Coping

Reclaiming Me

8 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / /

A strange queasiness in the pit of my stomach swelled to a lump rising in my throat, followed by tears, hot and salty against my cheeks. I told myself I was ready, but there are some things you can only be ready for by experiencing them. The loss was not only tangible, it was visceral. I had to look, to see it, to own it. This wasn’t a finger I recognized, the one I had spent my whole life with, used to hold a pen and write letters with. No, this stubby little half finger was disarming at first glance, shockingly so. And to me, ugly and unfamiliar. 

I hadn’t expected to see the results of my surgery and amputation for two weeks, but my bandages came loose on the third day, causing friction between the two surgical sites and it had to be rewrapped. I knew I needed to make a decision as to whether or not I would look at it. Yet. But the way I navigate a challenge given me is to face it head on, no matter how difficult or fierce. When the lab tech peeled the last bit of gauze from my wounds, it took my breath away and I requested a few moments to lean into the weight of the emotions that came over me. My friend held my hand as I cried. I was grateful that the excruciating pain from the metal was gone, after an exhaustive, difficult year. And I was heartbroken that it had come to this.  

That same day my boyfriend’s daughter was hospitalized for a gunshot wound and my roommate, who is going through cancer, was dealing with some very difficult symptoms. Instinctively, I wanted to be there for them, to help ease their pain, while managing my own, and they wanted to do the same for me. These losses were personal, connecting us by our own humanity and wouldn’t be resolved quickly. 

That next two weeks went by, in a blurred, dizzying array of heaviness, lingering and deeply felt. As intellectually prepared as I knew I was for my surgery, I also anticipated that there would be many more feelings bubbling to the surface and, boy oh boy, was I right! I had no idea how to traverse having a finger amputated because I’ve never done it before. As with everything I’ve never done before I tried to start with what I knew, and that was listening to my body because every response it shares with me is there to help me find my way. Between the upheaval in my living space and continued chaos in the world I simply could not hear it. I realized that a lot of that was my own fragility, both emotionally and physically, but this was all so foreign, and I felt lost. None of my coping skills seemed to be working. Literally, part of every day found me crying, seemingly out of the blue, feeling confused and unequipped to deal with the ups and downs that were ravaging my body. I wanted to record my feelings as I clumsily made my way through this new experience, to talk about the spiraling thought process, share those real and raw moments of mourning, and not just for my own release but in the hopes that I might help another person. Sadly, I couldn’t find my way to writing and wasn’t ready to let our collective situation disconnect me, but I lacked the energy to do anything except let go. There was no respite from something I couldn’t identify. So it remained in our home, clouding our normal, affectionate existence, shrouding it with emotional pollution, smoggy and stifling. Eventually, I made the decision to just let all of it teach me, to not worry about figuring it out or changing it, but just to sit with it. 

To be okay with not being okay. This shit was hard.

I reminded myself that I could be present for these men I love and share a home with, but I wasn’t responsible for them, nor them for me. I owned what was mine and they owned what was theirs and we showered each other with grace and transparency, working together to create the most loving supportive environment we could muster. It was the permission we gave ourselves to navigate our experience the way we needed to, and it is how we healed.

Fast forward to now and I find myself in a better head space. I’ve acknowledged the gravity of all this, the fog is lifting, we are all reconnecting and coming to the other side of our own trauma. Time offers perspective. I got my stitches out on Friday and now I am in the process of conquering the mundane and the miraculous with my new fingers. Both need time to mend from the incisions, and the middle one still needs to be splinted while the bone holes heal from the metal plate and 7 screws. Of course, there’s pain and a great deal of fatigue, along with the readjustment. I don’t cry now every time I look at my finger. In fact, I am learning to be comfortable with how it looks and feels. I experience phantom pain everyday, so I wrap the little nubby in a blanket and squeeze the end that’s missing to remind my brain there’s nothing there. The sensation of an actual finger is currently drowned out by nerve damage. It’s wildly surreal, kind of indescribable. I see it, I touch it, I feel pain at the actual sight and the sight that’s gone. It is odd to feel the finger that isn’t there but not the one that is. So I let myself experience it all. Every time. And I breathe. I breathe in hope. 

The art of reclaiming myself during a deeply felt loss is seeking my complete, unconditional surrender. It requires something of me, which is to remain curious, grow toward understanding and become a loving partner with my body, as it works its magic to render me whole again. Respecting the value of  grief and loss has been an interesting road. Ultimately, this is about coming to terms with me, without condition or judgement, accepting every emotion I’m going through as equally important and valid, every weakness, every fear, every bit of strength, fortitude and resilience. Visualization has helped me imagine myself as malleable, everything flowing through me, no matter how uncomfortable, feeling like one finger has sympathy for the other and wants to restore it. In those moments when the pain is too intense, I lay my left hand over my l right and invite the energy to move freely through me. I know that my body is a majestic vessel with a powerful purpose, and with time and synergy, it will heal itself. I also know, humbly and without doubt, there is beauty in both the darkness and the light and this process of healing has been both for me. Eventually, I will gift this little half size digit of mine with an appropriate name and a badass tattoo, to honor the sacrifice that it made for my body, and represent the gratitude I feel for everything it’s meant to me over a lifetime. 

The truth that rises to the surface for me is that even when it’s hard to hear, everything we need is inside of us, a lesson I learn again and again. The power of our minds and how our bodies can adapt to change continues to amaze me. I was in a place emotionally that I’ve never been before, unable to find my center, yet here I am now, on the other side of it, expanding my ability to grow, my gratitude intact. Everything ebbs and flows, the joyful and the difficult. 

As I journeyed through the last two weeks, unsettled and uncertain, I came to know that this was never just about losing a partial finger, but about all those little losses I have felt over the years since I got this illness. All those things that chipped away at me, those things I thought were part of my identity, that I have since come to recognize as a lie. This was about practicing self-love on a profoundly meaningful level, finding my absolute worth at my core. I am now and will always be so much more than any one thing that is taken from me. 

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Gratitude & Surrender

25 Comments / Coping, Courage / /

I took a long, loving look at my body today. 

