I grew up and the fact that those of us surviving in my family never or rarely speak. I’ve done my work and we’ve all made choices, and while it is sad, it is understandable and something they have chosen as a way to cope with those emotions they can’t face. I have, with intention and purpose, created a life of light, color and complete authenticity. It began as a journey I made for myself, then for my children. I knew if I was ever going to break the chain of the violence and fear I lived with, I would have to do the hardest work of my life and face every bit of it fiercely and without hesitation. Many people don’t do it because it’s brutal and it’s not something you do once. It’s a lifetime of growing, evolving, being open to change. Now, with gratitude and without anger, I am blessed with beautiful children, loving friends and a life I look forward to everyday. I spent so much of my existence feeling like I didn’t matter, like my feelings weren’t allowed, and my voice wasn’t welcome. My difficulties have made me kind, aware, and inclusive. I have, for as long as I can remember, wanted to make others feel like they matter, because it was not so long ago that I was that girl with my nose against the glass, hiding in darkness of shame. 

I will do anything in my power to prevent another person from feeling like that. Life should be experienced in the light! That is the power and moral of my story.