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6 practices to combat the despair felt when faced with the state of the world.

I completed a degree in Anthropology in University.  Anthropology is the study of all people in all times and places.  That’s actually how it is defined and it is about that broad. There are branches of it, most familiar being Archaeology.  You know, Indiana Jones or whatever. Anyways, many of my teachers brought to our attention the state of the world. The impacts of globalization and my beloved travel.  The fact that all around the world people are marginalised, starving, living in a variety of terrible conditions. The way other cultures practice spirituality that keeps the people connected to the earth and each other, while our society focus’ on bigger T.V’s and being the CEO of the company you buy them from.  Needless to say I became quite depressed, more so than before. I slipped into a fairly nihilistic mindspace and even had a counselor refer to the super highway I’d made in my neuro pathways from sadness to despair. Whenever I heard some new awful thing, it would deepen.

Fortunately, throughout my time in University I also started exploring Buddhism.  I’m beyond grateful to live in an area that is home to two amazing practitioners and teachers who have dedicated years and much energy to their own practice.  Dr. Cheryl Fraser (who just launched her first book click here, which relates Buddhist theory and practice to sexual relationships,) and Lama Mark Webber.  A lot of people hear of the Buddhist concept of ‘equanimity,’ which is loosely translated to mean non-reactivity, and think that being Buddhist means being passive. That we’re meant to practice and reach a level of full acceptance and never challenge the injustices or realities that I spent a lot of my time in school observing.  

This is not the case.  

Just yesterday I went to a talk where Cheryl related this concept to the serenity prayer.*  It doesn’t mean we accept it all, we accept only what we cannot change. We still practice effort, we still do what we can to make the world a better place, but we don’t let the despair of that which we cannot change keep us inactive.  I reached a point in my education where I became inactive. But then, I started to connect with the powerhouses in my community that were doing what they could. I reigned my focus in and started volunteering on a small scale farm and with a non profit offering sliding scale counselling.  I was empowered.

An image from the 9 acre organic farm that I volunteered with.

These were big things that demanded time and energy I might not have had if I weren’t a student.  They required training and many hours. Maybe you’re thinking “that’s great, but how am I supposed to do that on top of full time work, 3 kids, fur babies, grocery shopping, exercise, art group…” you get the idea.  So, I like you, am now spending more time working for money and less time working for free. So what are some easy ways to contribute positively? Here’s a list of 6 of the things I do.

1. Reusable shopping bags!

I have several that I keep in my car, my home and even my purse!  It’s an easy thing that can keep from contributing to the devastating plastic that’s building up in the ocean, on beaches and killing many sentient beings.  I’m forgetful, so I can also be seen shuffling with arms full and items in my mouth, clumsily opening my car door, because hey, even one less bag is something.

2.   Donating

So you travelled to Bali and while riding on the back of a scooter through the beautiful hillside you spotted a dog who was only skin and bones and was moving so slowly and painfully that your heart broke.  (True story.) Yes, you want to bring home every stray, unloved animal and show them the good life, but we can’t. Not really. But we CAN donate to the SPCA or other rescue societies. We can donate time or money, we can adopt a stray, or we can even simply share their posts about, now healthy, animals that need a new forever home.

While in Goa, India, I stayed at Saraya which was a eco hostel. They were saving and reusing water, small scale farming, and hosting volunteers from around the world. It’s happening everywhere folks!

3.   Conserving water

Being mindful about how often you shower or bath is an easy one.  I don’t want anyone beating themselves up for anything. But I bet even if the consideration is just in your head, it’ll make a difference.  Plus I do things like use the water that I rinsed a clean cup with to fill the basin that I do the rest of the dishes in. I wish I could remember the film I watched years ago where a young African boy was taken to somewhere in Europe, I think.  He got thrown in the shower with a bunch of other boys and screamed bloody murder when he saw all the clean water just flowing down into the drain. That did it for me.

Bought from two amazing local ladies in Qualicum beach. Beeswax food wrap to replace saran (made by their mother!) And a bar of soap they make themselves with all natural products.

4.   Supporting Local

Consider your purchases.  We, especially those of us on vancouver Island, have limitless potential to support local.  There are so many talented independents here either producing and supplying stores, or running their own businesses.  Check out places like Local and The Departure Bay Aromatherapy Boutique for a variety of wares made by local artisans.  Or shop at Thrifty’s who had a wide selection of local producers. Eat at restaurants like La Stella that support local farmers.  There are so many ways to give back to the community you’re in and provide friends, and friends of friends. with their children’s education or their heated homes.

