Personal Growth

Losing Little Pieces of Me

12 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / By / August 5, 2021

I could see his lips moving, yet only heard noisy confusion swirling in a stunning blur of jumbled medical jargon. Progressive. Connective tissue disorder. Whole body pain and discomfort. Rheumatoid and erosive osteoarthritis. Thickening and tightening of skin and esophagus. Eventually, perhaps, your organs. Fatal. 

His words hung in the air like the Grim Reaper. I was a 42 year old single mother, given this diagnosis by a callous, arrogant specialist. Scleroderma, CREST and fibromyalgia. I cried. He called me emotional. In that moment that was pulling me through time in agonizing slow motion, my three daughters were my only concern, and how all we had was each other. I was their stability and I didn’t know how to be the sick person, the one who had to scale back, ask them for help. I didn’t know how to show up for me and for them. So I had to learn. And on this arduous road to health I’ve discovered just how relentless, unpredictable and erratic this chronic illness that I wear like a second skin, really is. What he didn’t tell me was that I would also lose my teeth, my eyelashes would fall out, I would suffer tremors and body weakness, I would have debilitating choking episodes, my feet would become extremely painful to walk on, normal wounds wouldn’t heal and my insides would collapse. 

And, of course, I was completely unprepared for how this would affect my identity and self-esteem. Intellectually I know that I am so much more than what’s happening to me and that  like anything in life, the way I respond to this helps create my reality. Yet every new symptom became a battle I had to fight so I wouldn’t be swallowed whole by it. People say not to let this define you and that when you lose something you’re still the same person, but no, you’re not the same person. You are still complete but you are not the same person. Every single loss chips away at you until you replace it with something else. 

Over the last month I’ve become more symptomatic and my high level pain days have been more frequent. Things that were difficult are becoming impossible, which triggered my fall down a rabbit hole. Of fear. Of what ifs. Like, what if my pain outlasts my resilience? What if I already had my last best day? I didn’t used to be so aware of how tired this makes me, how fragile I feel, like my nerves are inside out. For the first time I felt really scared. I’ve dealt with this for years and I know what to do. Most of the time. But all of a sudden I just didn’t know how anymore.

Then my friends showed up. In a million different ways with outstretched arms and generous hearts. Each, with their own brand of magic, took turns lifting me up and providing a safe place for me to come undone. To remind me of the person I am despite this disease, and maybe even because of it. I felt myself exhale and breathe again. There are few things more humbling in this world than allowing ourselves to receive the help of others when we are vulnerable and in need. Even more than the pain that has been the biggest hurdle, and perhaps it has also been the most profound gift. It has cracked me wide open.

I wasn’t always able to accept help because I was wracked with guilt for feeling weak. Inadequate. Broken. Then I found purpose as I began to share my experience and pain. People began entrusting me with their stories of ongoing exhaustion, a sense of isolation, loss of identity and overwhelming need for inclusion. I realized that there’s a common denominator for those of us who deal with invasive disorders and it’s the dark insidious shame we carry that often goes misunderstood. I knew then that I had to write about it. That I couldn’t hide behind my own challenges without giving it a voice. Not for pity or sympathy but for awareness. Together we can help change the narrative and destigmatize chronic illness. We can help people release their shame and embarrassment about going out in public and teach others how to support us. And I don’t mean by wallowing. I mean by owning all the nuances that go with this part of ourselves. I mean empowering ourselves to live our most amazing life within and beyond the limitations we carry. This shit is hard and it won’t be easier by hiding in dark corners and shadowed corridors that dim our light and quiet the conversations.  

The truth is our shame has colored our outlook because we’ve been marginalized by people who can’t understand our pain and by doctors who don’t believe us. We fight guilt thinking that we’ve done something to cause this. We grapple with being a burden on others and finding our new sense of self as we lose things that have been a part of us our whole lives. We push away depression while appearing to be fine on the outside. We simultaneously power through and often feel as though we are disappearing. 

There’s also this truth. We are doing the best we can. Given what we’ve been given. We’re growing our way through. The people who love us would do anything to bring us ease. We’re fucking badass to get out of bed in the morning!

Even though I navigate this well, there’s still a learning curve for me, knowing what to let go of and what to hold on to. Like walking a tightrope, it’s tenuous and sometimes frightening. There’s only one way to the other side and you don’t get there by looking down…you get there by persevering straight ahead through your fear and uncertainty. You get there by showing up over and over, eyes focused on the joy. You do it both consistently and imperfectly. Some days self-care means resting and other days it means plowing through your pain no matter what because if you stop you know your body won’t start again.

At times, I grow weary of not feeling like me, of having to dig deep through the pain to tap into the person I used to be naturally. I know she’s in there. I just can’t always find her. Aside from the physical losses, sometimes I feel my essence fading slowly. Like losing little pieces of me. I miss the optimistic girl that wakes up feeling energized. Singing in the shower. Saying hello to the sun. Being excited about the day. I don’t mind showing up, in fact I love it. I just wish it wasn’t always so damn exhausting.

And yet I know…it could be so much worse. I’m not diminishing my experience, I just understand the value of shifting my perspective. Of appreciating the things I have. 

Today, at this moment, no matter how bad it is I’m still here. And it’s time to just forgive myself for being in pain. For possibly passing this on to my daughters. For beating myself up. For the losses. For being overwhelmed. For being under water.

I’m letting it be okay to acknowledge that it’s getting more challenging, that life looks different. Like it did after my diagnosis and I had to stop, regroup, reorganize everything I’d ever known. This is another shift, not a death sentence. This is a moment of clarity, vision and gratitude for it all. Yup. All of it. And now, for me, maybe it’s about honoring and owning this part. Again. Finding the beauty in it. The acceptance. The surrender. 

It’s a practice. It’s a process. 

At the end of the day the joy in my life outweighs the pain in my body. That is my sliver of hope and my silver lining. 

So I’m going to dance. I’m going to have wine nights and commune with friends. I’m going to attend parties and concerts. I’m going to do good when and wherever I can. I’m going to watch my kids live out their dreams. I’m going to love big, laugh loud and celebrate life with abandon. I’m going to do all of it as long as I can and as much as I can. Until I can’t. That is all any of us can do. 

The moral of this very long story is this, you’ve got to show up in life with grace. For your limitations and for the people that can leverage what you don’t have. For the help you are resistant to receive and the outpouring of love that people want to bestow upon you. You deserve to show up and graciously receive that because you’ve been asked to live with this tremendously difficult situation. You can’t do it by yourself and that doesn’t make you less than. Life is abundant and for every one thing that’s taken, you’ve been given something else that shines and reciprocates the love you’re embraced by. You can choose to believe that and lean into it. It is the thing that saves me. 

