Inspired Possibility Blog

Anger & Fear

2/15/2025

“Anger is sadness’s bodyguard,” Paul Denniston said recently in a Grief Yoga® class. I heard it. It stayed with me. And, in my mind, it became, “anger is fear’s bodyguard.” As someone who has always been afraid of anger and what might blow up if it was unleashed, I’m wondering if maybe I’m even more afraid of the tender bits of fear and sadness.

I can see now I was angry with Nate so often because I was too afraid to feel my fear. What would I have had to feel if I had softened and removed the protective armor of anger? Would I become weak, at risk? As a toddler, I had big temper tantrums. I’ve had a few as an adult too – when they come it’s always out of a place of feeling trapped, wanting to jump out of my skin. When I was a kid, none of the “negative” emotions were allowed. I could only hold them for so long before things blew up. At other times I’ve experienced depression - maybe an implosion from emotions stuffed away for too long?

Fear and sadness are vulnerable, exposing. It’s risky to express them or even give them voice in my own mind. Sometimes I withhold my sadness and fear for fear of infecting others, which leaves me carrying the weight alone. That sucks! And so, I’m likely to try to talk myself out of those feelings. Which I know isn’t helpful or healthy.

One of the things I love about my meditation practice is its inclusivity. As we sit with our breath, we don’t push anything away. Thoughts come and go, sometimes taking us with them until we wake up and bring ourselves back to the breath. Emotions move through, but nothing needs to be denied, ignored, or pushed away. In welcoming them all, they have room to breathe and space to be. They don’t need to escalate to get our attention. As we relax with them a bit, they too relax.

In my grief I’ve become far more comfortable with sadness because I know it’s understandable, rational. No one’s going to tell me I’m crazy for feeling sad. My son died, for heaven’s sake!

But fear? Seems like lots of people want to question my fear or tell me I’m being ridiculous, I’ve been lied to, it’s not going to be as bad as I think… As those messages trickle in, a little voice inside of me joins in. Self-doubt arises, despite the evidence I have that my fear is warranted.

Fear needs a place to express – to not be gaslit into oblivion! Can we gaslight ourselves? Seems we can.

Fear is real and reasonable. Please spare me the “False Evidence Appearing Real” bypass! It’s deeply offensive when people are facing indisputable threats to their well-being.

Fear tells us to pay attention – to check things out. To be discerning. It’s a built-in survival mechanism that alerts us when something is “off.”

Maybe if we turned toward our fear and befriended it, it ‘ll visit at times and take a rest at times, leaving us alone to rest. If we push it away, ignore it, or slam the door in its tender little face, it only grows stronger and nags more. It’s here. It’s part of me and for the rest of my life, it will show up at different times in varying ways.

When I deny my fear, it comes out sideways, in snarky comments, or bigger blasts of rage.

Fear is tender. It needs tender care and gentle respect. I’ve never thought so compassionately about this bit of me I’d rather not have.

Don’t talk yourself out of fear too quickly. Sit with it and ask what it wants you to know. (*Please take care of yourself as you consider making this inquiry. If you find yourself getting more agitated or traumatized, find someone to talk it through with - a counselor or trusted friend who can provide a safe space). If it feels ok and safe enough, go ahead and explore:
If fear runs away with you (as it is very good at!), keep it in healthy dialogue:

Is that really true? If it is, is there an action I can take so I don’t feel helpless?
Do I know without a doubt how this will end? I cannot know, so I can breathe with that truth.
What’s true in this moment, right here? Can I ground myself into this present moment? I can, because I’ve found ways to do this all my life, despite fearful things near and far.

Is it wrong to take this time to sit and get to know your fear? No! It’s medicine that helps calm your being so you can continue to be, first and foremost. Maybe so you could be helpful in some way when the time is right – you’re not helpful when you’re running around in a panic. We need our energy for when the panic meets us at the door so we can face it then. Until the moment when action must be taken, let’s foster the energy reserves. Get to know this part of ourselves so it doesn’t catch us off guard or leave us vulnerable to those who prey upon our fear.

What if we were to not silence, dismiss, or push away our fear? What if, for a bit, we didn’t cover it over with anger? Don’t get me wrong – the anger is also warranted and has information for us, but for now I’m curious about peeling it back to see what’s underneath. My guess is you’ll find your anger rises out of deep caring, and you’re worried or terrified for yourself, for loved ones, or for people you don’t even know. For our planet and all of its inhabitants. For the future we’re leaving our children and grandchildren.

So, I admit I’m scared. I’m too tired to pretend to be strong all the time (and p.s., even strong people get scared). I don’t need to be strong all the time. I can’t be. We often think being fearless means we can’t feel afraid or that somehow, we miraculously have no fear, when in reality, courage is feeling the fear and showing up anyway. I think probably we’re stronger when we allow our humanness to be exposed. Vulnerability can connect us. So, I admit I’m feeling scared these days. The particulars of my fear aren’t the point.

If you’re scared too, can we just sit together, hold one another for a while? We won’t cower away forever, but can we just give ourselves a little respite of honesty and be afraid together? Because we’re not wrong to feel this fear, and maybe it won’t consume us if we can sit with it every now and again. Shall we give it a try? Somehow sensing “me too” leaves me feeling a little less alone and gives me the courage to go on.

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Finding Hope - In the Worst of Times

2/7/2025

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Writing about hope in horrific times? Really? Yes! It feels necessary. Maybe more important than ever. So, here we go.

We are living in a time where chaos, confusion, and relentless actions are designed to exhaust us, divide us, and silence us. We can easily lash out in anger or hide away in isolation.   Empathy, accountability, and respect seem to be lacking, particularly from those in power.
We need hope to help us see beyond the muck of the truly despicable.

The state of affairs in the US right now reminds me of the chaos that once consumed my family, crisis after crisis, brought on by chaotic substance use. The too familiar dread in the pit of my stomach – afraid to look at my phone to see what the latest disaster is.

One key distinction is that my son didn’t intend to scare us, cause chaos or harm. His actions weren’t calculated, malicious, or planned out. They were simply part of his mental health challenges which set off a chain of reactivity. I've talked with many people who've struggled with substance use, and know they never meant to hurt the people they love.

It’s easy to be frozen in inaction, stunned into silence in times of great disruption, but we don’t have to collapse. We can find a way to go on and to act in meaningful ways. Wringing our hands helplessly only adds to anxiety and withdrawal.

We need hope to continue on – to love, to be generous or compassionate, to make a difference.

Hope is Possible
Here’s what I know: hope is possible even in the most devastating times. How do I know? Because on the night my son, Nate, died, I reached over to my husband, grabbed his hand and said, “We will get through this.”

Partly, I did this because I needed to hear myself say it, to believe it, because anything else was too impossible to imagine. I said it even though it was also impossible to know how we would get through or what “getting through” meant. Partly I did this because at least some part of me knew that it was true.

In our 29 years with Nate, we endured so much – school struggles, family struggles, 14 years of the pain of watching him struggle with substance use and bulimia and all that that brought with it. We’d faced so many times when I didn’t know how I or we would go on… but we did. Now, not quite 2 years since his death, I still don’t always know how we will go on, but somehow, one moment, one breath at a time, we do.

I imagine if you look at your own life, you’ve had moments or maybe stretches of years that feel relentless, agonizing, hopeless. Times you’ve felt powerless and unable to see your way out of the struggle. Maybe you’re in a time like that right now. Either way, here you are reading these words, and that alone is a sign of hope.

What Hope Is and What It Isn’t

At a conference late last November, “Bridging the Hope and the How,” our keynote speaker, Dr. Ashley Cross, Executive Director of Hope585 in Rochester, NY, said that hope isn’t a feeling. That we can have hope even when we feel grief, sadness, fear. I’m still sorting out how that’s possible. No words for it, but I have experienced it to be true.

I’ve learned hope isn’t a flimsy wish: “I hope things get better.” That’s just wishful thinking that doesn’t get you or anyone anywhere. No change comes from weak wishing. A wish like that allows you to step back and not take any responsibility for what could be.

