Healing From Loneliness

I can still recall sitting on my couch when I read these words from my soul sister, Jayne, via text. My heart sunk from the sage advice. 

She was a gifted intuitive and when she shared divine wisdom her words would shift a bit…almost sound more formal…and then she’d come back with a joke or sarcasm to wrap it up with lightness. 

It was the early days of my divorce and I had just learned my kids would be spending Thanksgiving with their dad. I was notoriously not a good sharer when it came to spending time with my kids, and the thought of being without them for the holiday had put me in a low place.

“Imagine you are alone. Sit in that space. Feel it and heal from there.”

Did she know abandonment and feeling loneliness were my biggest fears?

Likely not. I didn’t even know at the time. 

The thought of being alone swallowed me up with dread and angst. I avoided the possibility of feeling it assuming I wouldn’t be able to tolerate the discomfort. 

And yet, I knew she was right. If I was going to feel less dread I would have to experience what created it, and survive. 

It was the first of many occasions I would spend without my kids, and quite frankly, it was never easy. I would feel the pangs of sadness and grief and let it wash over me. Never appreciating it, but living through it. 

The older they have gotten the more time they have spent away from me. With lives of their own and experiences that don’t involve me, the grief of separation has only grown. The tumultuousness of adolescence and transitioning into adulthood while following their own path have stories of their own. 

My time alone, without them, has made the quietness of my house echo with emptiness. The  wounds I put aside to heal another day have resurfaced to remind me its their turn now, for nurturing, for attention, for the care I so freely give to others. 

I no longer imagine being alone. I am living it. I am feeling it. And I am, little by little, healing from it. 

What has been most remarkable for me during this time is how much repressed grief has come up. Enormous waves of sad from childhood. Noticing the inner fears I developed long ago when my voice wasn’t loud enough to be heard. 

And after I tend to it- the pain. After I nurture it- the emptiness. I find it slowly being refilled with a sense of hope I hadn’t realized how much I had lost. 

In the quiet, I feel the energy of my mother, my grandparents, and the team of spiritual support that accompany me in this life. I close my eyes and see the soul sparks of those who’ve made dynamic appearances which caused me great pain, yet taught me profound love lessons that have been tremendous in my personal growth. 

I notice the subtle serendipities that remind me how supported we are on our paths and in the everyday trials and joys of life. 

The familiar song playing in the store I hadn’t heard since my daughter’s toddlerhood, the picture on the wall in the antique store from my childhood bedroom, the text from a friend the exact moment I need it, the therapy sessions that help me travel into the darkest moments of my life and see how I was never, ever alone. 

Each day, if I let myself stay open to the wonder, it appears. 

I am not grateful for the experience yet, as I’m still moving through the heavy, but I am mindful of the gifts that are being offered in small, beautifully wrapped packages along the way. 

If you are in the middle of a growth spurt, I feel you. Rarely do they come without stretch marks and soreness. Keep your supports close and practice letting yourself feel them- from the seen and unseen. 

And when it feels like a bit too much, ask for more. :) 

What Is Holding You Back From Trusting Yourself?

Several years back when I was newly divorced, had just left my job and was building a new life for myself and my kids, I met my friend Jayne. Our serendipitous meeting left us instant friends when we both discovered we were on nearly the same exact path.

We both had left our jobs, were divorced/single moms, broke, healing our past, and losing and shifting many friendships in the process. We began supporting each other every day with inspiring texts or examples of what we were learning through facing our fears. Our motto: Trust Yourself, Trust the Process. And like every other human, we wanted proof we could.

Jayne was the first person I text when I was inspired to write 30 Days to Me. She even wrote affirmations for each day I wanted to include. She cheerlead me through the process and I relied on her wisdom and love. I trusted her guidance and support completely. 

A year into knowing and growing with Jayne, she died in her sleep. The night she died we spent the evening together prepping for a group and sharing how magical life was. I wasn’t just crushed, I was terrified. 

My biggest fear was that all I believed I could trust was a lie.  I trusted Jayne was who I would work with for the long haul. I trusted she would continue to guide me when I was lost. I trusted I could fully rely on her support and wisdom and in one instant- she was gone. 