Every. Single. Time.

My Hero

Leave a Comment / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth, Relationships / By / July 5, 2021

I loved him with fierce and unrelenting devotion. It was like breathing. He would let me sneak up into his tree house with his friends when there were no other girls allowed, but he was always worried that I would fall. He was protective in a world where no one protected me. He was my first hero, my male role model, my only brother. With him I mattered. Even when he disappeared from my everyday life, as his being crumbled into a million splintering pieces with crime and drugs, we held a connection, like a fragile, translucent piece of hand blown glass, rare, unique and priceless. Breakable.

I wasn’t very old by the time Dan and my elder sister were both gone and for better or worse, left me to be the caretaker of my younger sisters and broken, mentally ill, alcoholic mother. My brother was in and out of my life, sometimes for years at a time. But he phoned me faithfully on my birthday. Without fail. Until he stopped. I used to imagine I’d get a call saying he was in a gutter somewhere, dead from an overdose. I tried to not see that image, but it haunted me.

I always saw the innate goodness in him. He was a gentleman, a tender soul with a heart of gold, the guy who would return something better than he found it. I remember when he borrowed a friend’s car and something went wrong with it that wasn’t his fault, yet he insisted on paying for the repairs because he was the one driving it at the time. I realized the meaning of integrity that day. He was the guy who prized honesty above everything else which was such an odd dichotomy given his addiction, the thievery and the demons that ran through his head mercilessly crying out for negative attention just to be seen. To me, it seemed like he was always doing penance for something he wasn’t guilty of and that manifested profoundly in my young girl bones. Somehow his shame was connected to mine and didn’t belong to either of us. It was forced on us by our own mother, religious men, and desperate stepfathers who shrouded us in dark corners and insidious secrets. I didn’t blame Dan. I understood because I lived in that house too and while none of us ever talked about it, each of my four siblings lived out their trauma with different responses, none of it healthy. We all carried pain, hard to identify to an untrained eye or the outside world. I was the only one who chose to get better. To recognize the power of my own resilience. To heal. It’s a really lonely and isolating road to travel and it is stunningly difficult to see the benefits of while you’re immersed in the work. You don’t know it’s worth it until you’re on the other side and even then you still live in quicksand. 

My brother never really grew from that little boy who felt lost and abandoned. The boy who hid behind a bush and watched my mother and father fight as my dad walked away with another woman and never looked back. Dan was his only son but dad willingly abandoned him to go have another one with someone else. One he would spoil and lavish his wealth on while we struggled, starved and went without. I remember knowing that my brother felt a specific pain that I could never understand even though we were all affected by my dad’s absence and apathy. I also began to see the ripple effects of my own strength of character and my ability to be there for those I loved. Something deep inside me wanted to just hold Dan’s heart but that was a fracture that couldn’t be repaired externally and I watched my brother chase acceptance and belonging for his entire existence after that. How could a young boy find the language for or know where to put that kind of pain, that kind of hollow heartbreak? I think It left him forever insatiable, forever wanting. In later years when my dad tried to reconnect and make things right it was too late for atonement. Even though he took my brother under his wing and tried to do the right thing, nothing could fill that gaping, dark chasm that had been left by my dad’s decision. He ended up stealing from my dad, doing drugs on the job and risking my dad’s contracting license. In an unhealthy attempt at penance my dad would give him chances over and over and over. The whole thing was so dysfunctional and tragic. Sometimes you can’t fix a mistake, you can only watch the consequences play out and some wounds never heal, they just bleed onto other people.

I always treated Dan like he was capable even when he kept stumbling and falling, bruising, battering and bloodying his knees. It didn’t matter that I was younger than him, that I felt alone in the world. I could be there for him and it meant something to me to do that. In high school when I was living on my own, I was the liaison between my brother and family when he was in prison. He would write letters asking me for money, for confidentiality, for favors and to soften the edges for what he needed to tell mom. I always did what I could for him. And later when I had my own family I shared them with him because I knew he would never have one of his own. He was too frightened by his own past to ever try to create a future for someone else. He couldn’t hold on to a meaningful relationship or anything permanent. Yet, I never saw so much joy in anyone’s face as when he was around my children. He exuded pure love for them. He was totally free, the self he was before he didn’t feel worthy. The self he was before the world told him he didn’t matter. One year for Christmas he bought my daughters new bikes because that was a luxury we never enjoyed as kids. He wanted to make up for everything he never had, for everything he never felt. We had a shared understanding that he would never come around my family when he was high. He attempted to get his life together and then sabotaged it just as quickly. His demons followed him, broke his spirit. 

But he remained remarkable to me. Maybe he’s where I learned to love unconditionally. Maybe he’s where I learned to look past flaws, faults and weakness to see potential, beauty and light. Maybe he’s where I learned that I’m an empath, even though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I’m certain he’s also where I learned to make boundaries. That I had a right and a responsibility to protect myself. In so many ways he gave me purpose and I did the same for him. In just as many ways he broke my heart. 

Dan walked me down the aisle at my second wedding. That remains my favorite memory with him, because in that moment he was exactly the man he was intended to be. The picture of us, with his spontaneous laugh and dancing eyes, brings me joy to this day. It’s just me and him, no damaged goods, shattered confidence or broken promises. 

  • A spontaneous moment after my wedding, 2003. I love his dancing eyes and carefree laughter…

A couple months ago I finally discarded the letters that he had written me from prison. As much as I adore him and hold a place in my heart for him I have to put my energy where it is welcomed and reciprocated. He has allowed himself to become a user of people and he’s barely recognizable now in his behavior. He eventually abandoned me and my girls, with venom and spite. It hurt for a long time and then I sent him peace and let him go. Maybe my unconditional love was just too much of a burden for him. Maybe he just ran out of fight. Shame will make you believe that you don’t deserve happiness. 

His will remain a lesson for a life unfinished. Yet, for one gorgeous, golden, glimmering season he was my hero. For that, for my brother, I will always be grateful. 

Me, about one year old being held by my oldest sister while my brother looks on. I love this picture.
Spending time with our friend’s baby while I visited my brother in Houston, TX. Circa 1979
Just chillin’…don’t know when or where but man we were young.

Abandoning Self

4 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth, Relationships / By / December 26, 2021

It will never be about walking away from someone for someone else. It will never be about greener grass or being too afraid to be alone. It will always be about me not being willing to abandon myself. It will always be about valuing myself more, not valuing them less. So I won’t stay. If there is a hint or a spark of the idea that I am giving up who I am for something or someone it’s time for me to bow out gracefully. 