5.   Being kind

It’s pretty easy to look at the news (which I never do, but I’m still infiltrated through socail media) and feel like people are inherently evil.  Wars of varying degrees, shootings, beheadings, robberies, rapes. One act of kindness can go a long way. We all have those moments where we’re walking down the street stuck in our minds storm cloud only to be greeted warmly by a passerby, or have a door opened for us, or the person ahead of us in the drive thru buy our coffee.  We can be that person for others, and it can change the whole day.

6.   Practicing self care

Maybe contributing positively seems like a burden on an already overwhelming list.  Maybe getting out of bed and having a shower is the main accomplishment for that day (I’ve been there!) That’s okay.  Focus on having that shower and be compassionate for wherever you are at. This might be the biggest thing you can do, because if you learn how to be compassionate with yourself in these moments, you learn to be compassionate with others.  I truly believe that something so simple as an understanding look when you’re expecting judgement can alleviate so much. And If we could all be a little more compassionate, I think there would be far less chaos.

Drier balls. I made these by wrapping 100% wool yarn and wash/drying until felted. They work like Bounce sheets but no chemicals, and you can scent with essential oils!

Better wrap it up! I’m passionate about this, and feel as though I could go on and on.  I thank you and honour you if you’ve made it this far. The biggest thing to remember is that every small thing DOES help.  And the more people care, the more changes will be made. There are amazing things happening all over the world. Plastic bag and straw bans, solar energy panels, rooftop gardens.  Free health care, sliding scale counselling, shelters. Small scale farming, foodshares, and composting. Cloth pads, steel straws and natural cleaning products. The list goes on. We are powerful, and if we let go of the focus on all those things we CANNOT change, it allows so much space and power for those we can.  

What are some of the ways you contribute to the betterment of the world?  Yes, there are ways!

*God, grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

On Vancouver Island?  Check out Island Dharma for information on Cheryl and upcoming classes and retreats.

by admin

Perfectionism and Taking Flight

I claimed on my ‘about me’ page that I would attempt to send out a new post every Sunday.  I’m now a couple weeks in and I have not sent even one out on a Sunday. I’ll explain here that this is not a reflection of my ability to follow through (although I do struggle with self imposed deadlines) but was in fact due to technological issues.  I am not a technologically savvy person and this has in fact been the most challenging project I’ve engaged with a computer. After many failed attempts leading to me day dreaming of blowing up my laptop, a friend agreed to help me work out some kinks.  This involved my initial writing to be posted and retracted several times and then several posts being added in quick succession to see how they would show up on site. All seems to be working swiftly now, so here we are on a Sunday and I’m feeling the need to follow through and pump something out.

I don’t feel entirely comfortable writing purely because I said I would.  I’m afraid what I will put out to the world will not reflect my ability. I’ll tell you, this whole week I’ve been quite sick too.  Yesterday was the worst day and it was too much to even look at a screen to send quick texts. However, I also feel when something is so important to me, like this is, that I should really try and stick to what I set out to do.  So, on this lazy, snowy, recovery Sunday, I’m sending you a brief check in.

Some years ago, I received a book by shame researcher Brené Brown called the Gifts of Imperfection.  I devoured it quickly and keep it on my shelf for encouragement. There is a passage out of her chapter on perfectionism that relates perfectly to what I’m talking about above.  

    “Perfectionism is not the same thing as striving to do your best.  Perfectionism is not about healthy achievement and growth.  Perfectionism is the belief that if we live perfect, look perfect, and act perfect, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgment, and shame.  It’s a shield. Perfectionism is a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from taking flight.” [p.56]

If I waited until I was confident that everything I put onto this page, or out into the world at all, was perfect or even a reflection of my very best, I would never take flight.  I would never have put together this blog, or posted the three posts I’ve already created. My biggest achievement today is journaling about great ideas of things I could write about and deciding that, after reflecting on my state of health, I would instead take a moment to allow myself to be imperfect.  To focus more on the act of writing and creating to post on the timeline I gave myself, instead of holding out until I’m SURE that what I’m posting is worth your while.

An example of imperfection at it’s finest. Came camping with all but the tent poles. I tell you one thing for sure, it had no effect whatsoever on fun levels.