The pain of the loss scared the shit out of me and my old fears of attachment came rushing back in. I didn’t want to get to close to anyone ever again. 

Yet, what if I hadn’t trusted myself to befriend this earth angel? My intuition assured me she was meant to be my friend. What if I never let myself get close to her? 

I would not have had a bold cheerleader to inspire me to share my story. I would not have followed through writing a book that I knew would be helpful for others, as well as for me. I would not have connected with the strength inside me to keep trusting myself and my path- even when it hurt like hell. 

And the truth is, in many ways, Jayne never left me. Her angelic presence still works with me, as I believed she would. Her words, forever etched in mind, remind me to trust myself and the process. Her unexpected exit reminds me to live in the moment because you truly don’t know what is going to happen next.

These are the stories I remind myself when I’m in an uncomfortable place not fully trusting what direction to go. They allow me to pause and know that whatever happens, and whatever I choose, I’m going to be okay. We all have these stories- many of them.

Here’s a reminder- everything we experience is meant to teach us something. The joy, the pain, the hope, the disappointment- all of it. 

Some of it feels amazing and we want more. Some of it sucks and we want to forget it ever happened. Yet all of it is part of our experience of how to truly LIVE.

I often hear people say they can’t trust themselves because their choices bring them down a road that was painful. Yet what did that pain teach you? Where did it lead you? What door opened when another closed?

Pain is meant to help us open our eyes, not close them. 

What are the experiences you’ve had that stopped you in your tracks and fed your fear? Is that fear still leading the way?

What fear is currently holding you back from living? Why are you scared to trust yourself? What would your life look like if you let your deepest desires lead over your fear?

Spend a few minutes sitting with these questions to see what it is your heart wants you to know. 

When Heart and Head Team Together...a Story of Serendipity

Facebook memories have a nice way of keeping track of things I’ve forgotten, as well as helping me remember how time sure does fly. I was reminded recently I’ve been in my current home for 8 years. I thought it had been 5! I then found this piece I wrote about buying my house on faith when all of my “reality checks” said not to. A true story of serendipity and what happens when you listen to your heart, your intuition, when you need guidance the most. 

I stared at the lined paper with numbers scratch written all over it. The numbers at the bottom stuck out like they were written in fluorescent permanent marker. Negative. One big negative. My hope sunk.

On paper my income would not cover my monthly expenses. I could not afford to buy the house I was living in and yet I promised my children I would. And more importantly, they believed me.  I had moved into the house with my children and my husband only four months prior and it had been nonstop chaos since.  Due to an error on the house owner’s paperwork, the house we were scheduled to buy was no longer available to us unless we bought it through a short sale. If you know anything about a short sale, they are anything but short.

Fortunately we were able to move into the house and wait out the process while living there. Unfortunately, three months into living in the home, my husband and I decided to separate. This was not part of the plan.

In an emotional moment of our new reality, one of my children cried “I don’t want to move again.” It was as if their words were aimed directly at my heart. I responded without hesitation, “You won’t move. I will buy you this house.” And I meant it. 

The moving process had been stressful. The arguing between my husband and I continuous. I moved them into the house the very first week of school. I knew more change would be too much. I was determined that it would happen and I would make it work.

I was full of faith. Until I looked at the numbers on the piece of paper which implied- I was seriously mistaken. 

I melted into a mild depression. I could not understand why my heart felt so strongly I could buy the house, but my head looked at my heart like it lived in a universe far away from reality. What was I thinking? At the end of the day the answers were in black and white. I was not going to be able to make it work.

Not only did I not have the down payment required to keep my monthly cost lower, I did not have the income to manage the monthly expenses of life itself. The disappointment I felt in myself and my situation was heart wrenching. The stress of my impending legal separation, finagling how I would survive financially and the massive amount of grief I felt as it seemed my entire life was falling apart was a lot to endure.

And yet, the answer to stay couldn’t have felt more right. I distinctly remember looking out my bedroom window one evening at the beautiful view from my house on the hill and thinking…”I’ve come here to heal.” I didn’t even know what that meant.