I’d been trying to find something to wear from my summer wardrobe and nothing fit. Like many people I’ve talked to recently, I have what I like to refer to as ‘pandemic’ weight. It’s a thing. That sounds better than saying I’m just too lazy or too tired and everything is just too much. I am acutely aware that I am carelessly eating brownies or rice pudding for comfort and pleasure and I own that choice. I also don’t like how it makes me feel or look and I’ll be having a talk with my disciplined self about that. Later. But as I hung the last dress in the closet, with utter disgust, I realized something else was happening and in that moment I was judging myself entirely on my weight. Entirely.  

I knew better. I’ve done this before. I was desperately in need of a deeper perspective.

As I turned around, I saw my reflection, in bra and panties, fully in the mirror. I stopped and really looked.

At everything. Every perceived flaw, every curve, every dimple of cellulite. I perused my body like a vintage book with dog eared corners and a worn binding, that tells a captivating story and has been deeply loved, and read again and again. I rested my hands against my silky skin and slowly followed the soft curves of my hips, closing my eyes and breathing in the emotions that flooded over me, and with that touch salty tears began to warm my cheeks. I felt the subtle heat of anger rise through me and realized that I had been uncharitable, punishing my body for betraying me, for letting me feel like I was lost at sea. 

For nearly a year I have struggled with excruciating pain from metal implants that were placed in two of my fingers, fraught with the promise of hope, strength and regaining the use of my hands. But my autoimmune illness had different plans and caused rejection of these foreign objects and now, after exhaustive, agonizing complications, and failed attempts to correct the situation, I am going back for my third surgery tomorrow. Definite, permanent, final.

They are removing my index finger. 

A finger that, from the beginning repeatedly blistered, ruptured, blistered again and eventually turned necrotic as it strived to heal. That resistance played out in a symphony of pain for the rest of my body with constant flare-ups and took every ounce of my energy to navigate through. I became acutely aware and in tune with everything that was happening to me. I listened intently because I knew my intuition would tell me what my body needed. Around December I remember experiencing this Knowing. A serene, calm and gentle truth from my core, that I would need to sacrifice this finger. So the whole of me could have respite.

While I found unexpected peace in that, there have also been waves of frustration and grief, and this raging, enormous sense of loss. Another loss. How the fuck did I get here and how was it possible that my hands would never look the same?!?! Never Why Me, but lots and lots of WTF’s! This was all made more difficult by the angst of maneuvering through these Covid-19 restrictions. The waiting was plodding and tenacious. 

I was speaking with a dear friend a few weeks ago who understands my journey with pain because we share that common ground. Especially now, with both of us facing new medical challenges and all the chaos in the world, he said that all we have at this point is “Gratitude and Surrender.” That was quite simply the most breathtakingly beautiful thing he could have uttered. The truth of that resonated to my soul and I knew with everything in me that those beliefs are what have sustained and carried me all these years, even in the face of unyielding pain and uncertainty. 

For me, this experience feels like being caught in the middle of an inhale and an exhale. I was holding my breath, living on the fringes of acceptance and mourning, and waiting. For answers, for clarity, for the doctors. All the while, unknowingly, laying blame on the body that wants more than anything to show up for me. But I can show myself grace now, for not knowing exactly how to navigate this kind of letting go.

I know the reality of this procedure will set in when I see it. I’m losing a part of my body. But I am as prepared as one can be for this. I am processing both the loss and the beauty of it all. 

My bestie back home affirmed me, saying, “And that, my brave friend, is how you’ve approached every loss in your life.” She’s right. That’s kind of my super power! And it made me cry.

So, with resolve and eyes of pure acceptance and unconditional love, I look again at this body of mine, that has sustained me, so many more times than it has betrayed me. I touch it with affection, look past the cellulite on my thighs and see legs that have allowed me to dance, to reach the peak of the Pyramid of Coba in Mexico, to stand and gaze at the beauty of a peaceful pre-dawn lake. Instead of seeing the extra pounds on my round, ample hips and belly, I see a safe shelter for growing my three beautiful daughters as babies in my womb, and feel the tender caress of my lover’s hand against my hip bone. Instead of seeing the jiggle in my arms, I remember all the hugs I have given and received over the years and the warmth of those embraces. My tears of anger turn to compassion as I remember all the freedom, joy and happiness that my beautiful body has let me experience, and losing a finger won’t alter that. I am reminded of the exquisite words that my friend whispered to me last night with tears in his eyes, that no physical loss will ever change who I am. Yes, there is abiding truth in that. And despite everything, I am vibrant, zestful, and surrounded by the most incredibly generous people on the planet. 

I have shared this news with just a few people in my circle, and, of course, telling my children was the most heart wrenching. But they are warriors too and they give me wings. Each friend has responded with encouragement and compassion, crying with me and encompassing me in profound reassurance. One even suggested one helluva Wake…Love that! And last night as we shared a toast with some kindred spirits, saying farewell and onto the next adventure, I felt that affirmation again, that I am much more than the sum of my parts, the size of my thighs or one index finger, and that as I lean into this lovely act of surrender, flowing with these changes in the tide, I am blessed with perspective and showered with unwavering love. 

I have everything in the world to be grateful for. 

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George Floyd, A Senseless Sacrifice

3 Comments / Coping / /

I grew up on the west coast, mostly in Idaho, safely tucked away in a white environment, where there was little diversity other than religion. We were all aware of the white supremacists up north and we viewed them with disdain. I had Latino friends, knew I wasn’t racist, and was exposed to some black history, those stories always making my heart ache and my eyes well with tears. But I never truly felt the heat of injustice toward others until I moved to NC. The travesties of prejudice are abhorrent and ever present. The only thing I can give my voice to in this moment is the despicable behavior of the people in this country. My country.

I sit on the edge of rage, heartbreak and deep love. 

We have witnessed a murder, for sport. Again. By a white police officer. 

George Floyd. 

A good and decent man who encouraged kids to avoid gun violence. Who was a gentle giant to the woman he dated. Who begged in agony for his mama as the last breath in his body was smothered out of him. 