There’s another kind of hope that is fierce – it rises from deep inside and says, “No! This is not how this story will end!” That force can carry us, be a guiding light that calls us forward, even if we can’t see where we’re going. This force nudges us forward, fueled by a belief in a better future and a knowing that we can be part of creating the future we long for.

In his book, 8 Ways to Hope: Charting a Path through Uncertain Times, William Miller writes, “Hope is all about anticipation of what is not yet. It is a liminal space, a threshold to what may yet be.” What is not yet… what may yet be… those words alone bring pause. An interesting reflection. A reminder that we simply Do. Not. Know. All we can know is what’s already happened and what is happening right here, right now in our direct experience. We do not know what is coming in the future. Even when things are happening that make it look bleak. We still cannot foresee the future. We don’t have to fall into the trap of foregone conclusions.

Hope and Fear

Miller goes on to say, “…both hope and fear project images of what could come to pass, and both can be powerfully motivating. They are alternative lenses through which we view an uncertain future… Hope tends to expand our horizons, while fear contracts them.”

Have you noticed that? Fear brings us into tunnel vision where we only see the path of doom. It constricts our bodies. Breathing becomes shallow, jaw clenches, gut grips. Our thoughts run on a repetitive loop with all that we fear. “I know how this is going to go!” We find ourselves unwilling or unable to imagine any outcome other than what we dread.

“Fear can shut down the creative capacity to find better ways and even the will to find them. Hope is about finding both the will and a way forward,” writes Miller. When we feel trapped. When we feel certain of doom. When we feel powerless to do anything that will make a difference, we can lose hope. Of course we can. It’s so natural. Especially if the scene feels familiar – you’ve been here before, so “here we go again” thoughts come rushing in. Of course.

But, can you consider that this time could be different? You’re not the person you were the last time you faced this situation, even if it was only yesterday or a few hours ago. Which means that everything else about this scenario is also different than it was. The door to hope cracks open a tiny bit. Where there is possibility, there is hope. Where there is uncertainty, there is hope. Nothing has been determined yet. Where there is life, there is hope. Where there is love, there is more hope.

When people come together for the greater good, hope rises and ripples out. Hope and fear are both contagious – they spread between people like a creeping vine that quickly takes over. So, you get to decide if you’re spreading fear or hope. What seeds you want to plant? Can you be a force of hope, even in times of great darkness when all seems lost?

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but moving ahead in spite of it,” says Miller. The fear will be here. As will grief, sadness, confusion, anxiety, but they don’t have to be the only forces at play and we don’t have to give them the final word. One thing is for certain – running around and adding to the frenzy and panic helps no one. We must do what we can to find a ground that allows us to come into the world in a healthy way.

Creating a Legacy of Hope
Hope creates hope. We can give hope to others when they’re not feeling it. Our words and actions can create a ripple of hope. In Hope Rising: How the Science of HOPE can Change Your Life by Casey Gwinn & Chan Hellman, the authors share many ways to cultivate, strengthen, and grow hope. Hope needs attention and effort to sustain it – it doesn’t remain untended. In their final chapter, “Leaving a Legacy of Hope,” they share “Lessons Learned from Two Old Guys!”

Some that feel poignant in this moment are:

Teach your children (and friends) to be hope-centered
When the time is right, make it OK to talk about the bad stuff in life
Empathy always opens doors
Listen more than you talk
Run from negative people – find cheerleaders and encouragers
Surround yourself with positive role models
Focus on strengths, not weaknesses or deficits
Use your power and influence to bless children

When you use your powers for good, and act in ways that bless the children and the future children of the world, you are leaving a ripple that builds people up and generates more hope, kindness and caring.

A friend once called me a “Possibilitator,” a term that lit me up. I define it as “one who shines the light of hope and possibility, especially in times of darkness.” In a world where so much is out of my control and beyond my influence, this is something I can offer. Will you possibilitate with me? We can also take the actions we’re called to to help create a better future. None of this is about sugarcoating a shitshow or burying your head in the sand. It’s about finding sustainable ways to show up for people and things that matter.

It's All Too Much! Finding the Elusive Balance

Being bombarded by crisis after crisis feels relentless and overwhelming. I don’t know that there is a magic formula for being informed and staying engaged so that we can take action as needed, while also taking good care of ourselves. I do know that we must tend our hearts and health - mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional. When we are well cared for, we can step up when and where we’re called.

Meditation has helped me be with my own mind, developing awareness of what’s going on inside, sitting with thoughts and feelings as they arise. This allows me to act and speak in a more clear and intentional way. We don’t need to completely avoid the realities of the world (and we couldn’t even if we tried to), but with intention we can choose where we direct our attention. We can help where we can, step away to rest and regroup as needed. Breaks are essential.

We can carry hope alongside fear as we remember we don’t know what might yet be.

Balance in action and rest is elusive and not evenly matched much of the time. There are times when we will be all-in on something stressful, that requires immediate action, and does not give us a chance to sit back and be more intentional and mindful. However, when there are moments to regroup, refresh, and renew our mind and spirit, we must take them. Those moments are critical.

When you find people in the news taking over your life to the extent you’re missing moments of sweetness or delight with your partner, friends, or children, something has to give. At our family picnic last summer, we began swirling into fear and dismay about the future. My niece, Amy, brilliantly brought us back to each other and the precious gift of family time with a quick declarative, “That man is not welcome in our kitchen. He is not invited into our gathering!” Thank you, Amy. I find I have to remind myself of this often. To bring myself to what I want to allow into this moment, this space, my personal domain.

We get to choose who and what we give our time, energy, and attention to. Certain people want nothing more than to consume all of it. I implore you to take it back so that you can enjoy a quiet lunch with a friend, a walk in the woods with a beloved, sitting by the fire petting your cat, laughing at a stupid comedy, or getting lost in a song while you dance in your car.

Please take time to notice the beauty and the goodness in life that is here, even as horrific events consume the airwaves. It doesn’t erase or replace them, but it does broaden your perspective to all that is available. Beauty, wonder, delight, joy, kindness, lightness – they’re still here even when seem overshadowed by the ugly.

Do what you can for the causes that matter to you, remembering you cannot do everything, nor do you have to. Serve in a way that works for your body, nervous system, mind, and energy capacity – let others serve in their ways. Some of us will march and make calls, some will donate money, others will provide meals, others will offer hugs and smiles and kindness where they can. Others will sit quietly with a distraught family member or friend. There are many issues to be addressed, personally and collectively.

In her work of Revolutionary Love, Valarie Kaur reminds us of the midwife’s wisdom - we cannot push all the time. We must also breathe. In the resting and breathing, the next push can arise, and also in the pushing, we allow the breath to arise. Without the breath, you will deplete yourself and have nothing left to give.

If you’re facing a death or dealing with an illness or chronic struggle – your own or a loved one’s - you’re going to need your energy. What we’re facing collectively in our country and world is something that is going to require sustained energy. It serves no one for you to be on hyper-alert all the time. In our journey with Nate, we learned that sleep was vital, and so we chose to turn off our phones at bedtime. If something bad happened, we needed to be clear-headed and energized so we could respond in a more helpful way, rather than being sleep-deprived and overwhelmed by stress. When can you allow yourself to disconnect for a period of restorative time?

What Helps You to Hope?

I’m not always sure what helps me have hope. I do hear my son whisper from wherever he is, “I’m right here, Momma,” and I can feel that. I know that we still have each other and that he works with me and through me, and for that I am grateful. I find hope in the people in my life – my husband and friends who bring love, laughter, tears, and joy. I find hope in the nudges which prod me to create, offering what is mine to offer.

I find great hope in remembering that many people before me have persevered in similar or worse conditions than I face. In our country and around the world, many have endured centuries of treatment that could have led to despair and yet somehow, they have carried on. Leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, and Mother Teresa have shown what’s possible in the face of violence and hate.

Moms like Lori Drescher, Founder of Recovery Coach University, Pam Lanhart, Founder of Thrive Family Recovery Resources, Heather Ross, Family Recovery Coach, and Alexis Pleus Founder of TruthPharm, who have lost beloved children, inspire and uplift me and many others, as they work diligently to support people touched by substance use.

Hope Doesn’t Need to be Grand.