It turns out, it meant I would spend many months ahead ruminating over my choices. Wondering if I was truly making the best decisions for my family. Letting my heart speak to my head and compassionately tell it we would be okay. And then dissolving into myself in fear wondering if I was in fact, losing my mind.

I spent the next 9 months not knowing what was going to happen next. My husband moved out and bought a home. I paid my rent each month and prayed the following month would be the same. I had no real idea if the short sale would even go through and if I would even be able to afford it. The numbers on the paper were not budging.

I inherited some stock from my grandmother when she passed. I planned on cashing it in for the down payment, but it would still be nowhere enough. I cashed in savings bonds from the year of my birth. I scraped any savings I had. It looked like I may have just had enough. Maybe I could really do this.

And then it was official. The short sale was approved. I would be able to buy the house if I could come up with the money. What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. The day I went to cash out my stock the numbers had jumped up and I suddenly had more than enough for the down payment. The numbers on the paper changed overnight. I would not only have enough to buy the house and keep my mortgage somewhat manageable, I would have enough to help with some the starter bills that came with it. 

Because my husband and I were legally separated and he had bought his own home, the financial split was clean and had no legal issues to contend with. It’s almost like my buying the house was meant to be…

My leap of faith had paid off in ways I could not have predicted.

For the next year I buckled down and found ways to afford the house on my own that I wasn’t sure my husband and I could afford together. I felt strong, empowered, and continued to practice trusting myself and what felt right. 

The following year I resigned from my secure and stable paying school counseling job to work for myself. I still wanted to help people but I also wanted to write. I started a private practice for counseling and also officially ended my marriage. Two years later I had two books published in the same year, a self help book and a children’s book. I have a successful private practice working the hours I want to work and my bills continue to be paid. I am in awe nearly every month when I sit down to pay them and I realize what I felt was true, is. 

There is something to be said about using your head. To map out the possibilities, to make a plan, to see what could happen in black and white. But the truth is, we just don’t know. Our mind is unable to see the future and the outcome of our decisions. Yet our heart seems to have eyes that pierce through the unknowns, the darkness and focus on the dim light of clarity that is just out of reach.

Trust based living is not always easy. It requires practice of sitting with the fear and listening to it instead of pushing it away. It asks for check ins and disaster planning and poses fearful questions that are unable to be answered right away. It involves understanding yourself just enough to know that you are reliable and can be counted on even when things look bleak. 

But the alternative, to walk through life staying in one place that feels unsatisfying, unfulfilling and downright disempowering just because it’s “easy”, is not living. It’s existing. And at least for me, existing sounds terrifying. 

The numbers may not add up. The black and white may look bleak. Your head may be questioning your heart’s credibility, but that does not mean its time to end the dream. You have no concrete proof that either your head or your heart is right. But you do have proof that standing still gets you more of exactly where you are. 

You don’t really know what is going to happen if you take the next step. But you do know what will happen if you don’t.

The choice is yours. It always has been. 

Why Living is Always Worth It

My 12 year old son came home from school recently and mentioned he wrote a poem for class that had two of his teachers in tears. I asked what it was about and he said, “After your mother’s death.” 

My mother, who had committed suicide.

“Really?” I asked, “what about it?”

“Oh nothing,” he squirmed and then no longer wanted to talk about it.

That always drives me nuts. Reel me in to push me out. Frustrating.

But what I’ve learned is that IS him letting me in. He is only willing or able to so in small doses for heavier subjects and the only thing I can do is wait until he is ready to share.

With that said, I keep asking. Also in small doses. But to let him know I’m paying attention. A couple days later, he brought home his poem….and quite frankly, it blew me away.

“Did she have to go?

Could she have stayed?

What would it be like on this day?

Did she think she wouldn’t be missed?

After all that is what she thought?

Some have overcome this death,

When others mourn in thought.

Some have never met her.

And never will.

So maybe just maybe she could have stayed.

Did she have to take her life?

Just throw everything away?

What about the people to come?

Her family that was so big,

Did she not know we would love her anyway?

So why throw it all away?

The one action, the one thought,

That changed so many lives to this day.