We are a nation in shock. Wordless. Crying. Sickened. Disgusted. But as a free white female in an ‘equal’ America how much right do I have to speak of this? And yet, how can I not?? 

I will never have to know what it is like to walk through life in uncertainty and fear, always prepared for the worst, keeping my head down, never reaching into my pockets, knowing that there is no reality in which equality is true. Just because I’m white. Not black. 

Even as a woman who is part of the #Metoo movement I will never experience oppression in its rawest, most evil form.  

I have a dear friend who is my roommate and happens to be black. I love him and his tender beautiful heart to pieces. He said, “We find ourselves in the same place. Killed because of the color of our skin instead of treated by the content of our character.” He has had to have conversations with his son because he needs to be prepared. Conversations the rest of us will never experience. 

We can’t make sense of it. Understand it. Because it defies reason. It defies humanity itself. 

As riots continue, sweeping across the country with anger and frustration, manifesting in fires, looting and savagery, people keep saying that we need to begin with love because nothing good ever came from violence. How simplistic. While I can certainly agree with the sentiment that everything should come from a place of love, we cannot allow ourselves to be so naive, surrounded by platitudes that help us sleep at night, yet doing nothing to create change. We have ALL seen that it does not work for everyone. Those whose hearts are filled with hatred, those who choose ignorance and entitlement have no respect or regard for love and DO NOT RECOGNIZE IT. Historically, anyone making a stand for change has had to eventually resort to violence before anyone would sit up and take notice. It was Martin Luther King who said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” He recognized and “condemned the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society.” That was 1968. He was not a man who advocated violence, or hate. He was a man who came from pure love and made it his life’s mission to teach that to everyone, while pleading for equality. A right we should already share. He was murdered for it. 

Murdered. 

Like George Floyd. 

We can be heartbroken, we can cry a bucket of tears, we can say it’s all too hard to watch. But it will never even begin to add up to what these people, our black brothers and sisters, live with every waking and sleeping moment. I neither condone nor condemn violence or riots. I have no actual idea or cast any judgment on how people are responding to the way they feel right now. I can certainly support the black people that I know, and those they represent and I can look for ways to make a difference. But I can never begin to understand nor do I have the right to assume that I do. My privilege will always be white privilege. No matter what my heart is, it will never be enough to cure this cancerous growth of hatred and prejudice. Never. I can start there with the love in my heart, and the outrage, that can fuel me forward to contribute. 

Of course violence won’t eradicate racism, but neither will prosaic statements of love, prayers and thoughts or standing by and saying nothing. By our silence, we are not neutral, we are complicit. When people are marginalized and dehumanized again and again, while everyone around them is treated with dignity, simply for the color of their skin, we don’t get to pass judgement on how they defend themselves. If peace matters to us then we should add our voice, in peace, with theirs.

I personally know some good and decent police officers, and I’m sure they stand in fear right now. And sorrow. Maybe we all need to. Then step up! Because somewhere along the line, other members of their ‘Blue Boy’s Club’ have stood quietly by while entitled officers who are racist and capable of murder roam the streets with authority and a gun in their holster, arrogant enough to imagine that their white elitist mentality would go unpunished. As it has for decades. It’s wrong. And it’s not going anywhere, until we make it. 

I don’t have answers, and I’m at a loss as to what steps to take next. But you can make damn sure that I am compelled to find out. It will require much more than we are doing now to extinguish the injustice that is still poisoning our society. A society we have helped create. Change will only come when we acknowledge the fact that we have no idea what they’re going through, when we take the lead of those who have lost the most, and listen to them. 

There is so much in the world to be angry about right now, and the choices are dizzying. We are disillusioned, exhausted, disgusted. But we cannot be distracted by the loss of property or the fear. One truth remains and must be fought for. 

A father. A son. A friend. Murdered. Over $20. 

George Floyd.

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What’s In A Name?

6 Comments / Coping, Personal Growth / /

It was a long, winding road to find my blog title. Until one day it just clicked.

You can ask my kids, all of them, how I keep track of things. I scribble. On random pieces of paper. On the back side of a utility bill. On a napkin. Whatever I can find in the moment. Yes, I need an intervention. In life, I’m kinda, sorta organized, but in the land of paperwork I’m a train wreck. I’ve purchased scrapbooks, baby books, filing systems, notebooks that I labeled and designated for my writing. And I started. It was going pretty well. Then the whole thing went terribly awry. I’m not really sure what happened. But finally, at age 59, I’ve decided to embrace this flaw and these stacks of paper, as endearing, and just go with it. When I’m gone my daughter’s will each get their beautiful, partially finished scrapbook, and a shoe box filled with scribbles, a treasure trove of delight, from their first words to my innermost thoughts about life, what tried to break me and what made me fierce. Yeah, and probably a bunch of other stuff that means nothing at all. Hopefully, they’ll laugh, like they are right now, reading this. 

And there’s also this. I’m sick. With a plethora of autoimmune crap that pretty much gets on my last nerve and requires undaunted attention to my health, diet and well being, something I have not even begun to get really good at it, except when I am. It affects my muscles, joints, connective tissues, fingers, feet and anything else it wants. I have a love hate relationship with this illness of mine, have learned to become friends with the pain, let it teach and guide me, all at once wishing it would just go away already so I can get on with my life. 

A few years back, I had a really bad flare-up episode at the Blue Note Grill, in front of everybody who knew me, and where, for the first time many people I loved realized I had some health issues that resembled a drunk girl at a frat party and required a small army just to get me back to my seat from the dance floor. Scary shit! As difficult and humbling as that was, I felt compelled that evening to share some of my experience on Facebook. Let me just tell you that I was overwhelmed by the comments and the private messages filling my inbox from my very vulnerable expression of the heart . Suddenly I was an example of someone who goes out, vibrantly enjoys life, smiling widely without hesitation, while dealing openly with challenging circumstances. I realized then that this issue deserved a healthy, open conversation in all CAPS! Truth is, I struggled with how to do that. I’d been considering a blog for a while but didn’t know if I wanted to write about my disease, incite any negativity, give this a voice that’s bigger than me. I sure as shit didn’t want this to define me. 