You might spend a little quiet time with Hope and ask, “Hope, what would you have me know?” Take a few minutes and let Hope’s wisdom flow to you, writing it out in a note to yourself if you like. In our last Finding Hope Within retreat, one participant received a beautiful insight that “hope can be small pinpricks of light.” And also, that “hope is in the sidewalk cracks, not the sidewalk.”

What does Hope want you to know?
What helps you have hope?
Who inspires you through their example?
Are there negative people you need to give less time to?
How can you sustain and support yourself in stressful times?
What do you notice that’s good or beautiful in your world today?
How do you want to show up in a troubled family, community, country, world?

Finding the Will - You are not Powerless!

Whether you’re facing a family challenge with substance use or you’re concerned about the state of affairs in the US and the world, your presence, your voice, and your actions make a difference. When we feel powerless, like nothing we do matters, it’s easy to lose hope. That’s when we’re at risk of isolating and finding ourselves paralyzed by fear or anger.

What you do matters! Your energy and presence matter, so please take the time to nurture and nourish your body, mind, heart, and spirit. Now is a great time to double down on practices that build internal strength, peace, grounding, flexibility, and clarity. That can look like getting out into nature, feeling the strength of the Earth holding you. Practices like yoga, dance, or working out allows your emotions the movement they need. Take time for contemplation, reflection, and mental rest through meditation, prayer, or journaling. Find community where you can, because we need each other, so take time to connect with someone you hold dear, go to a support group, attend a spiritual community gathering, or join a resistance group.

Be sure to take time for silence. There is too much to take in right now and it can easily overwhelm. Take media breaks. Turn off your phone and put it out of sight. Take a walk without listening to a podcast or talking to anyone. Create some spaciousness so that you can think and act more clearly.
Take some time to think about what practices best support you and make some time for them, even if only 5 minutes. 5-minute practices sprinkled throughout the day add up, and they will support you in this time that doesn’t offer any quick, easy fix.

Finding the Way - Some Ways to Get Started:

Step 1 - Pause... take a breath (or many breaths) - it's hard to imagine anything that could be made worse when we begin this way. Take this moment to find center and grounding before posting, speaking, or acting. Then proceed...

If you care about someone struggling with substance use, please check out the Invitation to Change approach which will invite you to reflect on what it means to help, reimagine the role that loved ones can play in the change process, and provide you with evidence-supported strategies for helping.

If you’d like a simple way to get involved in speaking out about the current state of affairs in the US, 5 Calls offers a direct link to your congressional representative and Senators along with guidance on top concerns you may wish to convey. Heather Cox Richardson is a clear and steady source of information. Pace yourself in what you’re taking in and what you’re doing. Do what you can and then step back to be refueled.

Donate to organizations doing important work that matters to you – time, money, or needed items. Whatever feels realistic and doable to you in this moment. What might fill your heart as you give?

Create the things you are called to create. It can be easy to shut down in the weight of overwhelm, but your creative offerings, whether that’s art, music, writing, videos, playlists, retreats… they are needed and they matter.

Make time for music - Here’s an eclectic playlist for finding hope to support you in this wild and crazy time. And here’s my Power Me Up Playlist for when I need a boost! Music can lift your spirits or bring the release of tears, encourage you to keep going, or give you something to dance and sing to. It helps us get out of our heads and into our souls. Music matters. Make your own playlist to carry you through the dark times.

Find Your People – In times when we feel scared, alone, or isolated, community is even more important. I know it’s harder to access because it takes energy and vulnerability to connect, but the effort will pay off. Phone a friend! Can we please bring back spontaneous phone calls and voice mails? Even if we don’t connect, at least we can hear each other’s voices! Find a group that supports your hobbies, passions, causes, personal development, recovery, or spiritual needs (to name a few), in person or online. Remembering that you’re not alone can really help.

The communities that are supporting my well-being right now that might be of interest to you:
The Open Heart Project Sangha - daily live meditation and discussion, weekly meeting, plus more!
Bodhi Tree Yoga - a variety of online classes with wonderful teachers and a sense of community

Give yourself a little oasis – Speaking of community, I invite you to join me on Monday, February 17, for a mini retreat, Finding Hope Within from 12 – 1:30 PM ET. Let’s come together, bringing whatever is present and cultivating a little bit of hope – that elusive what might yet be.

Find and create joy, delight, wonder. This is not a frivolous thing. Your energy matters - how you behave and speak matters. Small acts of kindness and moments of joy matter. Keep doing what you enjoy with joy. Joy is a form of resistance says Heather Cox Richardson (take a minute to watch this clip - it's very empowering!). It allows you to take back your power and refuse to give in to the forces that are bringing you down. Keep loving on people and believing in a better future, even if we don’t quite know what that will look like.

Find ways to offer compassion – to yourself and others. Our world desperately needs this energy. Showing up and acting from a place of love, kindness, and compassion makes a difference and builds hope. Your hope might take root, grow, and spread. It’s certainly worth a try!

Hold your loved ones close. Reach out and grab the hand of someone you love and say, “We will get through this.” Even if you don’t know how, you’re planting the seed of hope and possibility. Even if you might not get the outcome you would like, are you willing to give it a go?

What's working for you? Please, please share!! We learn and grow together!

My altar of hope

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Showing Up

2/4/2024

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Guest Blog by Steve Aman
There is a shadow that lurks in me that often whispers “you’re not good enough.” That shady shadow might add “what makes you think you can do that?” or some other diminishing words of gloom. It has taken many years for me to learn how to speak back to that voice. Today I can tell it, “thank you, but I don’t need you right now. Step back and I will get to you later.” In the meantime, I discovered that when I just show up, things move along pretty smoothly and even incredibly.

Some time back I learned a universal truth. When we come into this world, we arrive with our own unique set of gifts and challenges. Truly, there is no one else on this earth with an identical mix like our own, and I have no doubt that this is no accident. When I compare myself to another, I automatically withhold some of my gold, and that is not what I came here for.

On the other hand, when I simply show up and open myself to the flow of energy, what I call Spirit, and I trust that flow, I cannot go wrong. Some folks call this energy intuition. I call it “hollow bone” energy. When I allow myself to become the conduit, or the hollow bone, between Spirit and this physical world, magic happens. The most challenging part of this for me over time has been to trust what I am hearing or feeling. “You want me to do what?” I have often asked. And, when I simply showed up, trusted that there was something bigger than me behind the scenes so to speak, it has never failed to turn out beautifully. Indeed, it seems that paying attention to that energy often turns out to be a significant gift for someone involved.

Please join the conversation:

Do you have internal messages that keep you from showing up?
What have you discovered when you've overcome the doubt or fear and shown up to give your gifts anyway?
Is there an opportunity for you to show up where you might feel a little hesitant? What will it take to do it anyway?

Please share with us in the comments below. Thanks for adding your wisdom!

Meet Steve:
Steve is a retired farmer and has been deeply in love with the Earth his entire life. He and his wife of 53 years, Mary, live on a wondrous bit of creation in upstate New York that includes woods, meadow, wetland, stream, farmland and pond.

Steve has been deeply immersed in teaching nature awareness and primitive skills for decades, and is currently co-developer for the Resilience and Acceptance in the Face of Collapse course (https://acceptingcollapse.com/) currently being offered across the globe. He strives to live by the maxim "balance is the key", and recognizes that absolutely nothing provides meaning like being of service.

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Going On...Even when Life is Forever Changed

5/5/2023

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Image by Dorothe from Pixabay

Nine years ago, I had just begun writing a beautiful little book of healing poems and prayers, or rather I should say I was being woken up by words that compelled me to get up and write them down. The writing was helping me to process life, and I thought the book was going to be called “Garden of Inspiration.” About 6 months in, it became clear that that title did not embody all that wanted to be written. That life was more than just sunshine and rainbows, and people needed to feel not alone even in the dark, horrible, scary, and sad times. The subtitle for what would become 111 Invitations, “Step into the Full Richness of Life” was born. It’s a not-so-cute phrase to reflect that sometimes life is horribly painful and sometimes beautifully wonderful and a lot of times kind of just meh… and all of it is part of this human experience we seem to have signed up for.