Only if one thought changed, one thought shifted,

But it didn’t and it took her life away.”

He expected tears from me and they came. They always come. Even easier now as I see the gift of their arrival rather than the shame of being so sensitive.

“That was amazing. Your perspective is inspiring to me. It reminds me why I do what I do. Thank you for sharing.” I said to him.

Still squirmy, he was unsure if I’d be upset. He was looking for reassurance that his words, his voice, had value. At that moment, I could only give him half of my own thoughts. I had to sit with the feeling that came with them.

Being the child of a parent who committed suicide is not really a category I live in. I wear no badge of ongoing pain, or talk about the experience of how damaged I am because of it.

Although, in truth, I am. Damaged is not a fair statement, but touched…changed…strong because of it. 

For me, I made a decision long ago that I would use the experience to enhance my life, not ruin it and use it as an excuse to keep screwing up and saying that life owes me because I’ve been hurt…by the will of someone else.

The victim mentality makes me edgy. And feel powerless. Its not a place I’ll let myself live.

Instead, I’ve used my scars as motivation to prevent someone else, like me or my mother, sensitive and imperfect beings, from feeling stuck in misery and worry. The kind that allows fear and frustration to rule the days.

I used to. I had to try it on first. But even during that time period, I knew it would not last for me. I couldn’t live like that. Being miserable bores me. I become impatient with my woes. I get lost in my symptoms of depression and anxiety and I am dedicated to finding my way out of the maze to make it easier for the next time I enter.

And I will. Its part of my human experience. I’m not immune.

I’m filled with dysfunctional patterns of protection I’ve had to unravel and re-wire in my brain and in my choices. Those come with the experience. My inner optimist wants to ignore them, but the realist in me says, you’ve still got shit to work on. And I do.

But I also won’t be held back.

My little boy’s beautifully expressed thoughts reminded me that life does go on. That we continue to grow and thrive after great loss, but we don’t forget and we don’t move on unchanged.

He never met my mother, his grandmother, but he has seen the way her life and death changed mine and in turn his.  Had I not been so motivated to change, he would have a very different mother. Had I not been so vulnerable to face my demons, he would be experiencing them by default.

I knew when I had children I would have to teach myself to mother them. I knew I had to dig into myself and find the courage to learn to love without limits and not protect myself from the fear of loss or pain by holding them too close.

When you lose someone you are attached to suddenly, it has a lasting impact on your ability to trust. And yet…I’ve chosen a life where my purpose is not only to learn to trust more, but to teach and inspire others to do the same.

I have been surrounded by suicide for the majority of life. Mostly the loved ones left in the wake. From friends to close connections to clients, I’m well versed in the feelings and understanding of what it’s like to experience the guilt and sorrow and anger and confusion, after someone ends what we find to be so precious.

I know what its like to be lost while trying to make sense of it all.

As a Licensed Professional Counselor, I’ve also worked with many who let the obsession of not wanting to be here take over their lives. Those who have attempted to die and those who just wish it would happen so they could move out of their internal hell hole.

My question of the why’s have been answered. I can see how and why people get to the brink of wanting to end the pain. Its heavy and its real.

But I’ve also seen and felt what its like when the corner turns. When the one thought changes to a new one of hope. Of opportunity. Of light in a very, very dark tunnel.

Anything is possible. I don’t just believe this, I live it.

I laid down with my son that night before he went to sleep and told him, again, how much his poem had touched me. 

I told him how I could hear his own “what if’s” in his words and feel the questioning that life often brings…and that I will always walk with him to help him find the answers he seeks. Its what we do for those we love.

I reminded him that Hope is the driving force behind my life’s work and Trust has changed me. And that Support is available to all of us. We just have to ask. 

He hugged me close and said, “I love you, Mom.”

And once again, I knew, its always worth it. Life, the work that comes with Living…always, always worth it. 

The Story Behind the Story...The Secret to Beating the Dragon

Book Summary:

Andrew and his grandmother are best friends and spend their time together telling stories of conquering imaginary dragons (fear) by being brave (looking fear in the eye). As Gram ages and her life ends, Andrew is left to battle the dragons alone until he discovers that Gram has been with him all along.