But it is part of me, and it’s here to stay.

After my embarrassing public incident, and subsequent responses, it struck a chord in me when a dear friend said “This pain may be the yellow brick road to your purpose.” I finally realized that maybe, just maybe, that’s what this was all about. It’s speaking to me! Screaming, if you will, that I have a voice, a message, and that all those things I’ve scribbled in a journal when I’m at my wits end, may add up to something that you can relate to, so you feel less alone.

I have pain. Every. Single. Day. There are times when I am drowning in my affliction and I can’t see anything but that. It takes a great deal of intentional, sustained energy to keep moving through life during those endless days or weeks. I make plans around the way I’m feeling, pace myself, just so I can go out or even do something as basic as make dinner. Maybe you need to know what it’s like to be me. To go through a day like I go through. To muster the strength and energy just to get up. Not for pity, not for sympathy. But because, I am not the only ‘sick girl’, the only one facing fear and uncertainty. Sadly, SO MANY PEOPLE, go through life feeling defeated and deflated by chronic illness or other ailments, alone with this, ashamed of this. That’s not okay. I can do something. Honoring all of what I experience has allowed the revelation that I am so much more than what is happening to me. So is everyone out there who is struggling. With deep resonance for the brave people who have entrusted me with their stories, I will put my pride and shame aside, lay my soul bare and share my experience, my degree of discomfort and, here’s the good stuff, my victories! I have lots and lots of them! I will, through my own ups and downs, give you my insight on how I show up in a great big chaotic world when my world often feels so small. My mantra has become…

                            My body has pain, but my life has JOY!

So, here it is. What’s in a name? 

An invitation for you to embrace it all, to be okay with the way you feel. Permission to experience all your humanness, your fragility and fragmented self out in the light, not in the dark corners of shame. 

                                                      A Rebel Yell!!!

To live your life out loud without inhibitions or labels, self imposed or societal, that would dare hold you back! To remind you that this is your one and only freaking life, you are multidimensional, and can be empowered by all the broken and beautiful things at once!

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The Least I Can Do

8 Comments / Coping, Personal Growth / /

Disinfect all common areas, wash hands, disinfect, wash hands, don’t touch your face, disinfect, repeat. Mask and gloves as needed. Remind her to wash her hands. Again. 20 seconds feels like forever. Don’t touch your face. Gently remind her. Again. Keep at it. 20 seconds…

It’s just another day with my client. Cooking, cleaning, doing yard work, grocery shopping, driving her to appointments when things reopen. And because they haven’t yet, I do her nails and hair…until…

But most importantly, I am her companion. She seems to want more of my company lately, as though it cuts through the underlying fear of the pandemic. So I help her with a jigsaw puzzle that I completely lack skills for. We do number games, crosswords, watch movies and read. We talk about random things and spend a good deal of time laughing. 

She asks me questions now, with doubt in her eyes. “Do I need to worry?” “No,” I tell her. “We’ve got you.” And we do. Her combined group of caregivers includes me and three others. But I am also her friend, confidant, a constant in a stirring, chaotic world. Though in many ways she is sheltered from the magnitude of what is happening around her, she looks to me for reassurance. So I don’t have the luxury of anxiety or feeling panicked. Her well being is my responsibility, in as much as one can be responsible for that. My risks are her risks now, my energy will also be hers. I am accountable for what I project on her. If she sees uncertainty in my eyes then she will feel it too. 

In the most rudimentary, yet significant of ways, I am a bedrock for her. Her world has become small since her stroke, so when I am there, I am the one who creates and encourages the quality of life she will enjoy day to day.  

I find a balance between knowing what is necessary about our collective responsibilities and keeping her from the constant hateful backlash, economic losses and blatant ignorance that is spreading like wildfire. A sense of security and safety with the people that spend the most time with her, in a home that she’s used to living alone in, comes from our demeanor and the attitude with which we approach sheltering in place orders. We need to help her understand the situation, without overwhelming her or instilling any fear. I can’t let my personal feelings or concerns reflect in any way on how I do my job.

As I’ve pondered this, I am reminded again that every moment of every day I am choosing. I am deciding what thoughts I allow into my head about this global crisis and how it affects my mood. I am choosing how much space I’m willing to give to something negative, painful or difficult. It is solely my obligation as a human being to make sure that I’m living in my truth with as much integrity as I possibly can.

I don’t want to choose. I wish the government was handling things more effectively so there could at least be a partial win for everybody here. I would love to see businesses safely, slowly reopen, especially those mom and pop places that cannot endure this. I wish my daughters and their friends could get their jobs back but with a decent wage and an opportunity for healthcare. Wouldn’t it be lovely if children could go back to school and enjoy the camaraderie with their friends and beloved teachers who have been overworked and overtaxed through all of this, not to mention the parents? I’m acutely aware of the psychological and financial suffering that is happening around me and want it to come to an end. I would especially love to keep the most vulnerable of us safe, protected and valued, while moving forward to a kinder world. 

But those aren’t my choices. These are. To shelter, to socially distance, to avoid groups over 10 people, to wear a mask. Until there’s something better in place I have one job and it is to show up for my client with every precaution afforded me. The most effective way for me to do that is to check myself everyday. Am I doing what is best for the greater good, set in place by our Governor? Am I willing to put my personal needs aside for however long this takes, step into discomfort and live life without excess and petty wants, an act that many consider unfair and unconstitutional right now? Yes. A resounding yes! The fact is I am safe, warm and well-fed in a home surrounded by loving people who look out for me. I am making no real sacrifice by giving up dancing, dinners out, birthday parties, window shopping, days at the beach, roadtrippin’ or girl’s night at our favorite bar. I miss these things, especially my people, but am merely doing what is asked of me. So when I come to my job everyday and need to put my best foot forward for the sake of my client, it is not a matter of will I or won’t I. I just do. And if I can’t show up with full commitment to what the world is going through, and a spirit of generosity, I’d better step aside and take a long hard look at myself. 

