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. :) 

Scared of Losing People You Love? How to Work through the Fear

“People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.” ~Joseph F. Newton

“Oh my God, Mom…” she said with a verbal eye roll.

“What?” I responded, sure that I had said too much or overshared like I normally do.

I can’t recall what my daughter and I were discussing openly about while standing in line at the grocery store checkout, but I do remember the girl ringing us up laughing and saying we sounded just like her and her mom.

I paused, unsure what that meant.

“Is this what a healthy mother/daughter relationship sounds like?” I questioned to myself. It was a completely foreign concept to me.

I wanted to create a strong bond with my daughter, but my own relationship with my mother was dysfunctional and boundary-less when I was a child, leading me to overthink everything when it came to creating a relationship with my daughter. 

My mother had significant mental health challenges, which eventually led to her death by suicide.

I had no idea what healthy felt like.

Insecurity plagued me when it came to connecting with my daughter. Was I giving her too much or not giving her enough? Did she trust me? Did she feel comforted by me? Was I too lenient? Was I too distant?

It was hard to tell when the voices of doubt chimed in.

I’ve watched other moms with their daughters since I was a young girl. I wasn’t exactly sure what normal was, but I knew it was not telling their daughters how depressed they were or talking through their marital issues. I knew it was not asking their daughters for advice and relying on them to feel good enough to get out of bed by midday.

I knew my relationship with my mom was different, but it was the only one I had. My normal was gripping codependency and making sure she was okay so she would be there the next day.

I didn’t want that relationship with my daughter. I wanted her to feel whole and complete and deeply loved without having to take care of another human being to feel it.

My journey into motherhood was far from easy. With few role models and almost no experience with children, I felt like I had nothing to go on besides instinct alone. And my instincts were part of my problem. I couldn’t always hear them.

When a child grows up in a volatile environment during their early development, they learn to distrust connection. When what feels comforting and loving one minute can turn to betrayal and rejection in the next, trust in others does not come easily. 

A human’s natural inclination is to want connection, but inconsistency or harm against a person creates a fear in that same connection. When this happens during early development, the child learns to fear what it also deeply desires—which develops into an adult who is quietly terrified to experience and trust reciprocal love.

The only way I knew to how to create that healthy connection was to look deeply into myself and be aware of my patterns and how I was passing them on. And so I observed—a lot.

I observed other families and the way mothers spoke to their daughters. I observed the way the daughters responded to their moms. I watched what drew my daughter in, and I watched what pushed her away.

I learned to listen without speaking (which is absolute torture when codependency feels like home), and I learned to ask more questions instead of giving unsolicited advice. I’m still learning, and most likely will be for the long haul since old habits die hard.

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just learning how to respond to normal discomfort when someone I love was uncomfortable. It was learning to respond to normal discomfort when Iwas uncomfortable. It was learning to not shut down and begin to emotionally detach when insecurity started to get loud. 

Raising my children is one of the biggest challenges I’ve had to navigate with these embedded fears. To give birth to a part of you and know your job is to let this soul grow into themselves while they slowly leave you a little more each day. Pulling them close to me to feel safe and loved and teaching them to leave all at the same time. It’s like one long continual dance of love and grief.

My daughter started college this year and I knew it was going to be tough when she moved on campus, but I had no idea the depth of the grief I would feel. It’s not logical. And the logical part of me likes reason and boxes to put my feelings in. I cognitively knew it was temporary, but my body did not know. It stores memories of every loss and every time I’ve felt left behind, and it was eager to remind me.

“Life will never be the same again. It’s over.”

And that is true. But until those old pangs of grief retell their stories without being dismissed and reprimanded for being dramatic or “too much,” I could not see that the new life may even be better than the one before.

When I let myself experience the sad and angry feelings without reacting to them, they moved through me faster and I could see what I needed to stay connected.

I requested we have small doses of consistent communication during the beginning stages of her being gone so I could show my fears they were unwarranted. We sent pictures on snapchat most days, and it was just enough to feel connected without being intrusive. It worked for us and comforted my childhood-driven fear until it passed.