Last year after one of my closest friends, Mary Lally, died on Christmas Eve, I wrote about grief, trying to capture the grace and pain of it. When I wrote Good Grief, Gratitude and Grace and Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief, I thought I knew what I was talking about. Maybe I did for that particular grief journey. However, I am learning that grief takes many forms and shows up in surprising and profoundly non-linear ways. It’s slow, it’s sneaky, it’s exhausting and intense, and it permeates everything at times (much like pepper juice on half a pizza that seeps over and tarnishes the whole thing).

In the past 14 years, I’ve navigated a journey that has been deeply challenging and has brought a lot of grief, along with a huge amount of deep and enduring love. That love continues even though on March 29th, our beautiful son, Nate died. The pain from this loss is unlike any I’ve ever experienced and as many people in my life have reflected, “It’s unimaginable.” In the beginning the shock carried and protected us pretty well, getting us through the tasks that had to be handled immediately. And at the same time, the sense of sacredness landed in my heart as a clear truth - we didn’t have to rush to decide about many things. We could wait to create a service in a way and at a time that felt right to us. We did not need to conform to societal norms (Nate never did, so why should we!?) despite pressure from several of his friends who understandably wanted to pay their respects and memorialize him in some way.

Go ahead and do what you will, I told them. I can’t do this for you, and anything other than keeping my circle really close and small right now would have wrecked me. I pondered whether there might be value in grieving in community and maybe we should have a service sooner, but we were not ready yet. Even now, much remains unclear, and we will just take it one moment at a time.
What I can say with confidence now that I’m living this dreaded life experience, is that the practices and teachings I’ve been living and sharing for the past decade really are working for me. They have resourced me well and allowed me to somehow keep on going, to show up for life, to live, albeit with a lot of heartache and emptiness.

I am so deeply grateful I am that we had found compassionate, kind, and loving ways to be in relationship with Nate over the past few years, that we had many honest, deep, and healing conversations. There is no question for any of us how much love connected us all. That is in large part thanks to a meditation practice which built the capacity to cultivate a heart that can hold it all, expanded open-hearted compassion, and taught us to turn toward life as it is. It’s also in large part a benefit of Recovery Coach training which helped us to understand addiction and recovery differently than we had in the past. The Invitation to Change approach definitely helped us foster trust and a loving, respectful relationship. Thank God we had that approach alive and well in our lives. I cannot imagine the regret that would haunt me now had we not.

Now to highlight a few of the things that have helped over the past decade (or longer) that continue to resource me now. It would have been much harder to incorporate these things into my life now had I not cultivated them over time. I believe they are always helpful and especially when there is one big thing that might consume our lives, whether that’s a child who struggles, work that takes over, a parent or loved one who requires our care. There are big things that can begin to define us and our entire existence if we’re not aware. When they do, it’s time to find a way back to ourselves.

1. Getting Support - Though this list is very incomplete and the things I’m highlighting are interwoven and maybe this aspect couldn’t happen without the others, I think it’s clear to say up front that I could not be doing as well as I am through this grief without so much loving support. I am glad that I have learned to ask for what I need, so when my sister asked whether she should come to be with me or not, I could clearly let her know that yes, I would like her to be here. In the past there might have been more self-abandonment in not wanting to impose on her, denying my needs in order to accommodate what I imagined were hers.

Knowing what kind of support and when I am open to receive has been critical. If someone offered food or a healing session that I couldn’t accept in that moment, I’ve asked for rainchecks. When the time was right, I asked friends to set up a Meal Train for us because we still don’t have the energy or focus to think about preparing meals. People love to give, so I’ve allowed myself to receive and say, “thank you” without too much discomfort that I’m being self-centered and spoiled. When I hit a wall from too much peopling, I give myself a break. I’ve had to pace my interactions in order to honor my own bandwidth in this time. Learning how to respect my own needs and capacity, even as I invite others to walk alongside me has been critical (I don’t think I could have learned it in real-time so I’m grateful for the years of self-care and focus on developing this skill which allow it to kick in in a time of crisis).

Over the years I have been and seen others be “strong and independent”… putting off the vibe of the outstretched stop-sign hand, letting the world know, “I’m good. I’ve got this” and then wondering why no one was offering love or support. We, as a society, have become overly influenced by this idea of fierce independence and self-reliance. We need each other to walk through life. We need to open our arms and hearts and let others in when we’re struggling. We need to understand that vulnerability is not a sign of weakness and that allowing others to show up and lend their service or their listening ear is a gift to you both.

2. Pause - you’ve likely heard me tout the value of a pause a million times if you’ve been around for any time. The taking of a breath creates space for a supportive pause. Even that split second gathering can be the difference between a less-than-well-crafted reaction and a more mindful response. Practicing the pause over many years has allowed me to be gentler with myself in what is a huge pause now - allowing myself to step back and listen within to what I need and for guidance. It’s in the pause that we access a deeper wisdom. When we pause, we take life one moment at a time, which is really the only way to go. When we don’t pause, we are often overtaken by fear which leads to reactivity and chaos. In the pause, we gain a little perspective, a little space, a little breathing room.

3. Self-Care is Vital - Renee Trudeau has taught me to slow down, quiet down, put my hands on my heart and ask, “How do I feel? What do I need? What do I want?” At first it felt foreign and awkward and sometimes my answer was “I have no idea…” Over time this has become part of who I am and how I roll, thank goodness. What this simple inquiry has allowed me to do in this time is to honor the needs and wants of my body, mind, heart, and spirit. It has allowed me to respond to those needs and wants and to ask for help. It’s allowed me pace myself, to honor the sacredness of this time and push aside any outside ideas or pressure of how this should go.

Self-care will look different, moment by moment. Allowing this is critical. Sometimes what’s needed is a nap, other times a phone call with a friend, a walk in the woods, or a good car scream! It’s not formulaic, but rather arises out of the ability to tune in and listen to your own inner knowing. I am deeply grateful for almost a decade of integrating this into my way of being - I could not have learned it in a time like this.

4. Gentle Yourself - Many thanks to Jenna, a retreat participant years ago, for offering up this phrase and turning “gentle” into a verb. As soon as I heard it, I knew what she meant. Greet yourself with exquisite tenderness, kindness, and care - likely the way you would treat a beloved friend or child. Often, we are most harsh with ourselves and gentling may not come naturally, but it is a profound gift when we can greet ourselves with compassion, love, and respect. In times of deep grief or confusion, gentling allows us to be ok enough to keep showing up, one moment at a time.

5. Honoring each Soul’s Journey - My son and I have always been deeply connected and certainly our lives were interwoven, yet several years ago, it became clear that they were also separate. He had his path and I had mine. Related, but distinct. Not dependent on one another for our state of wellbeing. It’s why I knew with every fiber of my being that I could, actually, be happier than my unhappiest child. I would not lay that burden on him; I did not need him to be ok for me to be ok. Thankfully my husband wisely articulated, “Yes, there’s love for him, but there’s also love for me, for us…” meaning we didn’t have to give it all away in an effort to save him. We needed to live our life even while we loved him, supported him, and walked alongside him the best we could.

Had my wellbeing been completely linked to his, I may well be totally devastated now, unable to imagine going on. My heart is shattered, my life has a huge Nate-sized hole in it, and I often feel sick when I imagine forever without him in it. And, I am going on. I know I will find my way back to myself and into whatever this new reality becomes. I will show up to life and live because we still have work to do, because I am determined to make our journey and his life and death matter.

You too are more than the one thread that feels all-consuming. I promise. Who are you beyond that? It’s worth the time to explore. To remember that you were a person before this thing came into your life, or even if your thing is something that’s been a part of you all your life, there’s more to you than just that. Don’t let yourself be defined or boxed in by any one thing. Stretch to see what more is here.

6. Acceptance - NOT as in I’ve reached the (non-existent) final “stage” of grief, and I’ve got this, but rather an acceptance of what is here. This goes along with #5 and also goes beyond. Acceptance of what is, not being at war with reality, allows us to meet ourselves and our lives exactly as they are. When we stop wishing that things were different (and believe me, I’ve never wished that more than these past 5 weeks), we can begin to live here and now with the qualities of truth and presence. This is what is. Now what?