As I’ve ridden the waves of emotions washing over me during all this, I’ve noticed some magic happening; that in doing this I have come face to face with my belief system. Sheltering in place, protecting myself for the sake of others, and doing every preventive thing possible to keep me and other people safe is merely the least I can do considering the goodness that I enjoy in this life. My freedom lies in the act of duty, my commission. Stepping back for a few months so medical professionals can tirelessly do their job. So scientists have time to get answers. So Mother Earth can speak her truth to us with the hope that we open our hearts and listen. I’m not afraid of losing my rights. I’m actually more worried what will happen if we don’t do this. It’s all we have for now.

And when I look in the beautiful face of a 76 years young woman with a hippie spirit and gorgeous silver hair, who trusts me and seeks comfort in my knowing, my complicity, my companionship, there is nothing else.

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Things I Love About This Pandemic

Leave a Comment / Coping, Personal Growth / /

There’s a lot of talk about the things we’ve missed during Sheltering in Place and the things we want to go back to. Advice is flowing on how to manage our emotions, navigate through our fear and allow ourselves permission to not be okay. People are dying in vast numbers globally, and we are left with the loss and grief of perfect strangers that suddenly have become very personal to us. There’s an uprising, conflict all around us about rights, priorities, healthcare, wages, and the basic infrastructure of an economy that screamed for our attention long before this pandemic struck. I personally have made mental lists for myself of the things that are most important to me, the activities I would gladly lay aside and the ones I want to return to. I’m also desperately aware of the pain and suffering, lives lost, moment by moment sacrifices draining our front line workers, financial losses and the permanent effects we will be suffering as we reopen. But as important as any of this is, something else can be gleaned from a time of crisis. In fact, it is almost an affront if we don’t take the time to acknowledge some of the purpose that can come from a devastation of this magnitude. It has been a gradual awakening for me, but this morning as my guy and I were talking, I was just suddenly flooded with gratitude and I could see so clearly all the small wonders that have lifted me up during this uncertain time. And it occurred to me that many of us have these things but maybe we haven’t made room for them amidst our fear. So, here goes….

Things I love about and am learning from this pandemic…

*I safely honor all my feelings for a world in pain and confusion but have the clarity to know where to put it. Through intention and practice I’ve been able to determine what emotions I want to spend my energy on and what I don’t.

*My guy and I still work, but our evenings are now more fluid and we find ourselves free to linger and get lost in the moment, enjoy long insightful conversations and say what we want with no schedule to interrupt us. Sheer bliss. 

*It’s been a real opportunity to know my roommate better. This sheltering started right after he moved in and although we’ve been friends for a while now, this has given us a new level of perspective. What a treat!

*It’s always 5:00 around here. No judgement drinking zone. For realzzzzzz

*I don’t live in fear. If I find myself veering into the chaos, I know how to get back to peace. I realize that my challenging life has prepared me for crisis and I’ve developed good coping skills, but this thing is so much bigger than me and it’s good to really KNOW this about myself.

*My natural instinct is to be a helper, to do the right thing for the greater good. Even when I’m hurting or afraid. I wondered if I had lost some of that during the difficult years of managing my illness, but here it is. This pandemic reveals us. 

*I found my rhythm with my writing. I struggled for years, kicking myself for not just publishing my blog already, but the timing of this was perfect. Something I should have trusted all along.

*I love the phrase Sheltering at Home. It sounds to me like the most warm, inviting experience one could ask for. I have created a home that I find comfort and solitude in, and I have certainly come to appreciate it more than ever during this time.

*I have rich and fulfilling relationships with beautiful people that I look forward to reconnecting with, slowly and safely as we are allowed. Their presence in my life has helped me navigate the ache of missing our face-to-face time. There is peace in knowing we have a circle, a trusted kinship. 

*I am in and grateful for emotionally safe relationships. I no longer live with any uncertainty for my well-being either physically or mentally. Nothing brings dysfunction to light faster than being isolated with someone who is not good for you.

*My hair has very pretty natural curls which have thrived with no color and very little heat as it has grown its way through this downtime. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going back to my colorist, but this has been kind of fun to discover. 

*I have seen some incredibly generous, heartfelt, sacrificial acts of kindness through this. I have been the recipient of some. Humility, love, abundance of the spirit. It is alive and well. My faith in humankind is solidly grounded in that. 

*I love the hush that fell over the universe for that first little while as we began sheltering, isolating and quarantining. This great pause that has filled us with doubt, panic and changed the very fabric of the way we live our lives is also the very thing that will shape us going forward. 

I hope you find moments that bring to mind some things you’re grateful for, a few lessons you’ve learned that you’d like to take with you, and that you recognize some character traits you’ve developed that you want to keep. Because if you’re still hangin’ in there, you’re pretty badass! Mostly, I hope you have moments of peace. 

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Something To Cling To

Leave a Comment / Coping, Personal Growth / /

A mirage in the desert, the optical phenomenon we move toward, parched, exhausted, awaiting the pure water that will quench our thirst. Our desperate need against the threat of giving up, a light filled glimmer of salvation from the burning challenges of an uncertain life. 

Hope

That is what it feels like to me. I don’t know if it was my religious upbringing that first instilled it in my heart, but hope has never been elusive to me. Throughout every difficulty and challenge I have faced in my life I have been able to dig deep and find that reservoir of hope to cling to, with clenched fists and courage, using it as a map to an inner strength I didn’t know existed.

Even during a childhood that often left me feeling alone, shrouded in shame and emptiness, there was always something compelling me forward, something telling me that I could do this. When I was around 12 years old a particularly vile and depraved act of abuse left me feeling as if I could not hang on or live in my home for one more second, but I had nowhere to go. I felt as though my soul had been torn from me and I simply had no will or resilience to light my way. I considered ending it all, but I couldn’t leave my younger sisters behind, and in my core, there was a knowing that something better was in store for me. I just couldn’t find it. So, through hot tears and desperation, I prayed to a God I didn’t understand and begged for mercy, for some kind of respite from the indignities and pain. And in that moment I was gifted with an experience that would forever change me. All at once, I felt as though I was being lifted, carried in the palm of a gentle, loving hand floating on a soft pillow of glorious peace and safety. My body was light, almost airy and somewhat ethereal. It felt like a dream but it was happening. A voice, as soft and certain as anyone I had ever spoken to, reassured me I was not alone and that I indeed possessed the necessary strength to endure whatever I needed. That moment was the very essence of hope for me.