The first time she came home was over a month after she left. Our oversized puppy expressed it best with his big cries and leaping happiness to be with her again. We missed her and our little family felt the absence of her presence in a big way.

The joy of her energy filling our house was immense. To be in my space again and under my care felt like she never left. She was in and out and visiting friends and doing her thing, but her presence was the reassurance I needed.

It felt like the scared toddler in me re-experienced object permanence. Proof that it’s safe to trust that if love walks out the door, it also returns. Maybe not in the same shape or the same way, but it comes back when it’s ready… and maybe it never truly left to begin with. 

My little-girl heart, still quietly afraid of loss, was healing.

Fears of re-experiencing old pains and heartache are the norm in the human experience, and the more we understand our fears, the more we can work with them to keep our connections strong and secure. It also helps us to not pass them on to our children, our partners, our friends and family.

Our job is not to silence our pain or our fears. Our job is to invite them to the table, let them speak, let them breathe, and let them share their story to completion. Their interrupted cycle is what keeps them around longer as they impatiently wait to be noticed.

When a fear shows itself through strong surges of emotion (sadness, anger, loneliness, etc.), ask it for more information like you would someone else.

You can do this verbally out loud or write it out. Ask, tell me more about that pain or fear. What does it feel like? Where do you feel it in your body? Does it hurt or feel restricting? Have you experienced this feeling before?

Then ask when was the last time you recall feeling this way. What was happening? Who did it involve? What were you scared of? What was the outcome? What might you be doing right now to avoid that same pain? Is it working?

As you start to uncover the sensations and emotions, ask, what would you tell someone else who was experiencing this same pain? What would you tell a child?

And my favorite question, what is the most loving and compassionate thing you can do for yourself right now?

Questions like these give us the opportunity to feel our feelings without transferring them on to someone else and give them a voice they might not normally have. Our inherent need to be seen and heard is met, and we are not ignoring what is asking to be felt. 

The more we let ourselves feel, the more we can hear the voice underneath the feelings once they pass. The quiet intuitive voice who always knows how to nurture us, heal our wounds, and instructs us how to have the courage and ability to have loving relationships with those we care about.

It’s normal to have fear in our connections. It’s part of our experience as humans and often how we learn about ourselves most. But to let those fears dictate the way we connect keeps us from connecting in the ways we truly crave. True intimacy requires vulnerability and a trust that starts within ourselves. The more we are willing to listen to the fears that drive us, the more we are open to the love that feeds us.

What are you really scared of? Let your fears be heard, but let your heart lead the way.

This article was written for and published on Tiny Buddha.

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. 

A Simple Way to Practice Trusting the Process of Life

As the new year began I committed to myself that I would practice what I preach and really learn to Live Serendipitously- in the flow of life. This meant I would practice to letting go and see how life is truly happening for me and build evidence to prove this.

I believe this concept wholeheartedly, but I also am human and don’t like getting slammed with unexpected life stressors as much as the next person. I welcome growth and change, but experiencing pain and disappointment is not favorite way to get there.

So you know what January offered me? Pain. And frustration. And impatience. And heartache. 

Not the devastating kind, but just enough confusion, hurt and stress to take me out of my flow and have me question what I was doing- a lot. I was cranky and irritable. I felt lost and confused. I cried nearly every day to relieve the stress build up and gave myself the space to feel my feelings. 

I experienced strong waves of anger and resentment and let myself feel every ugly part of it. I did not appreciate it at all, but it helped. I chose to not repress and found myself venting angrily to get it out. It was incredibly unpleasant as anger is my least favorite emotion. It generally makes me feel powerless and stuck. I let myself experience it, but I refuse to live there.

Despite my uneasiness with the process, I let myself be in the flow of what was happening and ride the waves of discomfort knowing they would eventually end.  

Thankfully, on New Year’s Day I also began tracking the good things which occurred each day. I purposefully noticed the unexpected joys and opportunities I didn’t see coming which found their way into my life. I use a Gratitude App on my phone that allows me to add pictures and list the things that made me feel good each day.