I wish you a wonderful Sunday, and I hope that you find a moment to let down your wall and let yourself be imperfect too.  Our imperfections allow us to connect to one another. To be human, to be able to laugh at ourselves, to have joy. Be playful, mess up, and share your stories with your loves.  Until next week,

Alexis

If you’re interested in reading more of Brené Brown (which I wholeheartedly encourage!) click here.

I’d love to hear about some of your battles with imperfection, feel free to message me!

by admin

On the discovery of Sylvia Plath.

So, I recently fell into a fairly significant period of despair.  Short lived by my standards, maybe only about 2 weeks, but it was bad.  I don’t often think of suicide anymore and my thoughts, at the least, were slipping back there.  I’d been in fairly consistent turmoil about my relationship for months and waking up and spinning out in the middle of the night was maybe legitimately making me nuts.  My self doubt confided in me that I don’t know what’s best, my anxiety created all sorts of terrible situations, and my depression told me there was no way out. I found some distance in a weekend imbued with self care; yoga classes, full moon ritual, massage and a beautiful room overlooking the ocean and the distant city of Victoria.  I came home with a little hope and sparkle and a few days later my sweet Franco died.

I didn’t fall so far down when he died, but it came when I got angry and thus, shameful, a few days later.  I was at work one day emotionally preparing to depart for winter cold Calgary and feeling nothing but hate and anger.  The general relationship ambiguity, the death of my baby, on top of the slough of other anxieties I’d sat in through the winter months (what I want to do for work, where I should live, if I should continue teaching yoga,) all weighing on me.  I guess between the overwhelm and the grief, I just slipped out of my grasp on self compassion.

So, I arrive in Calgary and due to weather related flight delays i’ve finished the majority of the novel I brought along.  While my man heads to school, I peruse a nearby thrift shop to find my next victim. Knowing nothing of Sylvia Plath, aside from her name which I assume means she’s great, I spot the Bell Jar.  I take it off the shelf, bring it to the counter to pay for it, and maybe not even a day later I started to read it. I immediately liked her writing and went to my trusty google page to see what she’s all about and to see how many amazing books she’s written for me to start the hunt for.

For those of you, like me, that know the name but not the tale, I’ll tell you just a bit.  Turns out she was predominantly a poet. The Bell Jar is the only book she wrote and it was published under an alias.  It also turns out, to my surprise, that she died in 1963. I further explored and found that she had died by suicide at the young age of 30, only 2 years my junior, and that The Bell Jar was a semi autobiographical account of her first suicide attempt and subsequent treatment.

I found it interesting that I stumbled upon her work, specifically this one, at this time.  I devoured the book in what remained of my holiday. I found many eerie sentences scattered throughout the pages that reminded me of myself.  I even noticed almost verbatim quotes that I’d said only days before while venting about my current state to friends. If reading an autobiographical account of someone’s days before suicide and relating intimately doesn’t spook you, I don’t know what will.

My morbid curiousity wants to find and read everything she ever wrote, and I likely will.  She’s a great writer and if nothing else, I know that reading great writers contributes to great writing.  But more than that, I relate and feel less alone. While The Bell Jar does end with her being approved to leave the facility and face the world, we now know that Sylvia Plath did not make it long outside those doors.  Despite Plath’s tragic ending, the honest and vulnerable account of this part of her experience is touching, relatable (for one who suffers depression,) and profound. As if the story wasn’t enough, she walks us through it using sentences like, “By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream.” And, “I laid my face to the smooth face of the marble and howled my loss into the cold salt rain.”  

I was in a class in University in which the professor asked the class to meditate for 5 minutes on a time when we felt truly happy.  To consider the elements of the sensory experience, the people who surrounded you, and then to spend time with a partner, then a small group and then the whole class, picking out themes.  In every scenario, in every one of the 40 or so minds, the main theme was connection. Connection to self, spirit, nature, others, but always connection. My hope in sharing my own experience is that others will respond like I did to The Bell Jar.  There’s an openness around mental health that has evolved over the last while that I want to continue to propel. There is strength in vulnerability and I will continue to share in hopes that it touches hearts, opens minds, and ultimately breeds the connection our society longs for.  

If you’re interested in further exploring the works of Sylvia Plath, click here!

by admin

What being sober for 7 years has shown me about life.