And if you do it at the beginning when your intuition tells you instead of waiting until you’ve tried every way possible to twist that around and turn it into an answer you like better, you have a really good chance of doing it gracefully. For you. For your truth. 

When we abandon ourselves because of someone’s inability or unwillingness to hear or see us we lose so much more than we realize. We give up our self-confidence, our innate sense of trust in our intuition and most importantly we begin to see ourselves through the distorted lens of their dysfunction. Doubt creeps in and second-guessing becomes the norm. And for what? So we can obtain a false sense of belonging? So we can fit into the comfortable nook of another person’s opinion? 

One of the most empowering lessons I’ve learned during relationships, with both friends and partners, is exactly what it feels like when I abandon myself. The way my body responds to being out of alignment, the nuances of feeling off balance emotionally, physically and spiritually. That moment when you realize you’re walking on eggshells because you know if you say the hard, but necessary thing it’s going to start a conflict that will turn into something untenable. That moment when you find yourself filtering what you say because you know that expressing your feelings will make them angry. That moment when you realize you’re defending yourself and trying to explain away who you are, because their ego is too fragile to make room for your story. That moment when you feel yourself stepping back, making yourself smaller, to allow them to step up, even though you know deep down that you can’t fill the gaps of what they’re missing. 

We don’t owe these things to anyone. Our only responsibility is to ourselves and that is not selfishness. That is vital self-love and no one can give that to you. That quality is nurtured and grown from inside and with it comes a healthy dose of self-respect and boundaries. In turn we come to our relationships as a complete and whole human, emotionally mature and ready to share life’s challenges with another person. We’re not free of baggage but we have the skills necessary to unpack them, and we don’t ask another person to be in charge of our emotions or responses. 

It took me years to understand the difference between compromise and sacrifice, which would ultimately require that I cast aside who I am for the needs of someone else. It took educating myself and really looking at my internal dialogue to realize that I was handing over the most valuable parts of me so I could make another person happy. But that’s not my job. The truth is that it was codependency and it was never going to be enough to make them happy; it just allowed them to take more pieces of me. I didn’t recognize it because it was so familiar, it had been the foundation of how I grew up. I practically evaporated into a shell of my former self before I realized what I was doing. Once I did I stepped away and started focusing on my growth. I needed to take a long hard look at my patterns and how my unstable upbringing informed my decisions. I’ve been stepping away from things that don’t serve me ever since. The practice of listening to and staying in my truth has led me to a deeper understanding of what makes me who I am and what I bring to the table. I now recognize sooner when someone is emotionally unprepared for a relationship and have the courage to move forward without them. 

My commitment to me is that I will love myself so fiercely that I can discern the condescending tone of disrespect, the sharp edges of passive aggressive behavior and the subtleties of emotional manipulation. 

And don’t kid yourself into thinking that this kind of behavior only comes from abusive people. It can come from decent people who simply don’t have the emotional skills to deal with conflict. It doesn’t make it any less damaging or insidious. We owe it to ourselves to have razor sharp clarity with our own voice so we never accept this as normal or tolerable. As we release these negative interactions, we make space for healthy, reciprocal relationships.

Anything else, anything less, is settling.

Inviting The Loneliness

Leave a Comment / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / By / December 26, 2021

You’ll get used to it. It’ll be fine. You’ll get used to the deafening silence and overwhelming loudness of the mundane. You’ll get used to looking up at the empty frame on the wall that used to hold your favorite picture of the two of you. You’ll get used to spending evenings alone that you used to spend together doing nothing but what you’re doing now, except it meant something different when you were with someone you dreamed about a beach wedding with, right down to the color of the flowers. A lot of these things you miss were born of rituals, habits that you fell into because you spent so much time together. Knowing that doesn’t make them less valuable but maybe helps you realize that it’s not impossible to incorporate new habits. That the idea of missing someone can be softened over time and your history still cherished like your favorite blanket. There can be contentment and resolve in moving on and doing what’s best for you all the while holding close something that felt so safe and sound, so comfortable. Something you imagined would never unravel. And then find yourself amazed at the idea that you can still breathe without it. That your heart hurts but it still beats. That your body aches and longs for something that isn’t there but still manages to carry you through the day, each and every day. Beauty and marvel lie in knowing that you can find some purpose in the wreckage, that you can allow a generous, expansive space for all the gorgeousness that you shared and also acknowledge that you were simply not meant to be forever. Honoring who you were and where you’re going next are not mutually exclusive. 

I think one of the most difficult things we experience as humans is navigating our way through any meaningful relationship break up, because of the loneliness. All the empty space between what was and what might have been. You’re not only letting go of someone you loved and cared about, you’re letting go of the idea that you were creating a future together and now you’re not. It’s all the hopes and dreams that you pinned on this union and connection, nurtured and cherished, now turned to dust. The comfort of knowing someone is there has vanished. Sharing your small daily irritants and victories is no longer available. The uncertainty can feel overwhelming and scary. 

That’s why people don’t lean into it. Instead, we avoid, we move quickly toward another person, we spend every night trying to find some distraction or immerse ourselves in busy work to disguise the pain. There’s nothing wrong with that for a while but any issues that you don’t resolve and learn from will sink deep within you and come back to bleed on someone else later. It is almost a sacred space to sit with the loneliness after something ends because it has so much to reveal. There are lessons and insights to who you are, to who you were with another person, to what you want and what you don’t want and these are such valuable teachers for us. However, if we’re so busy pushing it away, trying to avoid the pain we miss the opportunity for our own growth. 

Maybe we fear loneliness because we’ve never allowed ourselves to truly experience it and we’re afraid it will last forever. Because it feels so deep and infinite and is usually accompanied by ruminating, unanswered questions. But dear one, nothing lasts forever, and we can trust the process of moving through one experience toward something else. While we tend to reject any feelings that aren’t comfortable, the truth we don’t like to hear is that pain, loss, loneliness and letting go teach us things that we can’t learn any other way. Your resilience isn’t built through ease. That comes through challenging times where you have to reach deep into yourself for perspective. Sitting with your negative emotions helps you find out what they’re feeding on and that’s where the magic is. It’s the gateway to understanding life and getting unstuck.  

In my experience and out of necessity I have had to learn how to move on from someone, while loving and missing them. I’m not a lonely person and I savor my independence, yet I have experienced the pangs of loneliness when I’ve had to release a relationship. That’s part of the human condition. Breakups and transitions are hard. They can leave you feeling off balance, vulnerable, maybe even fragile. Of course you want to avoid all that, but you can’t. So the sooner you create a place to feel these things, the sooner you can heal. With application I’ve discovered my own resilience in thriving forward. I consciously, intently sit with the disquiet even when I want to run like hell. It’s a challenging, worthwhile practice and it has taught me the most about who I am. 