Part of the acceptance that has guided me over these past many years was knowing that we could not save my son’s life. That it wasn’t even our job to do so. We could only love him as he is for as long as he’s here, but how long that was wasn’t up to us. Accepting that limitation freed me to love him differently, less desperately. It allowed us to have more honest conversations where we were each safe to share. Accepting him as he was meant I didn’t need to impose on him what I thought he should be or how he should do things; at times I was able to consider his perspective, put myself in his shoes. What I wanted wasn’t necessarily what he did. I had to try to honor his autonomy and walk alongside him and try to avoid letting my fear throw me into a state of telling or yelling. Acceptance allowed him to feel seen, heard, loved, and respected and allowed a softening in me toward his life and what the outcome might be.

For months we’ve been pretty aware that we were watching our son die. We did what we could to explore better supports and treatment. We loved him fiercely. And we also looked at quality of life, honoring that he’d prefer to live on his own, have a job, be able to write and record his music (which he did) than be in an inpatient facility, even if it would keep him safe and alive. Acceptance allowed me to choose who I wanted to be and how I wanted to show up, even when I was terrified that he would die. Acceptance allowed us to have a closer, more loving and trusting, open relationship than we would have otherwise. And acceptance now allows each of us to grieve in our own way at a our time, knowing that we will need and want different things at different times. Navigating together, but individually.

7. Cultivating a Heart that can Hold It All - this is a phrase I first heard from Buddhist meditation teacher, Tara Brach, and it’s one I’ve taken to heart ever since. It’s the idea that seemingly contradictory states of being can coexist in a way that the mind can’t make sense of but the heart can. It requires us to get away from black and white, either/or, all or nothing thinking and to recognize that even in the most painful times, there is also beauty, peace, and joy. Making room in our hearts for it all to be there is exquisite, because it’s already all there anyway. Often, we are just overly focused on one or the other, squeezing one out because it doesn’t seem to fit, adding to our suffering by not allowing ourselves the full richness of this human experience.

A meditation practice that invites us to sit with the breath, to notice what we’re noticing, but not need to rush to fix or change it, helps us to develop this capacity to be with all of life. To turn toward even the pain and discomfort, to sit in it, not needing to rush past.

There are times when I’m sick and tired of this grief thing that has landed like a cloak on our world, and I’d like to just get on, get “back to normal,” but at a deeper level I know there is no going back. There is no normal any more. I can only go forward into what is next, and as exhausting and uncomfortable as it is, I don’t want to bypass the divinely human experience of a deep grief that reflects a profound loss and a deep love.

At times I’ve wondered if I’m doing this wrong because I see people look at me, expecting that I will be devastated all the time - how could I not be? I’ve lost my child. But I’m not. I mean, I’m on the verge of tears most of the time, thoughts of Nate and the ache and longing to hold him one more time don’t ever go away, but I can also take in the beauty of a magnolia bloom, laugh with a friend, find comfort in mindless TV, sleep at night, and be grateful for the lack of worry that comes with knowing where he is. When I think of forever without him, I get punched in the gut with a wave of nausea, I lose my breath… and so I ride that wave. I allow it to be here (because, as we’ve already acknowledged, it is here) without pushing it away. If I get sick and tired of saying the same things over and over again (which I do), I allow the sick and tired. It’s amazing how much our hearts can hold if only we allow them to.

8. Gratitude - I have been practicing gratitude for at least 12 years now and it truly has changed my experience of life. (You can check out the research on how gratitude actually rewires our brains). It hasn’t changed my life circumstances, because most of those are out of my control. But it has changed how I walk through life, what I focus on, what I notice. Gratitude is one of the simplest things you can weave into your life. In any moment you can pause, get quiet, look around and notice what you’re grateful for. Whether you speak it out loud, write it down, or simply notice, take a moment to breathe it in to your being. What does it feel like to feel grateful? Where in your body do you notice it?

I notice a softening and expansion in my heart, a fullness and deepening of my breath, a broadening of my perspective in that moment of “oh yes… this is here too.” The more we look for things to appreciate in life, the more it becomes part of who we are. Every day I take photos of beauty, inside and outside my home. It’s part of my gratitude. I also reflect every evening on what I’m grateful for over the course of the day. Sometimes I pause and reflect in the morning before I get out of bed. I’m grateful the sun came up again, and I have one more day. I’m grateful for my tears which give me the natural release for this grief. I’m grateful for the friends who let me carry on and share my raw feelings with them. I’m grateful for the birds singing outside my window, the sunlight, the stunning beauty of the sky and sunset, the fresh burst of blooms that remind me of new life, even in the presence of death.

9. A Huge Dose of Grace and Self-Compassion is always of benefit.

That’s what I have to offer today, 5 weeks into the most profound grief of my life. I’m here. I’m still me even as me is forever changed. The core of who I am and what I know have been deeply impacted by this loss, and yet they carry me still.

I hope that maybe there’s something here you can bring into your life to help carry you when times get hard as well as when things are flowing smoothly. I’d love to hear what resonates with you or what challenges you. Please share in the comments or drop me a note. I may not reply right away (or even at all) - that’s part of gentling myself right now. But you reading and responding always matters. Thanks for being here as we walk this human journey in all its richness.

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Carrying Pain

2/19/2023

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Pain. Fear. Worry. I’m noticing lots of us don’t know what to do with these very human, and very uncomfortable experiences. Many of us have been conditioned to push through pain. We don’t understand or don’t want to sit with it. After all, we live in a culture that says things like, “No pain, no gain!” (Which, by the way I call bullshit on!).

If we allow it, our pain informs us. It tells us when something is wrong. It lets us know we need some loving care. It begs us to rest and regroup - to nurture ourselves until we’re ready to consider what to do.

We all carry pain. One of the elements of mindful self-compassion is common humanity, reminding us all humans suffer. It’s part of our shared human experience, not a sign of weakness and not something that happens to you alone.

I have found myself living with some really heavy pain mixed with a lot of fear lately. At times I’ve found myself feeling flat and dull like a cardboard shirt liner. Some days it’s a slog to simply do the next thing. Other days I compartmentalize a bit and put the painful stuff aside to enjoy being with myself or with a friend. One thing I know for sure is the more I’m able to express or share my pain, the less burdened I feel.

When we try to carry it alone, giving it nowhere to go, no release, no expression, no tears or screams, it eats us up inside. It comes out - always - just maybe not in a healthy way. Sideways, misdirected, harmful.

What Helps

What helps me in these times is to talk about it with someone who simply listens without trying to fix or advise. It helps me to write about it. It helps me to cry, even if the tears come from an unrelated song or movie. It helps to get outdoors and look for beauty. Because what’s scaring me is so outside my control, it helps to find what I can control - picking one small task and seeing it through (I’m talking super small, like getting a load of laundry through the dryer or wiping down one kitchen counter).

I’m learning to be with my pain, and to not be with it alone. Give it space. Give it voice before its pressure builds up and blows, before I become so numb that I hide away and lose myself to the world.

Where did we learn to believe we have to be OK all the time? That it’s weak to admit we’re hurting or scared? Maybe from parents who held it all together as they went through hard times. Parents who did what they had to do to get through, who weren’t raised to talk about their sorrows or hardships and didn’t know how to care for themselves. Maybe from a world that feels hard and harsh - a world that instructs us to hide our tears and “get over” our grief.

Pain carried alone is like poison, slowly taking us down.

What if we faced pain together?

As we face our scary realities, I wonder what might happen if we can each let down our armor. Maybe we can be afraid together. Maybe in that fear, we can break through - maybe shared vulnerability will help us face what we need to in a realistic way. Maybe. Maybe if we trusted one another to be honest and open about what’s going on, we can face it together. Maybe if we stopped pretending we’re OK, maybe if we’d open our hearts to one another, take a breath, slow down long enough to be really real, maybe then we’d get somewhere. Stop pushing, stop running and let ourselves break down to break through.

Maybe we need to stop jumping too quickly to problem-solving and let ourselves admit just how scared we are first. Maybe we can admit we don’t know what’s coming or how things can change, and then uncover some fresh ideas. What if we could learn from each other’s fears as we share our own? Can we come together to find a way forward? It seems worth a shot.