I began the practice of recording that which lifted me up, made me smile or brought me hope. Whether they were compliments or experiences or simple surprises like small gifts through words or actions from others, I wrote them down. I noted what I saw or created or even committed to doing or giving to myself. 

Every single day had a gift. And I tracked it. 

This practice allows me see that even in my dark moments, there is a glimpse of light, of hope, of joy, no matter how small. I did not know the month would bring so much challenge. I had no way to predict it. But I also did not know that so many wonderful things would happen or what they would be. 

Tracking my daily joys allows me to increase my faith that no matter what happens next, something will help balance it out. It may be a moment that feels good and lets me know it’s not always going to be hard and challenging. It may be a promise of hope or a reminder of being loved and seen. These moments give me proof that in some way I am supported, even in the smallest of ways. And the small moments and surprises adds up.

Some days I tracked unexpected joys right after they happened and others I would add in at the end of the day or early the next morning. Each time I wrote them I re-lived the joy and the feeling of gratitude and awe that came with them. This is a gift in itself! 

As I reflect on the past month, I’m intrigued with how much my challenge changed and then dissipated, as well as the amount I learned about myself and my reactions to life. What I have deemed a very hard month was also one filled with wonderful events, opportunities, interactions and enormous gifts of joy. Had I not tracked them or taken the time to reflect, I would have said the month was a disappointment and stressful all throughout. 

Tracking my joys shifts my perspective and also firms up my faith and proof that life is truly happening for me even when I can’t see it in the moment, but I know the gifts will find their way. It allows me to truly Live Serendipitously with more trust and evidence that life is happening for me. 

My cousin Andrew says that life seems to be something of a project. The unpredictable ups and downs give us something to discover and learn as we go. I couldn’t agree more. And I for one, plan to make the most of this project and take in all the joy I can along the way. Ready to join me?

Article also posted and shared on Biz Catalyst 360.

Getting Comfortable With Discomfort- Your Own and Others

The look on my teenager’s face was one of complete distraught. She was angry and hurt and confused and fearful of what I would do next.  I was fearful too. I knew the decision I had to make and it was not the one she wanted. I was going to have to dig down and let go of my fear of her feeling the pain to make the decision that was best for her…in my opinion. This parenting gig can be so damn hard.

And I did. I made the call I knew she’d resent me for and she looked at me like there was no one on the planet that could hurt her more than I just did.  She composed herself respectfully until we got into the car and she let me have it.

Anger and tears and “how could you’s?!” spit out of her on repeat.  Seething disgust that I had taken control away from her and made decisions for her. I am raising her to be independent and make her own decisions, so for the life of her, she couldn’t grasp why I would take it away.

I know that feeling. The one where you can’t accept that someone has some level of control over your life. I don’t do well with it either. And I knew it was going to hurt and it did. Both of us…deeply. But I also knew that underneath my fear (of exactly that moment) it was going to get better. I just wanted it better now.

The part of me that doesn’t want to see another in pain wanted so badly to make it go away. To find the quick fix and dissolve it.  But I wasn’t given an answer or an idea that would do that. So we were stuck with sitting with the discomfort and feeling the pain.

After a few hours of separation and her ability to fiercely hold on to her anger and hurt, I felt stuck again when I saw her. The next decision was the hardest.

I wanted to distract her from her sorrow. I wanted to take the pressure off myself. I wanted her to stop being angry at me… but I KNEW that’s not what my job was. It was to be near her, to respect her pain, and to respect mine in the process. It was to give us both space to feel the discomfort and let it be what it is. Uncomfortable.

So I sat with her while she cried and told me how wrong I was. And then I held her…because I knew she was ready. Not a moment before.  And she let me. That’s when I knew it was going to be okay….because it always is.

As a professional counselor, I know the hardest part of my job is when the BEST thing I can do with another person is to sit with them through their pain. To let them wade through the muck and feel the choking sensations of sorrow and offer my hand so they don’t feel alone walking through it.

It is, by far, the most emotionally draining part. It rubs up against the part of the me that does not like to feel helpless, despite knowing that giving them room to feel and know they are not alone IS Helping.  To be their guide in darkness until they see their own light.