One of the most valuable things I’ve gleaned is that it’s okay to think of someone, send them grace and recognize that, without going back or getting involved again. When the feelings become immense, you can choose how you want to respond to them by talking to yourself out loud. Giving your feelings a voice acknowledges that you’re hurting, and then you can remind yourself that, oh yeah, things are different now and I can do this. It will just take time, patience and new habits. One day you’ll find your footing again. I promise you, this time of your life can transform you. I have come through every single experience I’ve ever had where I was hurting, lonely or sad and been stronger for it. Nothing lingers forever.

It’s imperative to allow space for our emotions to reveal themselves to us. So we can befriend them, learn to identify, own and understand them. Not greet them with disdain or judgement, not shove them into a dark corner, just recognize and listen to their wisdom. They are not our nemesis, but an integral part of our experience that offers us discernment if we make room for them, just like our joy.

My Mama

7 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / By / May 15, 2021

In the landscape of my memories I have these beautiful, gentle fragments where I’m safe and warm in my yard, just a carefree young girl running around barefoot, playing in our irrigation ditch with tadpoles, water skippers and lively little snakes as they and the water rush and swish across my ankles. My little sister and I giggle as we put our jars in the water to catch our treasures, and the sounds swirl through the air like honey, cinnamon, dusty sunshine and magic. The aromatic grass is sweet and fresh to my senses, plush and velvety between my toes, and the summer breeze catches my hair beckoning a dance across my freckled nose. With every breath I soak it all in. I could live right here, basking in this moment forever. I run to the backdoor and mama is in the kitchen, fixing a pitcher of Kool-Aid. Red was always my favorite flavor. I guzzle down a glass then ask her to please stop what she’s doing and scratch my back, one of the sweetest most comforting feelings in my little world. I let my body fall gently over her lap, she lifts my shirt and uses her beautiful long, elegant nails to gently, softly caress my skin. Patterns of infinity figure eights, round and round. I breathe in deeply. It is hearth, home and all the pure love a mother is supposed to have for you, wrapped in one beautiful, fleeting glimpse of time. These were the things I held close, these quiet places I escaped to, that kept me safe when my world would shatter and the rug was pulled out from under my very existence. 

As Mother’s Day approaches I cannot help but think of my own mother. She was sensual, beautiful and completely broken. I always saw her as this force to be reckoned with, full of raw, open, confident energy and able to turn heads of anyone in the room or the block we lived on. But throughout my life with her I also witnessed the tragedy of her inability to find her own worthiness and continually seek it through external sources. When I was young we were close to her parents and our aunts, uncles and cousins and I remember my mama always saying that her sister Lois got all the looks. I couldn’t have been more confused by that, because my mother was a sexual goddess, stunning, alluring, and my aunt was mildly attractive at best. It was only later in my life that I came to realize that as a symptom. The tragic reality was that her abusive childhood tore away anything she possessed that would have helped her be a thriving, healthy adult with any kind of internal awareness, who could look in the mirror and see more than a reflection of self-loathing.

Mickey (she hated her given name Mildred) was a product of the stereotypical 1950’s and fought hard as a woman to be the perfect June Cleaver wife and mother. She and my father married young, made plans and began to build a life, where she took pride in being the ultimate cook, seamstress and housekeeper. Bright-eyed and full of dreams I imagine she thought this path would be her ticket away from all the pain she endured in her childhood at the hands of a wrath-filled, angry father. Stay the course…marriage, children, make your man happy and your life will be complete. But plans change. They had a daughter and a son and then my dad ended up in the State Penitentiary for three years. From everything I’ve been told my mother was the quintessential loyal wife during that time and took her children to see their dad every Sunday, donned in their church best, smiling as though life was sane. She taught my brother and sister about domestic talent, manners, cooking, and the art of religion. When Loren, my dad, finally got out and came home they tried to work on reconnecting their marriage and decided to have me. I was born in December of 1960 and as most ‘save the marriage’ babies go, it wasn’t enough. My dad decided he didn’t want any of it, had an affair and left our mom for another woman. He never looked back. All of these recollections are from stories I’ve been told but never heard from my mother’s mouth. Apparently she had a nervous breakdown and attempted suicide after my dad left her alone with us and ended up in a mental hospital where she was treated with the very popular and on trend ‘shock’ therapy. I’m sure they patted her on the head, told her she was fine and sent her home to figure out how the fuck she was going to raise three children by herself with no skills, and no help from my dad ever again. I don’t know who raised me during that time in between, after my mama was found half bloodied on the bathroom floor, but I’m assuming it was my grandparents. It was in their arms I felt the most love and acceptance I have ever experienced in my life, and it would be fleeting because eventually my beloved grandma died of cancer. 

My mama remarried quickly, had two more daughters and things just spiraled from there. Whatever hands-on parenting she had started with slowly diminished as her pain took over. A husband who wouldn’t work turned into relocating frequently, then divorce and a revolving door of random men, married and single, recklessness, neglect and broken dreams. She forged ahead, as society told her to, her pain quieted by expectations that didn’t serve her.

Eventually that pain would play out in our lives, the five children that she was willing to raise but never really knew how to love. Five marriages, alcoholism masqueraded as migraines because that was socially acceptable, cheating the welfare system and completely resigning herself to having no identity of her own became her coping skills. I do give her credit for staying because I’m not sure how she got out of bed every day. 

As we got older my brother did everything attention seeking and illegal he could to get out of that house, and I was devastated since he had been my only male role model. There was a moment in time before the ugly stench of heroin, when he was an intrinsically good and decent man. There will always be a part of me that sees him as my hero. My older sister, who felt like my only friend, married early and left as well, anything to escape the pain of the depravity we lived in. I was alone in the world. And I knew it. 

My mother recognized in me at a very early age an undeniable resilience. I was different from my sisters and brother because I had fight, and consequently there was a point when she subconsciously passed on her role to me. I was constantly being told to put my own feelings aside, to get out of my ‘mood’ that I had every right to feel since I was being molested, neglected and beaten. I was marginalized, expected to lead, to show up. No matter what. I would be the responsible one for my two younger sisters, whom I adored and was desperate to protect. I took the brunt for every unresolved childhood trauma my mother ever suffered and could not acknowledge. I was her Gatekeeper. A task I would have happily taken if I thought it could heal her, but I was really given no choice.