I’d love to say that I’m full of only hope and happiness.  That being sober is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and that I don’t ever wish to drink again.  I wish I could say that things are effortless to handle or that less bad shit happens, but I can’t. The reality is things are different, but not a fluffy cloud of perfection.  When I drank things were sometimes great, things were sometimes awful. Since I’ve been without drink things are sometimes great, things are sometimes awful.  I would fall into bouts of depression, I still do. I would suffer the loss of identity, the consequences of poor choices and the inevitable things like death, injustice and heartbreak.  I still do. However, on this milestone, I did see one big difference.

Some of you are aware from my last post, that I recently lost my baby.  One week later, it occured to me that it was the date of my 7 years in sobriety and the week anniversary of my Franco’s death.  This is always how my milestone hits me. A sort of sudden awareness that it’s the day and a fairly lackluster appreciation for it. Followed still by a habitual period of reflection, that, this year, went something like this.

Numbing and/or self punishment is no longer my first choice.

I know that it would not be unheard of for me to reach for a drink or drug to deal with the emotions of grief and despair.  I even expected myself to pick up a cigarette or eat my weight in chocolate, but I didn’t. I thought about smoking. I thought about going to the store, buying a pack, having a cigarette.  I used to be hit with a wave of emotion I didn’t know how to process, and I’d chain smoke. Just long enough for me to feel sick enough that I couldn’t quite focus on the swirling thoughts or physical pain.  I think there was some level of self punishment built into it. Like I did not deserve to feel sad, but that I should feel ill. That my shame and guilt around the behaviour that led me to the moment of despair meant that I deserved only death.  

My rational thoughts are stronger than my shame based ones.

When Franco died I had a lot of guilt come up, a lot of my shame message “I’m not good enough” filling my head.  I didn’t do enough, I didn’t do the right things, I was a bad mama, a bad person. But the thought of going to the store and buying a pack of cigarettes to punish myself?  That was followed by a series of logical thoughts. Some wise, like that it wouldn’t make myself feel any better and I did the best I could, and so, don’t deserve to suffer.  Some merely practical like it’s a lot of money to spend, I won’t finish the pack, is it really worth going out in the cold? And you know what? Those ones won.

Feeling won’t kill me.

Instead of drinking and drugging and pretending it never happened, instead of smoking and strengthening my shame, instead of eating my feelings, I simply felt.  I cried and wailed. My eyes shed so many tears that they were red, puffy and sore to close. I called my beau many times and spent some time around my family. And, most importantly, I didn’t die.

Life doesn’t stop and I’m not always going to deal gracefully.  And that is OK.

I still unexpectedly lost my baby.  I still reeled in the guilt and self deprecating thoughts.  I still felt so angry a few days later that I thought a child fat and wanted to smack them, for no reason other than I felt so much anger and hate that it radiated through everything around me (the hardest part for me to admit is this.)  

Things like this don’t get easier, but I get through them without numbing. I get through them without having to have someone hold my hair while I’m blacked out throwing up into a toilet. I get through them without having sex with a stranger or making a nest in a planter outside the bar.  It’s still not graceful, but it’s contained, it’s honest, and it’s real. I am merely human, and though I wish that I remained calm and spiritual through every bump in the road, I do not. I experience the full range of human emotion and sometimes REALLY poorly. I still have wounds that are triggered with the right storm of circumstances.  I still struggle to reach out and talk things through. I still sometimes believe people don’t care about me and I’d be better off dead. But things are different. I go through and get through without using. So I don’t run to my meditation cushion and make peace as a first response to grief, that’s okay. So all the things I’ve learned about managing stress didn’t pop up and instantly become my reality, that’s ok.  So I had some crazy thoughts and stayed in the same position crying for so long my hips hurt, that’s ok. As long as I stay open to growth, it’s all truly okay.

Opportunity is everywhere we choose to see it.

In the face of every struggle I now have the opportunity to learn. I can be messy and at the same time learn to reach out to those who are safe.  I can be angry and learn how to keep my thoughts and reactions to myself. I can feel shame and choose to not punish myself further. By not altering myself, I have the opportunity to experience fully and grow, if I want it.

by admin

What losing my fur baby taught me about myself.