I find this much easier when it’s a client I’m working with where the relationships has its established boundaries. When it comes to people I have a close connection with, it’s much harder. It’s uncomfortable to feel other people’s pain as is, but throw in being emotionally attached to the outcome. It’s HARD.  And yet, the practice is the same.

Sit with the discomfort and know, sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.

We live in a quick fix, pill popping, make the pain go away fast kind of society. Why? Because we are uncomfortable with feeling the challenging emotions.  And when we are uncomfortable with our own, we certainly are not going to be comfortable with being around someone else’s. 

We have this desire to avoid and distract and it turns out, that doesn’t actually make the underlying concerns go away. They will continue to return until they are responded to in a way that pleases them.  And usually what pleases them is what makes us curse and complain and question why the same issues keep popping up. Super annoying.

So how can we practice this? How can we get comfortable being in the space with those who are uncomfortable and hurting? By allowing ourselves to feel without attempting to make it go away as quickly as possible.

And that starts with us. 

Get comfortable with you.

When you feel an emotion that is unsettling, lean into it. If its anger, let yourself heat up and get tight and feel the sensations that come with it. Allow them to be what they are.  Listen to the voices that come with them. Who are you really mad at? Who do you feel has your power? And how can you take it back?  Sit with it a little longer, then release it through screaming in a pillow or in a place you are by yourself, or do some physical activity to let it out. Even jumping jacks or shaking out your body in the moment.

If its sadness, let it rise to the top. If there are tears, let them roll out. If you feel like you are being swallowed up, breathe through that sensation. Let it be what it is. The more you let it come up and be felt, the sooner it will resolve itself.

If it’s guilt, ask it questions. What have you learned from it and how will you change your responses and behavior based on what you now know?  When you practice forgiving yourself, you take away the power of the past and bring it to the present. And the present is the only place we can actually create change.  Why not allow yourself to be there?

As you practice becoming comfortable with your own emotions, it will become easier to sit with others through theirs.  Disappointment is a part of life and you don’t want to get rid of your experiences because they make you into the beautiful and unique person you are. Allowing yourself to feel can shorten the discomfort of your clinging need for pain. Relief is always just around the corner.  Keep reading...

Facing the Fear of Change: Big Risks Can Bring Big Rewards

“Change will not come if we wait for some other person, or if we wait for some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.” ~Barack Obama

If someone said to you, “Hey, you know how you are feeling the need for change and you’re not sure what to do? Well, I can’t tell you what to do, but I can guarantee that if you follow where your heart leads you, you’ll create the possibility of more joy than you’ve ever felt before. All you have to do is walk through the doors that will keep opening up for you and trust, completely, that you are on the right track. You may question it at times, but keep going. You’ll be fine no matter what.”

What would you do? Would you follow the guarantee or would you keep doing what you’re doing?

What if the caveat was added, “Oh, you should probably know that if you do this, you run the risk of losing much of what you’ve known and who you think you are now will look completely different the next time you look in the mirror.”

Ummmm… hold up. Let me think about that.

That’s basically what happens when you know it’s time to change up your life and you’re innately scared to do so.

So, what do you do?

I spend a lot of time in deep reflection and introspection. And it’s not because I want to; it’s because I am constantly trying to understand myself, to figure out where I’m headed and what’s potentially holding me back from getting there.

Most of the time, I feel completely in the dark. And while my grandmother always told me that there is nothing in the dark that can hurt you, I’m human; I question this theory. And yet I continue to trust that she’s right. She lived over eighty years and was the most inspirational woman I’ve known; she must’ve learned something pretty valuable to be expressing these bold opinions.

So I had the nudge to change myself and I went with it. No, that’s not accurate—I had the internal and external shove and I went for it.

In the matter of a few short years, I got divorced, bought a house, lived alone with my kids, completely supported myself financially and then left my job, started a business, and changed the majority of my friends. I chose to start completely over in many ways.

On paper, I looked a bit off balanced. Keep Reading...