In my search for understanding and healing I’ve learned to see the fractures that created my mother as a whole, from all her beauty and grace to the ugliness she unleashed on us. I don’t like to blame it on her and I certainly recognize where the responsibility lies for what we went through. It taught me the biggest lesson of my life. When we are unwilling or unable to heal our own brokenness, when we are content with our comfortable pain of unfinished trauma it becomes more important than the welfare of those we love. It is then that we consent to a life of abusing and minimizing others. Our own unresolved issues will always inform all our other relationships and bleed onto innocent people if we do not do the work to mend. There is no escaping that. 

I walk a tightrope of looking back and living in the moment, but one I have learned to navigate without fear or pain. My mind floats through the past, lingering above the memories, realizing that those experiences were all there to teach me and shape me into the person I am to this day. 

My mother wasn’t a bad person, she was simply lost in a sea of self doubt, taught to perceive her own identity as invalid and undeserving, imprinted on her soul like a tattoo. She was always looking for meaning and purpose outside of herself. Maybe that’s where I came to realize its hollow truth and sought for something deeper. 

Mama was gracious in many ways. She instilled a love for music in me. I will forever remember how calming it was to her, and how, without realizing the depth of its meaning, I could almost see it filling in the cracks of her broken existence. My sisters and I would stand around singing, harmonizing every kind of old country song ever written, mama’s favorite gospel songs and some of the classics from the 50s and 60s. She would record us on a reel-to-reel tape player and we felt like movie stars. Her favorite songs would come on the radio and she would dance in the kitchen, lovely and graceful, lost in a carefree world that I wished she could carry over into her real life. She loved Christmas and always made it special. She taught me respect for my elders and to leave things better than I found them. Those times were a serene and safe place, one that violence, cruelty and dysfunction couldn’t touch. 

Mama died when she was 47. I was nineteen. An infection from an ulcer surgery. But I know better. She died of apathy and the shattered soul that would never mend. Her light had long since flickered out. I never miss her. Perhaps because in so many ways I grew up without her, or in place of her. There is nothing left to grieve and I have long since resolved any feelings or questions I had about why she would need a young girl like me to suffer, so she could feel stronger. I already know why. I understand it and I forgave that long ago because I wanted the peace, and also because that’s all there was left. 

Every year when I celebrate Mother’s Day it is in honor of my daughters, the insidious chain of abuse that I crushed to give them something better, the unconditional love that I was able to offer them when I had no idea how. They gave me strength to do that. I am all that I am because of everything that my mother could not and would not offer me. I wish only peace for her. She deserves that and more.

Redefining Bravery

8 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / By / April 22, 2021

I’ve recently noticed a significant disturbing shift in terminology of the word Brave. 

Ooooohhh, she wore a bikini to the beach and she’s not svelte…she’s so brave. Or, she had work done on her aging face…wow, that’s so brave. Or, she wears her emotions so freely…how does she do that? Or, she talks openly about her health limitations and how it affects her socially. So. Brave. 

Really? This is who we’ve become? 

It should not require an act of Bravery to show up in the world as who we are. That shit should be standard. Unless we’re assholes. Yet, we live in a society that is so centered on shaming, encouraging fakery and a flawless image as the bar we set to judge everyone. Shame incites fear and submission, which then asks us to waste our valiancy on things that don’t require it. We are to a large degree obsessed with our own need for perfection and that of others. Perhaps it validates us on some level, but it’s not real or satisfying. The problem is that perfection doesn’t exist and the ensuing judgement is damaging. We’ve adopted this mindset that there is one defining notion of what we should look like, feel like and act like. But isn’t that all subjective to personal beliefs and values? Which notion do we choose? Theirs, his, hers? 

How about our own? How about that? 

Ladies, swimsuit season is fast approaching and oooohhhh, I KNOW what you’re feeling. Well, fuck this judgement and DO YOU! I want to wear a two piece at the beach. It’s cooler and I like the sunshine over ALL of me. Yes, it’s challenging because I have gained weight and trust me when I tell you, it shows in a bathing suit. Sooooooo?!?!? And I’m saying this for me as much as you because I’m certainly guilty of assessing myself harshly for not being who I was a year ago and I also continually work on negating those voices and feel highly comfortable in my own skin. These things are not mutually exclusive. We’re waging war of being marginalized and dismissed and as women we feed into it while it sucks our self esteem. Men struggle with it too. I’m so fucking tired of the standards that have been set and our ridiculous ideas of beauty and tolerance. We’ve accepted so much emotional shaming that now it actually requires tolerance to receive someone who chooses to show up as their imperfect self? I don’t want to live in a world where it is unacceptable to have flaws. WE ALL HAVE FLAWS. 

Here are some Universal truths…

There will always be someone more beautiful and fit than me. There will also always be someone who wishes she was me. 

There are many, many things in this life worse than being fat. Or aging. Or emotional. 

Claiming my body as mine is my birthright. 

So, let’s take back the meaning of Brave. Let’s stop making people conjure up a suit of armored Bravery for just being real. 

To be clear, Brave is when a human goes through extensive cancer treatment and recovery or chooses to die with dignity. Brave is when a loved one cares for them. Brave is when someone is staring down a powerful addiction and they choose to go after it like a hound dog to make sure it doesn’t affect anybody’s life anymore. Brave is watching a teenager overcome the imposed shame and bullying of being trans, gay or simply different. Brave is observing a struggling 20 something individual reclaim their sobriety by not giving in to the overwhelming emotions of the moment. Brave is the single parent who raises children on a minimal income with scarce resources and doesn’t abandon them. Brave is getting out of bed every morning when you’re in 10 kinds of chronic pain and pushing through the fear of your own mortality, day in and day out. 

Brave is not wearing a bikini when you’re fat. Brave is not making a personal choice to get a facelift because you don’t like aging. Brave is not saying yes, I’m really sick, I fall apart sometimes in public and need help. Brave is not sharing your feelings with your guard down, with honesty and transparency. These things are human and should be celebrated as such. They are part of the human experience and we must stop stigmatizing them so they don’t require courage or an attached fear of rejection. 

And while we’re at it, let’s begin by getting our priorities straight and stop whispering these words in shadowed corners with hushed nuances and humiliation. Fat is not a shame filled word. It describes excess flesh. Old is not a shame filled word. It describes the natural process of aging. I’m older than I used to be and I’m fucking fabulous! Vulnerable is not a shame-filled word. It is the gateway to all of our purest emotions and ability to connect. 

Pedophilia is a shame-filled word. Backstabbing is a shame-filled word. Rape is a shame-filled word. Abuse is a shame-filled word. Betrayal is a shame-filled word. 

The world is brimming with Brave people who make us better. Who show tremendous acts of courage moment to moment. Who do and survive the unthinkable. Who push past the boundaries of resilience and find an inner strength so inspiring that others are compelled to cheer. 