Hurt people hurt people. Let’s be people who are healing to help others heal. It will take some time. We have time. It’s always better to slow things down than to try to operate from a place of reactivity. Our pain and our problems deserve our time, our attention, our love, and our full presence. Especially when things feel really dire. In those moments, may we open our hearts to one another, let our whole selves come through, and come together to find our way on.

To the One Who is Hurting
by Barb Klein

To you, Dear One,
                The one who’s not doing as well
                as you’d like the world to believe,
I see you
I feel for you
I know what it’s like -
                to armor up and soldier on
                to put on a smile when you feel empty inside
                to feel lost and alone, and oh, so scared
Where do you turn?
How do you let it out
                so you don’t carry this unbearable weight
                alone?
Please let yourself let down
                some way, somewhere…
Please…
Don’t carry this alone.
It will tear you up inside
And leave you as destroyed
                as the one you worry about.
Please, find someone -
                let someone walk by your side.
You don’t have to pretend to be OK.
Really.
In each of us there lies a secret pain -
                too big to let out, we fear,
                afraid it will take over the moment it’s revealed
You are not alone.
You are one of thousands of millions,
                pretending to be OK,
                shoving it down, this poisonous pain,
                burying it away,
                hurting and hurting and hurting some more.
Let it out.
Let someone in.
You do not have to carry this alone.
When pain is shared
                it becomes less heavy -
                perhaps.
Perhaps a new possibility might arise…
                if not, at least you can face it -
                together.
It’s too much for one person to bear, this poisonous pain.
I see you
I feel you
I’ve been there (just yesterday, in fact)
I wrap you in a love that reminds you -
                You do not suffer alone
Let’s carry this together
                as we step into this day,
Not pretending we’re OK
It’s OK
We’ll go on and find our way
Somehow
Some way
We will get through another day

Gentle yourself in whatever way you need. Rest when you need to. Know that pain doesn't have to be pushed through and that it's not weak to ask for help. Cry. Scream. Write. Whatever works for you to get out any pain you're holding. Let it out, get it out so that it doesn't tear you up inside. Please offer yourself tons of grace. Find your own version of what helps.

And if, in this moment, you're feeling peaceful, relaxed and full of joy! Great!! Soak that in - breathe it in to your bones so you remember you can find this feeling when you need it.

As always, please meet yourself with kindness, gentleness, tenderness, and compassion. And know that you are not alone.

I offer you this meditation, In Painful Times, as a practice to support you.

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Love IS Tough!

8/1/2022

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Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Whether it’s love for a child, partner, family member, friend, or ourselves. Staying IN relationship is almost always harder than walking away. Being willing to have the tough conversations, to admit our hurt or misunderstanding, to ask “what happened? What did you experience?” and share what’s going on for us, however imperfectly the words might fall out of your mouth.

Personally, I almost always bumble my words in real time. They don’t come out nearly as coherently or smoothly as they sounded in my head when I am face to face with this person with whom I’m having some kind of struggle. I didn’t grow up learning how to express my anger or hurt or how to ask for what I need.

I grew up hiding from conflict, avoiding it like the plague. Love and anger did not compute – in my mind they negated one another. I couldn’t be angry with someone I loved. If they were angry with me, that must mean our relationship is over. Anger has always been a little scary for me – mine as well as others. The silent treatment riles me up - I sometimes provoke just to get some kind of interaction going, even if it isn’t pretty.

Love, my friends, is tough. It’s so much easier (in some ways) to ice someone out, cut them off, be “done” with them. Walk away and stop trying to mend what’s been damaged or heal the hurt.
It takes effort to be willing to muddle through a conversation when both of you are hurting and/or upset. As we learn to take good care of ourselves it can be hard to figure out how to do that AND stay in relationship, honoring that we both have needs and at times those needs might be in conflict.
It takes learning new ways to wait and new ways to communicate in order to reconnect after there’s been a mishap. It’s painful. It’s often ugly, and may involve some tissues, some big sighs, some exasperated gestures or voices. It’s tricky to stay out of defensive posture, hear the other person, while also sharing our thoughts and feelings.

Self-compassion is also critical, as I tend to beat myself up, imagining what a terrible person I must be if this person I love is so upset. I hate hurting people and would far rather blame myself than someone I love. Self-love can be tough.

If we are wise, we allow time and space for each person to think things through, to look at our own stuff, to feel what’s bubbling within us, before we try to come together. However, in the silence, alone with our thoughts, we conjure up stories that may be far worse than what’s really going on. Someone avoids us or doesn’t take our calls, and we give it all sorts of meanings. How quickly we go from sadness and hurt to fear to “F@#& you!” depends on our own personal boiling point or how often we’ve been abandoned before.

I do not believe in “tough love” as too often prescribed for families and friends of loved ones who struggle with mental health issues like substance use, eating disorders, or other problematic behaviors. No, I don’t. These people are already hurting and misunderstood enough. Trust me, they pile onto their own suffering and adding to it is not going to help them heal or change. Just, no.

But I do know love is tough. Hanging in there in a way that works for you as well as the other person is tough. We fall in love with our babies and our partners so easily, we may not grasp the reality of the work and care required to stay in relationship with these people as we all grow and change.

I am discovering the gift in the relationships that require extensive work. Each time we make it through another round or problem, we deepen our connection. We add to the evidence that we will last. We learn to trust the relationship, and we remember (at least for a minute) not to take it or this person for granted.

Love is tough. It requires a willingness to be clumsy, a commitment to be honest, an ability to show up and speak up, even when it’s uncomfortable. The ability to take a risk because the relationship matters. It requires that we show up fully and authentically – not pretending that all is ok until we somehow get beyond whatever happened. True friendships and deep relationships require honesty and for each of us to be true to ourselves. I am not interested in superficial connections. I want to dive deep with my people. Diving deep is going to get messy at times.

It's tough. And in the end, it is so worth it. As we grow together, we learn more about one another. If I can begin to look at you and really know and accept that your behaviors make sense (based on your history, your personality, your style, your way of thinking and being), I can more easily accept you and make room for our differences. I can appreciate that we are not the same, and that’s ok. Hopefully you will learn a bit about my wounds, my triggers, my reactions, and my messed-up thinking as we talk things out. We will both realize that everyone acts like an ass at times… including me and including you.

I don’t have to take it all on. Relationships are made up of people. Whatever is going on here, we’ve created it together. We may not have meant to – things are often not personal or intentional, but here we are.

How do we find our way back to the surface to begin again? Together. One moment and one breath at a time. Through reaching out and asking or inviting a conversation. Through allowing space and time for that green light moment to reveal itself. Through finding “our way,” which may not be entirely yours or entirely mine. Getting beyond a need to blame or punish – ourself or the other. Remembering our heart connection and coming with deep compassion and an open heart so that we can reconnect.

Love is tough. It’s not always sunshine and rainbows. It requires deep vulnerability, the courage to say “I am sorry. I was wrong. I wish that hadn’t happened. I don’t ever want to hurt you" (but I likely will if you stick around long enough, because, hey… I’m human and so are you).

Love is not always laughter and joy, even when we think it should be. Life is always happening, and in the end, love is tough...so it endures. Love is the way.

**PLEASE NOTE: Not all relationships are healthy or worth fighting for - if you are being abused in any way, please get the help and support you need to take care of yourself and keep yourself safe.**

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Feeling Blah...

7/13/2022

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I don’t know about you, but I seem to cycle through phases of feeling energized, very on purpose, in flow, and then dropping into “What is the point of it all? Why do we do what we do? What is my purpose? Do I even have a purpose, or is this all for nothing? Who am I?”

It’s pretty unsettling and disorienting in the floundering times that hold such big, heavy questions. I think it’s pretty natural. My counselor says it’s ok, so that reassures me. There will be times of feeling blah, needing to turn inward, to shut out the world, to give more to myself than to others. It’s called nourishment, nurturing, true self care, and it’s vital to our sustainability as humans.

The world is a lot right now. Whatever might be going on personally, we each need to add multipliers to it that are weighing on us, consciously or not. The pandemic goes on, the debate about the pandemic goes on, injustice, violence, discrimination, threats to life and liberty are everywhere. Maybe the world is always a lot. I’m feeling the accumulation of it pretty heavily right now, along with the collective weight of years of personal stuff.