Embrace the moments…that’s my focus lately.

My children’s book, The Secret to Beating the Dragon, was delivered to me the other day. My initial reaction was excitement…and then an immediate sense of sadness because my kids weren’t home to view it with me for the first time.  I wished they were…

But I am a firm believer in Divine timing. I do believe life is perfectly timed out for us, even when it makes no sense to us at all. So I questioned, “why must I be alone to see the book for the first time? They love it too!”

And it hit me….the night I wrote the story I was home alone for one of the first overnights my kids were with their dad after our separation.  I missed them and it gave me the opportunity to sit with myself and feel. Let’s be honest, that is not something we typically enjoy. But I wanted to embrace it and felt inspired to write.

I sat in my kitchen, notebook in hand and let the words fill the page.  Crying as I wrote, I felt the emotions of love and loss and strength and courage. And then I text the story to my cousin, Andrew, whose relationship with my grandmother inspired the story to begin with.  Along with him, I cried some more.

The story is heartwarming and I knew I wanted to share it.

The moment has come full circle.

But the day I held the book…that moment was for me. And Andrew. I text him the picture of it immediately. He is the primary reason I wanted this story to come to life. His love for his grandmother...and hers for him. Beautiful and inspiring and the kind of love that makes you remember why you love---because it feels amazing. Also, the kind that reminds you why it’s hard to let go---because it feels amazing.

The night I wrote the story, I felt their love so strongly.  I felt how he missed her and how he did everything to make their time together the best it could be. And I felt how much she appreciated it…how much she appreciated him.

She was living with Alzheimer’s disease in her home in the middle of the woods of Maine when Andrew moved in. My grandfather had died a few years prior and she had been living her life to the fullest since, but with the onset of Alzheimer’s, no one wanted her to be alone. My brother lived there for a period as well. Both he and Andrew cared for her as long as they could as they were going through their own life transitions.

Her vibrant spirit and strong independence was shifting. She was going downhill and life was hard for her. I would call her on my way home from work and tell her the same jokes each day because I knew she didn’t remember them from the day before. And she would laugh- every time. Same jokes, same response.

I just wanted to make her smile.

She would complain that she knew her memory was going and it was so frustrating. I hurt for her. It hurt me that she hurt. So I told her that she was living the dream…she was living in the moment, because that’s all she had.

But for me, it was painful.  I just wanted to take her pain away. I loved her so very much. The idea of her suffering was awful.

I was grateful Andrew was there. His humor, his personality, his dedication to our grandmother was unmatched. He would come home from his job on the ambulance and tell Gram of his adventures in the field. Having volunteered on an ambulance herself after retirement, she was eager to hear his stories.

She craved adventure as much as he did and they would share a glass of whiskey as he told his tales of the day.  And Andrew, the charismatic and funny man that he is, is an excellent story teller. No doubt she took it all in, happy to live through the bloodline she created. Appreciative to experience life through the eyes of love and admiration.

I tear up nearly every time I read the story. I’m sure at some point I won’t. But for now, I still feel the intensity of the love and the loss and the exquisite beauty that comes with it.

While the book was coming to life this past fall and early winter, my beloved aunt, Andrew’s mom, was dying. I’ve accepted that I cannot find words that best describe my aunt. Her pure spirit and genuine kindness frame the most giving soul I’ve ever met. She is simply- love- in its truest form.

The kind of love that makes you remember why we love---because it feels amazing. Also, the kind that reminds you why it’s hard to let go---because it feels amazing.

I can’t capture the magnitude of her loss- it runs too deep- but I can say that the timeliness of having our family together to help me critique the character images in the book was impeccable. Sharing our views as we bonded over our pain while I saw my beautiful aunt for the last time----Serendipitous.

Again, Divine timing at its finest.

The journey of bringing a vision to life is quite an adventure. And I love me some adventure. Even the sucky parts.

I’m thrilled to share the legacy of my family. One of immense respect, loyalty, love of living and an unwavering commitment to make our dreams come true.

Thanks for sharing Gram and Andrew. Love you from the deepest parts of my heart.