Hope has long been identified with God and religion, because it involves a belief in things we desire, following our faith, an expectation of something not seen, from somewhere bigger than ourselves. But through the years, as I have evolved beyond those traditional religious narratives to a more grounding sense of spiritual oneness with the Universe, this experience remains a part of me, manifesting as an inner strength and a force field of positive energy that I was created with. My Higher Power no longer looks like the God I grew up with but remains a stalwart pillar of life-giving light, offering me the ability to find hope that never truly leaves me, holding fast to the universal truth that I am whole and everything I need is inside of me. As much as my resilience, my bravery, or my resolve, I own hope. It belongs to me. And I can say that without any doubt because I have always been okay at the end of whatever life challenge I am given. Always. 

And now, as our world spins in a polarizing rhetoric of fear, panic and uncertainty, hope is needed more than any other single thing. I hear it everywhere, the whisperings of despair, despondency, demoralization of spirit. We have forgotten that we can have peace from the hope that lives inside of us but often lies buried by the circumstances we succumb to. It is always within our personal power to change the way we view anything and tap into our higher self. But how do we access that innate gift within us, that solid foundation of belief that overrides our all encompassing fear?

I’ve come to believe that hope is grounded in purpose. 

I cry for our country. So often. More than fear for the virus itself I feel the soul of our nation and all we have stood for is slowly dying. My heartbreak has nowhere to go. I am an empath and I feel the profound weight of the emotional distress that I see around us. It would be so easy for me to get lost in the current state of affairs, to fear for my rights as a citizen, become obsessed about how to help everyone while still keeping the most vulnerable of us safe. But the truth is I can only control my little corner of the world. It is my responsibility and purpose to mentally release anything that I cannot contribute to and focus on how I show up moment by moment to every part of my life. So I start with what I know. I channel that flood of emotions to fuel kindness and diplomacy. To do better for the greater good, to show more humanity through understanding, be more present, offer unlimited compassion for the suffering and lonely. Yes, I fear we have gone too far as a society to ever heal from the growing seeds of hatred, so I must be and do exactly the opposite of that, and I refuse to be distracted by the confusion that would keep me from that purpose.

But let me tell you it’s hard. Like any muscle memory it takes practice to lean into hope. It takes practice to pay attention to all of our feelings and release those things that we truly cannot change. It takes practice and mindfulness to feel the pain of others and have the clarity to know where our truth lies, keeping it alive while still navigating through the discord.  

It is ultimately our truth-telling that becomes our purpose. And in that we find that hope is not unreachable, but right where it has been all along, in the deep recesses of our soul waiting to offer us the tranquility we deserve.  

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Coming Up For Air

7 Comments / Coping / /

In August of 2013, I screwed up pretty bad at work. It was weeks after my 2nd divorce. I dropped the ball with some important clients that affected my team and our profit margin, so my boss took me aside for a talk. I knew what was coming. I was sure he would fire me, I deserved it and was prepared. I was overwhelmed by the weight of the loss, my new dysfunctional living arrangements, concern for my daughter, the grief from my recent broken marriage and what I thought was my broken life. All the pain came pouring out of me as I sat face to face with him, explaining my embarrassment, owning my actions and apologizing for my mistakes. Truth is I needed that job, but I didn’t know if I could do better. I was depleted. Part of me was ready to just let go of any responsibilities and pull the covers over my head. I came undone in front of my boss, someone who had mentored and guided me and never should have had to hear my personal dilemma or see my tears. I didn’t just tear up either, I ugly cried from the core of every crushing blow I had ever felt. It was a nervous breakdown. Yes, I knew at that moment I was done. But something extraordinary happened. 

This man showed me compassion when he could’ve shown me the door. 

He gave me the gift of time, a two week leave of absence, to heal emotionally. To grieve. And even though I knew he thought I probably wasn’t coming back, as did everyone on my team, he made me feel as though he had all the faith in the world in me. I needed that. Unbeknownst to anyone, I was fragile, falling, and shattered. I was as sick as I had ever been from my autoimmune disorder and the stress of my life was killing me, my insides were literally collapsing and coming out. Those two weeks felt sacred to me. I used them to lean into every feeling I was experiencing, to allow the ache of my sadness to wash over me, to search in the depths of my soul and reconnect with that part of myself that had been buried and suffocated.

I did come back with my skills and motivation intact, and began building working relationships with some amazing people, whom I cherish as friends to this day. When I ended up requiring surgery a few months later and had to take an extended leave, this company created a job for me to step back into, that adapted to my physical limitations. Because they believed in me. And that doesn’t come along everyday. 

I’m not fragile anymore, I’m certainly not shattered, and as I fell, I learned to fly. And it started with the grace of one man who took the time to hear me with his heart instead of the bottom line.

I still can’t talk about this experience without choking up because it is so deeply personal and relevant to who I am at this very moment, and I can”t help but see the parallels of that time in my life to this pandemic and its global effects. It was filled with chaos and uncertainty, urging me to show up in the world with clarity and intent, my integrity unfettered. It was a painful, sorrowful journey laced with beauty and goodness, that demanded self-awareness and growth from me. Now, more than ever, we have the ultimate opportunity to peel back the layers of our character, revealing our highest, best selves. While I search for ways to navigate through the current situation that is bending and twisting our world with hatred, anger and confusion, I keep in mind that one act of human kindness can change a person forever. That has been gifted to me so often, and it is only right that I offer the universe that in kind. 