So, there’s been a bit of blah lately. Not a lot of energy or motivation. A strong desire to pull in, to slow down, to quiet down, to say “no” and to not be too available to others. The clarity is strong, and the good news is I’m listening despite the inner struggle that wonders if that’s really ok or if I’m at risk of becoming a hermit.

I teeter between telling myself it’s ok and wondering if that’s really true. Mostly, I’m leaning into only doing what I want, what feels doable and reasonable given my current bandwidth, letting go of, or rescheduling non-essentials, releasing things that feel like more hassle than they’re worth. As I write this it feels like a pretty healthy approach. It just seems that I need this more and more these days, years, months. Didn’t I just give myself a little sabbatical last year? I did. And this year.

And now I need one again in the form I am able to create it – I will gladly see my clients, I will co-facilitate my group, I will continue to write… and I will put off things that do not call to me or do not need to happen. I will cancel memberships to groups I don’t participate in – I feel the low-level pressure when I’m not being honest with myself.

I showed up for yoga class on Sunday and thankfully the theme was tuning into and trusting our inner guidance. Love when that happens! So, as I practiced, I took a few notes.

Here’s what I took away – what I was reminded of:

We all have inner wisdom, inner guidance, inner authority.
When we are depleted, overwhelmed, stressed, or in crisis or survival mode, we lose touch with it.
To connect with it we need to be willing to feel. This may be why we over-busy ourselves or find other ways to numb or distract ourselves. It can be uncomfortable to feel what our inner wisdom is telling us.
Escaping, distracting, and numbing take us away from our natural connection with our inner knowing. Work, alcohol, substances, food, activities, social media, our devices, and over-giving to others serve this purpose. This purpose of protecting us from the discomfort.
Integrity comes from living in alignment with our inner knowing and guidance.
Slowing down, coming into breath and body helps. Quieting down. Connecting to something larger than ourselves through prayer, meditation, or getting out in nature helps. Opening up space, breathing room allows us to hear and see more clearly.
There are going to be these moments when we feel unsure. When we feel like we are flailing, lost, and confused. Times when we release the last version of ourselves and our lives to step into what’s next. In between steps there is often a pause – a time to cocoon in order to transform. It’s not always pretty or comfortable. It’s worth going there anyway.
To fully experience the richness of this human life, we need to be willing to feel it all and to be with ourselves in these moments of not knowing, of discomfort, of questioning. When we can be with ourselves in these times, come home to our heart and soul for guidance, we allow ourselves to grow and become. It isn’t flashy or pretty until it is. Think caterpillar to goo to beautiful butterfly. We too are like this. We just need to give ourselves permission to go into the darkness, to huddle up, to rest, to integrate, to release any need to perform or prove as we become.

The vastness of the ocean, the immensity of a redwood, the expansiveness of a canyon can take us away and beyond our own smallness to help us connect with the sense that something larger is at play. In these spaces we can feel both our own insignificance and our interconnection to all things on earth. We can find our belonging within the Universe and believe somehow that even when we can’t see it, there is a reason we are here. We do matter. We can remember that we are not alone. We matter. We are needed. Our voice, our ideas, our creations… unlike any other.

Whenever you find yourself doubting that, I invite and encourage you to listen to Brandi Carlile and Alicia Keys sing “A Beautiful Noise.” Something in this song wakes me, shakes me, and reminds me to hold on even when I’m not sure where I’m going. It pulls me back to trust that the way will become clear (or at least clearer). It reminds me that I have a voice. I have unique stories to tell, perspectives to share, lessons to teach, invitations to offer, and gifts to give. So do you. Each one of us does.

How are you doing these days? Where is your inner guidance leading you? Talking with a wise woman the other day she aptly noted, “I think people are fried.” I think she’s right. If you’re feeling fried right now, how do you recharge? How do you reconnect with your inner wisdom and guidance? What works for you? Please share with us so that we can add to our own ideas. In the moments of darkness, it can be hard to see a path forward. We forget this current state will, at some point, come to an end. It will.

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Many & Mixed Emotions

7/1/2022

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Image by Pixaline from Pixabay

Whew! It’s been a week of many emotions, from the pits of despair, to peace, to joy. Memories, moments swirl within, weaving together, making up my reality. Healing is happening. Growth is happening. Layers peeling back. Heart breaking open. Trauma being released.

Car screams help. Tears help. Laughter helps. Saying “yes” to spontaneous invites help. Reaching out helps. Conversation and connection help. Pausing to notice change and growth and to acknowledge it helps. Holistic healthcare helps – a lot. Grateful for all of my practitioners who have ideas and an understanding of how to help that seems to be beyond the scope of Western medicine.

I have felt myself swirling down into the too familiar drain of doom… taking one data point and projecting it into a future reality, that I obviously have no idea if it will ever come to be or not. Our minds are so quick with the stories, find such reassurance in certainty, think they know it all. They don’t.

But the old triggers awaken the automatic responses – before I even know it, I’m back in the old ways, swirling in the old thoughts, feeling the old fears. I don’t have to stay here. I am grateful for the reminders that change is not a smooth linear upward path. It never is. Growth happens in fits and spurts, in setbacks and hesitations, in erratic and unpredictable ways. The path is rarely clear.

So, keep my heart open. Allow space for what’s here in this moment. How can I be with myself? Who can support me? It’s clear I need to expand my network. My immediate desire is to call Mary… and, of course, I can’t. And though she plays me music to let me know she’s right here, it’s just not the same. Thankful for the friends who do call. Who ask, “What can I do to support you?” or who simply offer their care and love. Thankful for talking with my family. Thankful for hard, honest conversations that reflect so much. Thankful when I can help another.

This week has hit me in so many ways, from mundane and simple overwhelm from trying to do too much in too little time, to self-criticism for doing that, to more extreme situations. I’ve had moments of absolute divine flow and grace, sailing smoothly through with no rushing or lateness – definitely a rarity! And I’ve had moments of forgetting things like money to pay my acupuncturist or important documents to share with my coach. Oh well… move on through. I can pay her next time and bring those papers in a couple of weeks. We work with what’s here.

Driving through our old neighborhood the other day brought up so much… dreams of what was to be and the reality of what wasn’t. A mix of sweet memories of my kids’ childhoods twirled and danced with scary, disappointing, and terribly sad ones of later years. I felt my heart ache for it all, felt my throat clench as sobs started to rise, and I took myself to the park. I sat in the car in the parking lot and I journaled… I let everything come through my pen onto paper. I let myself cry. I let myself feel and release what had been stuffed tightly down for too long as I claimed all of it as part of this reality that is my life.

I know for me healing includes walking through the fire, facing what’s before me. As I can face it, I can release it. I can see where I’ve been and where I am now. I can reckon with the horribly hard stuff, embrace the sweet stuff and I can accept all that falls in-between.

Contemplation sometimes moves to action too quickly for my being to keep up. I love our spontaneity overall. And, sometimes it catches me off guard. We decided to sell our boat. It took less than 72 hours and it will be gone – whisked away to some other lake to cart grandkids around. That makes me happy. We had a nice run over to Beachcomber the other night for the classic summer dinner by the lake while they play beach volleyball. One of the things we’ve always loved doing with the boat! This morning we took our last spin around the lake. Getting to be captain one more time, I soaked it in. Tears ran down my face for all the reasons – mostly because this dream ever came into reality! All my life I wanted a ski boat. 9 years ago, we got our first one and it’s been a wonderful thing. Savoring the memories and at the same time relieved to be done with any hassle. Knowing there will be moments I will miss it and long for it, and knowing overall it will be a relief.

Why in the world am I carrying on about such an inconsequential thing at a time when the world is raging with so many consequential and incomprehensible things? Because it’s all part of it… each one of us is affected by the small personal things, the big personal things and the collective stuff of the world. I don’t know anyone who’s not feeling some level of weariness right now.

It’s a really good time to take good care of ourselves. And it begins, for me, with allowing the many mixed emotions to move through me. Tears, laughter, delight, agony… they can all come through in any given day. What I try to remember is that “this” won’t last. Whatever this is… it will change, morph, release, move on, and something else will quickly fill its place.