None of those things include being thin.  

Truth And A Grace Filled Uncoupling

2 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth, Relationships / By / April 18, 2021

I’m gonna say this one more time, really loud for the people in the back. And mostly for me, who stubbornly needs to be reminded. 

                                                     Trust. Yourself. 

There is no truth in the world like the truth inside of you. Nothing else will ever be more true, more accurate than that. Nothing else will guide you back to self more than that. Truth doesn’t have to be loud to be real, in fact, truth comes quietly, with a Knowing, with consistency, with a breath of fresh air kind of calm. Truth is not some chaotic trumpet blaring but the quiet recesses of our soul churning for change. It’s literally craving, waiting, yearning for your attention so it can help you navigate through your life. I’m also going to say that it’s really hard. Because it asks you to have courage, step away from your comfort zone, and oftentimes let go of things, ideas and people you love. AND it’s worth practicing and practicing and practicing, pain and all, until you become skilled at it because your truth wants nothing more than to be heard and honored so it can guide you to the meaning, purpose and fulfillment you seek. 

I recently had to face the man that I love more than anything in this world, a man I’ve shared an epic romance with, a man who has brought me undeniable joy, ease and light and tell him that the nature of our relationship was not working for me and I needed to make a change. A dramatic one. That was the truth in my gut that I did not want to give a voice to. As much as I believe in following my intuition and know it’s right, I had a very difficult time wanting to know this. I sifted through these subtle voices for months, seeking clarity to make sure that the emotional toll of quarantine, my extreme work schedule and other factors weren’t affecting my judgement. I realigned every aspect of my life to gain balance. This conversation was a necessary part of that even though it hurt my heart tremendously. More than I could ever give words to. I will tell you that the truth doesn’t come with a road map, your next step or any kind of security. It’s fucking scary and uncertain. It just plops down and stays until you take heed with blind trust and it is only after you have the hard conversation, after you say the words that stick in your throat and are painful to hear, after you put yourself out on an emotional limb with no idea of the outcome, that the peace of your decision sinks into you. Still hard, yes, still sad, yes, still painful, absolutely yes. And there’s also this, that when you make a decision from your truth it settles into your being without chaos, without second guessing, without doubt in the aftermath. This is what will get you through.

I won’t share the details of why this amazing man and I are transitioning into a different kind of relationship but I will say this, it’s not your traditional breakup. Those words are appropriate in many cases, but ring with toxicity and taste bitter in my mouth for us. We didn’t break. Nothing burned out between us, we didn’t stop caring about each other, our passion didn’t fade and we still love and respect one another. We simply discovered that being live-in partners in a long term committed relationship was asking more of us than we could give and recognized some things that couldn’t be resolved because we were each in very specific and different places. No right or wrong, blame or anger. I know this with certainty, that you can have something rare and wonderful, unique and glorious and still have an obstacle between you that’s invasive enough to make you reassess and seek perspective. 

Most of us are simply too paralyzed by fear to step away from something beautiful and free fall into the unknown. I sure was. However, the majority of our distress, anxiety and pain in life and romance stems from trying to force things that shouldn’t be or existing within expectations that don’t meet our situation while trying to live someone else’s idea of what ‘good enough’ looks like. Turns out that Tommy was feeling the same as I was and couldn’t give it a voice. The only reason I said it first was because I had the skill set and he didn’t. That’s all. Once we had the conversation and moved through the shock and hurt we realized it was mutual. Bittersweet, a bit tragic even, but yes, mutual and the right thing for us. He said I actually saved our relationship by taking a reflective look and giving us both an opportunity to view ourselves honestly. It opened a door for growth. 

Tommy and I spent two weeks in a deep state of awareness, grace and introspection, quietly nurturing each other during our grief of letting go and in that time we shared our emotions with complete transparency, something he had had difficulty doing under the pressure of an actual relationship. Because we are dear friends at our core, we have been doing some incredible healing and growing together through this passage from being exclusive romantic partners into whatever we’re going to be next. We’re not sure what that looks like and we are taking it moment to moment with unabashed honesty. When we first began to recreate and redefine our union, one of the things we absolutely knew was that we wanted to remain present in each other’s lives. We enjoy each other’s company too much not to, and the ease and natural connection between us remains with no awkwardness or strain. We also understand one of the greatest gifts we received from this conversion was learning to talk about the things that people don’t talk about. We’re coming to terms with some insights we’ve gleaned about ourselves, like maybe we weren’t what we thought we were individually when we were a couple. Maybe our skills didn’t match our desire to cohabitate. There’s power in acknowledging what you can and can’t bring to the table during specific seasons of your life. 

Because we do get asked, I wanted an answer that felt authentic for what we’re doing. For me, the most resonating and descriptive term is Conscious Uncoupling, which many first heard from Gwyneth Paltrow several years ago. She was mocked fiercely because people rail against what they cannot comprehend. As a society we’re much more comfortable with toxic terms like breakups, divorce, ghosting and exes. The phrase has actually been around since the 1940’s and requires a deep level of self-awareness and owning the things that you can work on to bring forth a more amicable resolution outside of a partnership. It’s seeing your partner as a teacher and thus understanding that the relationship didn’t fail, so much as invite you to grow. You can only do that with someone who’s not abusive or narcissistic. We came to realize just how important our time together has been in teaching us how to love openly, to show our vulnerabilities by revealing emotional layers, and because we are being so forthcoming we are determining what we want our existing connection to look like and how that will manifest. This has been so healthy for me, allowing me to remain in my truth through every interaction since we separated.

I know this will make some people uncomfortable, confused even, it may be misunderstood, questioned and viewed as unorthodox because it is. We’re trying to navigate how to have an ongoing relationship that doesn’t involve a commitment or a future and honors all the beautiful things we are. It feels more right then never seeing each other again. We’re both adults and realize that there are many ways this could turn out so the only thing we can do is be clear with each other at every moment and do what feels right and comfortable for us. If that shifts then it’s time to transition again. We’ll explore the unthinkable in an uncommon way and see if we can do it without splintering. And while we don’t need people to understand, the purpose of me sharing this is so you know that the only right way to do anything is by doing what’s right for you. And how do you know what that is? 

                                  Follow Your Truth Every Time.