Life continues to teach me, forge my resilience, leading me to softer responses, a kinder existence. Everyday I get to choose who I will be. I will show empathy even when I’m hurting, I will wear a mask and smile through my eyes to encourage others, I will not call the guy that pulled out in front of me an asshole, most importantly I will focus on gratitude so I can rise above the fear and move forward daily with purpose and hope for a more peaceful planet. Something we need so desperately.

And it begins with me.

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It’s Not Them, It’s This!

12 Comments / Coping / /

There are so many things I’m not saying. So many emotions I just try to process so I can get through this day. And the next one. And the next. They are unpredictable yet seem to want to hang around, coming and going as they please, like an obnoxious house guest. I talk a lot about being okay with not being okay and for the most part I am. I’m adaptable and very good at transition, comfortably navigating my way through whatever is going on with me, giving myself permission to feel it for a while, then releasing it so I can get on with the business of living. I’m not afraid to cry and that’s very helpful. But lately, like so many of us, I am feeling the wear and tear of our current situation. I share my home with two other people and I don’t like to put them in the position of being my human dumping ground while I figure out what the hell’s going on in my head so I can give it a voice. I also don’t want to walk around in a sullen mood every time it comes up. Being an extrovert and an empath I’m already the most vocal one in our cozy little trio, with plenty of emotion sprinkled around like confetti at a birthday party. I have to say they’re both great about it. They listen and hug me as often as needed. They don’t even roll their eyes at me, at least not to my face. Truthfully, it seems selfish to be feeling anything but grateful when for the most part we’re really okay right now. But it’s frustrating when I think I’ve given these responses a proper send off, then, surprise, here they come again! Anger, melancholy, disappointment. I’m just like, what the actual fuck?! 


                                                      

Coincidentally, I found myself feeling kind of edgy the other night. I don’t get edgy. And then I got quiet as thoughts ruminated through my head that sounded like they were coming from a stranger. I could almost hear the voices say out loud that if I have to look at my couch for one more second or fix one more dinner I’m going to scream…and…this…there are just too many people living in my house right now and I would like them to go away!! That would have been a rather unfortunate choice of words, especially since they’ve done nothing wrong, in fact they make my life easier. ‘They’ being my roommate and my boyfriend. Seriously, let me clarify that we have zero issues getting along, which I know is rare. We have, in fact, a very synergistic routine and level of honesty and trust that makes it easy to share our time and space together. I love these guys. I love chillin’ on the couch with them, sharing a home together and especially cooking with them. We’ve had an opportunity to really know each other through this, and that’s a gift I would never return. 

So obviously, it’s not them, it’s me. Not even me. It’s this! It’s this damn pandemic! I think it has released in me an almost unidentifiable surge of languishing loneliness. This is not the kind of loneliness you feel when you’re in a bad marriage, when you’re single and don’t want to be or when you just moved to a new place and don’t know anyone. No, this feels more like longing, an aching for things you don’t even know exist. 

This is hard to say and I’m certainly not proud of it, but I made a commitment to myself that I would not edit my feelings in these words I share. It would be unfair to everyone if I didn’t show all the facets of myself. When I am compelled to write I must do my truth-telling with integrity and no ego. I am sooooooo human.

 I offer this to you so you’ll understand and know that you’re not the only one. Because you’re not the only one. I think it’s the most natural thing in the world that this global unsteadiness is making people ancy. Emotions are bubbling to the surface right now that feel foreign. Because they are. And I think any of us can be challenged whether we are living alone in this or whether we are isolating with other people. Every circumstance is unique and worthy of validation for whatever it reveals in us. The daily shifts we are seeing and the constant underlying level of stress can leave us feeling overextended and depleted, creating overly sensitive responses and unfamiliar behavior. Personally I am exhausted, the kind of exhaustion rest doesn’t cure. I strive to be very mindful of that and how it affects the way I show up in the world. But it’s difficult. 

While talking with a friend on the phone who lives alone, she told me that what she misses the most is belly laughing with her best friend. She can wait patiently for things to reopen, to go dancing and enjoy live music again but she is craving that connection of laughter, with someone who knows her. Her insight was so profound to me, it actually took my breath away. I realized that it is the core feeling most of us are experiencing. And that’s not just a pandemic thing. That’s a life thing. This virus has shed light on what really matters. There is something intrinsically deeper than just going out that we are longing for, missing, while sheltering in place. There is a sense of belonging when we are out in the world, when we are engaging with those closest to us, a reminder of the golden thread of humanity that binds us all together and makes us more the same than we are different. Our social activities and circles of people are not merely shallow experiences of gathering, drinking, laughing, dancing and revelry. No, they represent considerably more than they appear on the surface. These interactions that feed us and nurture our soul are often reflections of our best selves, that connect us on a higher ground, a place where compassion and understanding are nurtured and have room to grow. We become better when we are surrounded with like-minded people. 

I know that I’m saddened by the current lack of civility and mindfulness that some people have toward one another. It is a heartbreaking realization that maybe we have come too far to ever find our way back to a collective kindness. In addition, my pain levels are extremely high lately, a result of my complicated autoimmune issues, making my daily routine often grueling. While I love my home and my people here, and truly feel blessed by the ease they offer me, I have no outlet for this. No warm, inviting circle of friends that remind me of the beauty in the world, no opportunity to dance that will release this relentless discomfort in my body, and no energy from others that would ease the pressure inside of me. Those things lend themselves to my current state of mind. Although I am a very positive person, I’m also deeply affected by the weight of this. 

So yeah, I think for a while we’re going to experience the ups and downs of doing the right thing by sheltering in place, as others fight against it in negative harmful ways that creep into our subconscious. Yes, we can absolutely expect that it will not always be easy. The right things seldom are. In fact they can be really fucking hard. 

But since we’re feeling what we’re feeling and we’re in this, like it or not, the big monumental takeaway here is, go ahead, let the emotional strangers in, just don’t act on them. Honor them, take your time with them and yes, speak your truth out loud to someone. 

Just maybe not the awesome partner and roomie sitting next to you at the time who would be totally blindsided by your crazy. Which reminds me, I need to go give these guys a heads up before they read this…….