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"You'll Be Fine..." "You Don't Know That!"

4/29/2022

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Seven years ago, I was scheduled for a needle biopsy. I was scared, and we did not know what the results would show. I didn't care that this was a "routine procedure." I was grateful that not too many people hit me with “You’ll be fine,” because that would have really pissed me off! I was grateful there were people who listened and gave me space to be honest about my fear. It would have felt like a lie in some ways for anyone to say “you’ll be fine.” It would have felt dismissive. It’s a form of toxic positivity. A reflection of their discomfort with my discomfort.

Here's a bit from a post I wrote at the time, “I Know a Woman:” (Hint: I was this woman)
“Right now this woman is having a mini-wakeup call – a small awakening to what could be a new reality for her body. She is so very grateful for the doctor and the people in her life who take time to listen, but don’t venture to offer the false reassurance, “You’ll be fine.” Because we don’t know.  We don’t know what they’ll find. So, please, she asks, let her be in the space of uncertainty, the space of unknowing.

Right now she has a lot of questions.  Does she put her life on hold? Hold her breath till she knows? How does she lovingly support herself through this time? Who can she lean on for support? Who are the people who are really able to be there for her, rather than needing her to comfort and reassure them that she will be “fine;” that it’s “nothing?”

I trust she will be fine one way or the other simply because of her peace, her trust, and her faith that she is living her life as it comes. She will be “fine” because she will face what comes to her with courage, with love, and with the same belief in possibility that she usually has.  And, at times “fine” might include tears, anger, and fear.

…This woman enters these next few weeks of uncertainty wanting to be very real about it, and with as much grace, dignity, and ease as she can muster. She will welcome all of the many feelings and thoughts that may dance through her days.”

How often do we find ourselves not knowing what to say when someone is scared, angry, grieving, or lost? Blurting out things like “You’ll be fine. You’ll get through this. You’ve got this!” Maybe we say these things because we’re afraid too. Or we want to smother the person in comfort, to take away their fear or pain as quickly as possible. Or we want to cheerlead with a strong vote of confidence.

We mean well. We care. We are not bad or insensitive people, and we probably haven’t been taught how to be with uncomfortable emotions. We can do better. Because these messages can leave people feeling even more alone, misunderstood. Sometimes it’s better to do as my friend, Lori, says and take out the duct tape and zip it… just listen. Say nothing. Sometimes there are no words.

When someone you love is struggling or suffering, what would it be like to simply sit with them, allow them to feel what they’re feeling, let it be ok to admit that what’s coming is unknown and scary, and be uncomfortable together?

How do you want people to show up for you in these moments of uncertainty?

Brené Brown has a fantastic short video on Empathy. “Empathy fuels connection. Empathy is feeling with people,” she says. And she highlights what a gift it is when we don’t need to try to make things better.   I highly recommend you take a few minutes right now to watch it and then think about bringing this into your way of being. There are endless opportunities calling for empathy.

This is what the #AtoZChallenge has me wondering about today. What things have people said to you that you wish they hadn’t? What’s been helpful instead? What words or action fuel connection? Which ones leave you feeling more alone?

Want to read another blog about this? I think Kevin Thompson does a nice job in “You Don’t Know that I’ll Be Fine.”

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Unknown and Uncertainty

4/25/2022

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Sitting with these ideas for today’s #AtoZChallenge. We live in a world of uncertainty, and we are always stepping into the unknown, individually and collectively. Depending on what that unknown is can fill us with excitement or anxiety, hope or dread.

Sometimes it’s clear that we are in a state of transition – leaving a job or relationship, graduating college, getting married, moving across the country, having a baby… in these cases, we know we are leaving behind a familiar life to enter into a new one. What we don’t always see so readily is that we are always in transition. Our bodies, our reality, our relationships, minds and ideas are continually morphing and evolving.

Other people fill us with their fears, worries, or faith, which may or may not be helpful. Each of us is living in the unknown, uncertain of what’s to come. Most of us don’t like to admit or accept that. So, we do what we can to control, to create some level of imagined certainty.

We make decisions and choices, take actions trying to ensure the outcome we desire, unwilling to admit we can only take the next best step for the best chance of the things we hope for. There is freedom in accepting that truth.

The only things that are known or certain are those things that have already happened.

And, so, what keeps us going? Why do we continue to show up? I guess because the unknown also offers the possibility of things beyond our imagination. Our negativity bias causes us to focus on what could go wrong, but at the same time our spirit and soul call us to what could be wonderful or amazing.

Knowing is actually way less interesting than we admit. Who would watch a multi-hour sports event or movie if they knew how it was going to end? (Well, unless, like me, you’ve seen it before and you don’t remember or you don’t care because the story is so enthralling!).

We spend hours of worry about how our lives or our loved ones’ lives will go. We humans are fascinating! Playing this game of strategy and faith, effort and flow, making moves, taking chances, riding on hope. And, there it is again, that mighty force that some call weak.

Hope encourages us, supports us to say yes to the proposal, to take the stage, to leave the toxic relationship and head out on our own. To put down the drink or drug that has consistently brought comfort to see if there might be a better life without it. The hope that tomorrow will be a better day nudges us forward. Something has to push us, pull us to leave the known and risk the vast uncertainty of the unknown. To wake up and step into a new day and see where it takes you.

“When you walk to the edge of all the light you have and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown, you must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for you to stand upon or you will be taught to fly.”
― Patrick Overton, The leaning tree

My favorite days are “Let’s see where the spirit takes us” days. Days with absolutely no plans, and where we let go of control, just checking in moment by moment to see what we’d like to do. What we want to eat? Is this a time to rest, read, or go for a walk? What adventure calls to our hearts? What might be fun? What would feel comforting and nourishing?

To find the ability to flow with it, gently, sweetly, one moment at a time. Not needing an agenda. Not needing to know. It can be uncomfortable, but it can also be wonderfully delightful when I pause and listen within, feel into the longing of my heart and soul, let go of the worry of wasted time.

This is where I sit right now. Is this a day to relax and write? To bake? To go to a movie? In the sweetness of no schedule, I don’t know. And, I am savoring the unknown. It gives me permission to decide, to choose, to see… These are my favorite days. The ones not dictated by meetings, classes, work, commitments, or appointments. They are a rare gift in a busy world. “Seizing” this day does not mean it has to be productive or anything other than what it is. It only asks me to show up and be with it, as it is, as it unfolds.

And, yet, feeling the uncertainty of our future, having just watched the memorial video of a young man gone too son, compels me to invite us all to live a life we will remember. To love openly, to care deeply, to hug our people, to capture memories, and make new ones. This life is so precious because of its uncertainty. We don’t have to strive to make things happen, but we don’t want to miss what’s here.

What grounds you as you find yourself swirling in the midst of uncertainty? What helps you stay steady as you step into the great unknown? What practices do you have that hold you most reliably when times are tough? For me, meditation, morning pages, yoga, getting outdoors in the beauty of nature bring me home, and connecting with those I love is critical.

What does it mean to you to live a life you will remember? What’s calling you? What feels most meaningful and important these days? Has that changed over the years? I know, for me, I have little desire to go back to how I used to be when I was much younger. And I do long to step into my next chapter from a place of purpose and joy.

A few recommendations and invitations for you:
Katrina Kenison writes beautifully about life and its various stages, looking at transitions and life changes. I have recently finished Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment, a beautiful book for women in midlife, changing roles and relationships with growing children, finding themselves again after career and parenting change. I highly recommend this as well as The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother’s Memoir of Letting Go. Both books and her blogs, which are beautiful and thought-provoking, call us to be present to the everyday moments as our lives and relationships grow, evolve, and become their next version.

Here are a couple of musical accompaniments for this life journey:
The Nights by Avicii – “Live a life you will remember!”
I Did It All by Vince Myers

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Anger & Fear

Finding Hope - In the Worst of Times

Showing Up

Going On...Even when Life is Forever Changed

Carrying Pain

Love IS Tough!

Feeling Blah...

Many & Mixed Emotions

"You'll Be Fine..." "You Don't Know That!"

Unknown and Uncertainty

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