I understand that our love has been a beacon of hope for many and I so want that to remain. Don’t be sad for us, lose your faith in the power of love or your ability to find it. We’ve shared this epic love story and that didn’t go anywhere. Love is still very much alive in us, between us, in the world and especially in you. Our capacity to love is still very much intact and just because we discovered that some of the things we were living weren’t a fit for us as a couple doesn’t mean that all things beautiful aren’t possible. We have enjoyed an extraordinary experience and would choose this all again. Even with the heartache. We’re so fortunate. Loving this man has opened me in ways I never thought possible and actually didn’t even know existed. Now that I know, it expands my world, not makes it smaller. Perhaps, that’s really what love is for. 

Communing With Fellow Travelers

1 Comment / Coping, Personal Growth / By / May 15, 2021

There are moments that change you, almost haunt you.

I was driving to the grocery store last week on that particularly beautiful sunny day and as I waited at the red light in my turning lane, a homeless gentleman caught my eye on the median. He was younger than I usually see, and his energy almost took on a life of its own. I dug through my wallet for the last of the bills I had and waved him over to me. I realize there are many schools of thought on how to best serve our homeless community and I have chosen to simply follow my intuition about who to help, realizing that I know nothing about who they were before they ended up on the street corner, or what they’ll do with the money I give them. For me, it’s about doing what I can, when I am compelled. Certainly, I know this, these people are humans in need of connection and compassion even if all I can give them is a smile. He was very gracious and began a lively conversation with me about how the sunshine was medicine and made him feel glorious. Then he asked me what my plans were and suggested it might be the perfect afternoon to drive out to Jordan Lake. I smiled at the idea. I agreed with him, thanked him for brightening my day with his attitude and turned toward my destination on my green light. 

But you know what I really wanted? I wanted to just open my car door, say jump in, and offer this man a ride to Jordan Lake complete with a picnic. Just because. 

It was deeply disheartening that I couldn’t do that. Obviously, Covid, being an unaccompanied woman, him being a stranger and a myriad of other reasons made it impossible. Yet, for a small, lovely, unencumbered snippet of time I just felt this pure human emotion of wanting to be inclusive. I yearned to help another human being feel like he had something to look forward to. A glimmer of hope perhaps, for both of us. The truth is I have the luxury of going to Jordan Lake whenever I want and whether I do it or not is beside the point. I don’t know this young man’s name or story, I don’t need to. I just know that I walk this earth because of the grace of good people. I’ve been a fiercely hard worker my whole life and also have been really down on my luck before. I’ve gone without. I’ve been on both sides of a bread line and let me tell you that it is a humbling offering, ladling soup as you meet the pleading eyes of adolescent, hungry children who possess no spite, only quiet humility for your small gesture. Fewer images in life will touch your soul so profoundly. So indelibly.

Likewise, it is almost submissive having to ask for yourself, as a supposedly functioning, capable adult, for a meal for which you feel neither worthy or entitled. And I did not feel worthy, I felt the dark sting of shame. Nevertheless, I was treated with dignity and goodness. No one asked how I got there or made me quantify my presence or intentions. I’m not exaggerating when I say there was a season in my life when I was just a few friends away from being in a completely different situation. With all encompassing appreciation, I acknowledge that I have been embraced by human kindness during my challenges, buoyed by the generosity and compassion of friends who understood. Who saw me, beyond my circumstances. Something shifts in you when you’ve done everything you can to help yourself and you still can’t seem to get on your feet. As your resilience kicks in, there is also an intense level of longing to shelter all the broken hearts around you because you have seen the fragility of life, the sameness of our wounds, the thread of vulnerability in our very existence. 

If it doesn’t change you, you’re not paying attention. 

I have had many experiences that have humbled me in regards to homeless and struggling fellow travelers and last week stayed with me. It’s hard to give appropriate language to, but this very organic communion brought this young man joy and actually did more to create a change in me. To share the empathy I had with such abandon and a spontaneous desire to do something even though I couldn’t, exposed feelings that cracked me wide open. That singular experience taught me a powerful lesson about my capacity to more fully see people around me without the trappings of labels, judgement or status. Every human deserves to be truly seen. I think throughout this pandemic I have felt, like many, that my world has become very small. All of a sudden, on the street that day, I was one with the universe and one other person who I knew nothing about except that we were there, together.

The overwhelming takeaway was this, to always practice gratitude, to notice and never ignore the emotions that nudge me toward kindness. In itself, it is a life giving force.

Trust Your Gut

4 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth, Relationships / By / March 21, 2021

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m overreacting. Sure, everything in me is screaming that something isn’t right…but, nah, I’m probably just overthinking. Or being too sensitive. I’ll just ignore this. 

Nope, nope, nopity nope. Stop it. You weren’t. You aren’t. That’s your instinct talking. That’s YOU. It is giving you the ding, ding, ding of the warning bell, the information you need, the answers you seek. We, especially as women, spend so much time asking our voice to guide us then avoiding the very thing it offers. Because we don’t like the sound of the truth when it requires us to do something hard or mean. Leave the relationship. Change careers. Have the awkward conversation. Release a friendship. Ask to have our needs met. Hurt someone’s feelings. Make an unpopular life choice.

Silencing our inner voice is never a good decision. That divine truth that lives inside of us will always steer us like the North Star. We need to get out of our own way and allow it. 

I have literally spent years regaining the power of my own voice, which helped sharpen my intuition, after having it squelched like a cigarette butt under someone’s shoe, from age 3 through two dysfunctional marriages, well into my 50’s. That’s a lot of unpacking. A lot of trust to reestablish with myself. 

At age 21 I was consumed with strong intuitive feelings telling me not to go through with my first marriage and mistook them for “Cold Feet.” That was socially acceptable. I thought I was experiencing fear since I had never seen an appropriate model of marriage. I vowed to push through it. Boy, was I off base. What I didn’t realize is that it was actually an admonition. Cold Feet isn’t a thing. It’s a sign that something’s wrong. We’ve normalized that phrase which only lends itself to women everywhere ignoring what they know and going through with the biggest decision of their lives for a myriad of reasons that have little to do with love or the union of matrimony itself. That part of my life blessed me with my daughters and over time taught me to reacquaint my whole being with that vital subconscious reasoning that always knows. My marriage was a mess, I was being subtly, verbally abused and gaslighted, doing the financial and emotional heavy lifting, while raising our children, and I felt crazy. I began to dig deep and from that came understanding of the profound correlation between the choices I made without enough information and the all times I had ignored my ‘gut’. It was unfamiliar to me, that nudging, yet it followed me with consistency and a soft, quiet invitation. It took time and patience as I relearned how it felt, how it spoke to me, and how it manifested in my body. Because it does. Listening became everything. I discovered that my Knowing is as reliable as the sun rising and it demanded my attention if it was going to serve me well. 

I don’t ignore that shit now. It’s sacred ground to me.