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The Great Pause

7 Comments / Coping / /

My elderly client needed something, so I braced myself to go to the grocery store. It’s my job to take care of her needs. I don’t think I realized that my breathing was shallow and I was holding tension against my body as comfortably as an old sweater.

                      Oh, this pandemic. It reveals us. 

It is such a strange, unprecedented time in the world where even a simple trip for necessities can feel like a death wish. The energy is often thick with emotions. People are wearing masks, like some kind of new alien normal. It’s what is required of us. The social connection we once experienced so easily by smiling at one another has been replaced with this shadow of shame and we often avert our gaze, as if making eye contact may expose us to the fear and panic, or at very worst, the virus itself. On those rare times when my eyes meet someone else’s I’ve seen occasional sparkling, hopeful smiles but more often there are rivers of sadness, ripples of strained compassion, confusion, grief and this knowing that none of us are immune to what is happening. For many of us our minds start ruminating the minute we get into the parking lot. We have become acutely aware of where our hands are, how we are moving about and what other people are doing, touching and their proximity to us. People are considerate, thoughtful, patient. They are also mean, short tempered, selfish. There’s so much room for judgement, a silent simmering condemnation that is wrapped around the fear of contracting or carrying this virus. Our sense of comfort in the things we used to know and took for granted is all but vanished. We’re surrounded by scarcity, mourning the loss of the things that we love and things yet to come that we cannot begin to imagine.

There is no way we can escape the underlying stress that comes with living like this. Personally, it leaves me reeling, emotionally off balance, yet somehow deeply humbled and serenely grateful. I have moments of pure clarity and contentment, and so many WTF moments. 

I will tell you that I think the world was in need of a reset. A cold, hard slap in the face to rethink the way we’ve allowed ourselves to live. To ask ourselves if we like who we’re becoming. The hateful rhetoric, the greed, the me-me-me mentality and the need for instant gratification has all turned into something so ugly. We have been depleted, exhausted. If this virus is a solution or opportunity, I don’t like the way it feels but it’s here and it’s happening. I have great respect for that. Attention must be paid.

Before I share anything more, let me be very clear that I am painfully aware of the increases in suicide, depression and domestic violence since this sheltering in place began. This is not a good situation, a reality check or an open door for them to contemplate on anything but survival. They’re suffering, agonizing. My children and many friends have been affected and lost their jobs and have not been able to get the money promised them. I know people are living without basics and feeling pressure that is beyond reason because they don’t know what’s next. Those types of stressors actually create a physiological shift in our biological makeup, changing who we are. Also, I have read many things in the papers and on Facebook about taking this as a juncture to get to know ourselves or reevaluate. And those platitudes are wonderful for some but also deeply insensitive for people who are wrestling with anger, frustration, financial concerns and the absolute palpable fracture that is taking place in our country. These foriegn feelings don’t align and are a betrayal for a good person just trying to do the right thing. Even with positive self-talk and relying on their instincts and resilience some of the best people I know are struggling and hate everything about this isolation. More than the virus itself they fear becoming an angry, negative person. Every time somebody suggests how to make it better they just want to tell them to fuck off. 

                                                That’s human and valid. It’s all valid.

So please know those are not the people I’m talking about here. I’m not here telling anybody what would work for them. I am offering insight from my own experiences and what they’ve taught me, because I needed a way to cope so I can function everyday.  I know how fortunate I am to be able to spend time contemplating. 

I believe that practicing intention and mindfulness over the past few years has given me tools for how to stay centered. I also believe that my illness and life of trauma has prepared me for something like this. It has been necessary for me to learn to slow down and listen. Consequently, I don’t panic or spend too much time worrying, I stay curious, open. I feel like I was born for transition and change, a gift in many ways. Nothing in this world is as consistent as change. I wrote earlier about my emotional fragility and that’s a very real, unpredictable issue for me. Allowing myself the time to sit and quiet the chatter in my head so I can hear what my feelings are trying to tell me is the most cleansing thing I do for myself. Where is my sadness coming from, what am I really missing and if we never go back to the ‘normal’ we’ve known, what would I want in its place?

Granted, it takes me a while to wrap my head around it and I’m kind of a train wreck in between but eventually I get there. 

I believe that we can be both mindful and fearful. Fear just informs us. It doesn’t decide for us. These extreme fluctuations we’re experiencing can teach us something we can come back to later. I know so many of us are just hanging on by a thread right now, feeling ugly inside, overly sensitive, lost. It’s okay to lean into the emotions we’re having right now whether it’s anger, frustration or just an urge to give up for a while. We’re not going to unpack and live there. We’re going to kick back in our emotional easy chair and just let the feelings run through our body. Notice them. No judgement. We’ll find our way to the necessary decisions we need to make. Seriously, we don’t need the additional burden of worrying about that. Just do the best we can at this moment. 

From my conversations I have come to believe that before this pandemic hit we were all doing some things in our lives that needed changing. Maybe we were living above our financial means or mismanaging our money. Maybe we were spending too much time seeking distractions because we didn’t want to face the truth of our lives. Maybe we were missing something in our soul we never allowed ourselves to have. Maybe we were saying yes to shit we didn’t really want to do. Maybe we knew our minds and bodies needed a break but we never gave ourselves permission to stop and figure out what that looks like. Maybe, just maybe, this is helping us realize that we want to be more prepared for uncertainty, both emotionally and financially. Maybe now we can take an honest, introspective inventory of what matters. When the world reopens it will be slowly, deliberately, and we always have the choice of how quickly we want to jump back into things. There’s beauty in taking a break…

In pausing so we can listen. 

I’m deeply touched by and grateful for all the helpers I see out there right now. Literally hundreds of people are coming forward to do their part and that inspires me to be a part of it. It keeps me grounded in hope. And also now, from the stress of being compelled to comply, there’s this sense of urgency from certain people that just want things to go back to normal. I can relate to that too. But I don’t really believe there is such a thing. Our normal wasn’t healthy. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to go back to any of that. I’m not interested in picking up where we left off. 

I believe we can and must do better and that we possess the heart and soul to make that happen. 

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