I created my first post, a simple introduction in which I stated that I had a cat named Franco who was sometimes my sole reason for waking up in the morning.  The next morning I woke, we snuggled, i fed him breakfast and we snuggled some more. He purred, happy pawed (our description of his clawless kneading) and sent me off to my work day feeling grateful for such a sweet morning.  I arrived home and found that he had thrown up on the floor by the door and that he was lying amidst my clean laundry, rather than on his chair that I’d purposely cleared for his lounging pleasure. I knew something was wrong, but I picked him up, brought him to bed and hung out with him.  He struggled to get up and move around and kept choosing to go to odd places he hadn’t lay before. I think in my gut I knew he was worse off than my partner was kindly assuring me he was but i wanted to believe that it was only some random thing he’d eaten off the floor that was leaving him a bit sick and weak.  I was up with him a fair bit of the night. I gave him some water that he later threw up, and then he found his way to some toilet water and threw that up too. In the morning he was even slower and I took him in to the vet.

We’re probably all aware of what’s going to happen given the title of this post.  The vet was unkind and the receptionist horrid, but the worst of all, I left with my sweet, wonderful, fur baby Franco in a box.  

It’s too soon to write about this maybe.  I feel raw and needed to step away some moments before continuing on.  However, I want to share with you a few things I learned through this experience.  

I AM a good mom.

If ever there was a doubt in my mind of being a worthy fur baby mama, it is gone.  Yes, I totally felt guilty about EVERYTHING in the last month of his life. I doubted my choice to switch food, to switch litter, to let him be outside even the few extra moments it took me to put my shoes on (he was an escape artist.)  I felt guilty for not bringing him to the vet sooner, for not noticing if he peed less than usual the day before, for not knowing what a obstructed bladder felt like. I felt like a horrible person for picking him up and holding him before the vet when it was apparent I hurt him when I lifted him.  But, I also realized I loved him so damn much and when I accept that I’m not a vet and I did the best that I could, I think I did a damn good job of being his mom.

I AM a pet owner.

I cared for Franco like he was a child.  I loved him, I respected him, and I worked hard at letting him be him.  I made a point to not hold him against his will, or get angry at him for misbehaving (really just playing, but presents as misbehaving when it’s your favourite *insert item here* being knocked on to the floor.).  I loved his meows even when they woke me up in the morning. I even loved him MORE when he took to sticking his wet nose in my face or batting at me when the meowing didn’t get me moving fast enough. Point is, I recognized his unique personality and honoured it.  I didn’t forget my first cat Gus or lose sight of his unique personality either. And I know that any future animals I have will be loved and honoured for being uniquely them.

I am a sensitive person, and that’s ok.

I worried about Franco as soon as he presented as unwell.  I stayed up with him, cleaned up his puke and brought him to lay beside me through the night.  I brought him to the vet wrapped in a towel and asked my mom to drive so I could be the one to hold him.  I went in with him, I held his paw through the whole thing, and I wept. I brought him home, I asked family to write on his coffin, and I helped bury him in the earth.  I called my beau, Franco’s papa, and he facetimed to say goodbye. I gave him some last pats and smelled him one more time (he smelled great for some reason…) even after he’d passed.  I took that day and the next off work, may have taken more had it not been the weekend. I played the moment over in my head and wondered if I could have done anything different, or what would have happened if I hadn’t done/had done different.  I went back to work yesterday and spent some of my shift curled in a ball in the back crying. Some people think this is weird, maybe even some of you reading this, but it is exactly what I needed. He deserved our grief, I am allowed to feel sad and the process can look however it needs to.

I AM strong.

I feel good about how I was with my sweet Franco in life and in death.  I surprised myself by being able to be there with him when he died. I didn’t know I was capable of that.  I didn’t know it would feel so necessary that I touch and kiss him while it happen. I didn’t think that it would feel right to make the choice to have someone you love so much put down, but I knew it was better than him suffering through a surgery and potentially dying on the table or surviving to only go through it again.  Maybe this all sounds weak to some but strength, for me, doesn’t look like not crying or going to work that afternoon. Strength for me is somehow finding clarity, making a decision quickly, being wholly present with the process, and grieving openly and fiercely.

My Take away.

I’m sure as things settle more I will realize more growth in myself.  Growth that only comes from facing those things you wish you never had to.  I would love to hear what you’ve learned from the loss of your beloved fur babies and invite you to share below.  I will leave you with this.

A friend of mine, in a joking way, stated that the lesson he takes from it all is to never love anything.  But, my take away from all this is to love so fully that you have no regrets when they’re gone.

R.I.P my sweet Franco.

by admin