So, how do you learn to trust your own discernment after your voice has been silenced and you can no longer hear what’s going on inside? Baby steps. You start realigning with your core feelings. Without judgement or harsh criticism. You quiet the chatter from anything outside yourself and approach life with intention. As you honor it, you will get better at noticing your knee jerk reactions versus your healthy responses. You will heed those “something’s not right’ moments without hesitation. Eventually, you won’t need others to validate what you hear because you will align with your inherent gift.

As women, we tend to question our worthiness to feel, to take up space in a room, so second guessing it is easy. But your intuition is a force that encompassess all aspects of your life, from how you show up in a conflict to the everyday decisions that create how you live. It is your superpower. Many of us are also nurturers who emote, crave meaningful conversations, and bring a fresh perspective of emotional intelligence to the table. We express ourselves openly. Makes sense that our mental stability is often the first point of attack when someone wants to discredit us. It’s an easy scapegoat and a place to put their discomfort. They will accuse you of overreacting. Being too sensitive. Not thinking things through. Being, god forbid, too ‘emotional’. Yeah, that word. Without fail I have seen that from people who struggle with their own expressions of vulnerability and have no frame of reference for navigating their feelings. When they begin to plant seeds of doubt and you believe them on any level it will perpetuate a negative ripple effect on how you hear your own voice. 

I’m an empath and struggled with that for years since it is often perceived as weakness. I cry when I’m afraid, hurt or feeling small. It’s not a defensive weapon, it’s an expression, an attribute I’m learning to embrace instead of feeling shame about. My tears inform me. I am a heart on my sleeve gal. I feel deeply, not just my own energy, but that of others. I love intensely. I laugh loud. I live with passion and purpose. I have complex layers and tangible energy which means I have always been told I was too much from those who couldn’t tolerate the intensity. 

I’m not. You’re not.

We’re exactly who we should be.

Look, you’re a bright woman. You know if you’ve got your shit together, so embrace that with confidence. Some days you’ll show up with integrity and all your communication skills intact, some days you’ll be an irritable, exhausted train wreck. We all have bad days. We all get short tempered. We all react when we should listen. We’re human. Finding your way back to trusting what you already know will be the best gift you ever give yourself. No bad decision was ever made from intuition. Those all come from NOT paying attention!

If you have a hunch, a nagging feeling, a persistent whispering, LISTEN. When you are in a situation that requires your response. LISTEN. Let that response flow from your well of truth. It’s uniquely yours. If you have a difficult choice to make, let your instincts guide, then sit with it and see how it feels in you. Truth is palpable, softens the edges and doesn’t need proving. It’s not about someone being right or wrong, it’s about what is authentic for YOU. And don’t let that guy, that gal, that friend, that partner, that family member, or anyone other than yourself tell you any different. It may bring unwanted revelations, but it’s never wrong.

Intuition is the constant that leads us back to self.

Trust. Your. Gut.

Welcoming The Unwanted

Leave a Comment / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / By / December 26, 2021

I felt myself deflating, like a leftover balloon from a party. All the celebration was gone and I watched myself aimlessly floating above my own life. My motivation, my joy, my contentment, all languishing in a state of malaise. I ate too much, drank too often, and avoided self care. I nestled into the coziness of the mundane, the softness of the couch and the nook of my lover’s arm with equal appreciation and aversion. There was just so much of it. I savored and got lost in it, then resented it for being so constant. And because I knew this wasn’t normal for me, I checked myself often, my words, my actions with careful attunement. It didn’t mean I wasn’t occasionally careless or moody, it just meant I paid attention and tried to be accountable. I was fine one minute and couldn’t bear it the next. 

This couldn’t possibly be my life. 

The pandemic continues to rear its ugly head with its emotional tightrope, the hope of a vaccine, the fear of contracting a stronger strain of this mysterious plague, and the defeating milestone of 500,000 casualties and counting. We’re experiencing PTSD from this insidious virus that relentlessly weaves between our semblance of normal, our need to be safe and our desire to connect. Adding complexities to an already simmering pot of angst, we are a nation in healing, recovering from inadequate, morally vacant leadership and a cruel, inequitable racial climate, one that won’t see resolution anytime soon. Among the layered nuances lies frustration at the selfishness and single-mindedness of fellow travelers and we find ourselves with nowhere to put these intense emotions because we can’t even identify most of them. We are solemn and weary. 

This is a resurgence, after thinking I was getting used to it all and a new experience to be so at conflict with myself this often. I am usually grounded, self aware and don’t typically respond to life’s circumstances in kind, but rather proactively by surrendering daily to gratitude and acceptance. This is different. This has given my mind too much space for ruminating and with my illness always shadowing me, has pronounced my thoughts of mortality. It has left me feeling raw and unmoored. This is hard. It is within the collective voices and vulnerable conversations among my friends and loved ones that I hear this sentiment echoed and feel compelled to share my process. We are all going through this on some level in unique ways. Even the seemingly unaffected have been affected. That in itself is reassuring, comforting and disconcerting at the same time. We are together. And alone. This is temporary, yet there is no end in sight. This will pass, yet it will not leave us unscathed. It has been our evolution and that always requires upheaval, a transformation from who we were to who we are becoming.

Now I’m allowing myself to feel my way through this. Not because I’m so evolved or even always want to, but here it is, the option in front of me. So I’m honoring it. With intent and practice, I have spent entire days connected only to my feelings, not trying to shoo them, distract them or wish them away. They are mine, however unpleasant, and for now, they are the gateway to whatever takeaway I glean from this. When I am deeply rooted in my sadness, or need for solitude, my first inclination is to apologize for it, as though it’s unacceptable behavior, but my next truer response is to own it and acknowledge that I need to be in that space so I will know it’s trying to share with me. It is often the unwanted, uninvited and uncomfortable emotions that reveal the most about who we are. They deserve our grace and attention. Maybe we don’t need to fear the sorrow or the trauma, perhaps we can create room for it to give us tools, broader coping skills, the kind we need because life is a shitshow sometimes.

I believe most of us are doing our best right now, and that might look subpar on any given day, which is also entirely okay. We might be phoning it in, or only taking baby steps, but we’re showing up in life, attempting to make sense of something senseless. 

Perhaps not all journeys have to shower us with beautiful scenery to be meaningful. Sometimes the landscape can punish while the lesson calls us home, to ourselves, with all our virtues, fragility and resilience. Silence can invite us to a place of introspection that offers healing. Grieving with a nation that shares our suffering can enrobe us in compassion. Leaning into unfamiliar feelings can make us malleable to positive change. Beyond the overwhelm and chaos, truth unfolds and we can unearth our higher, best self. We can thrive.