Category: Mental health

Regulating

I came up against a lot this week. I was met with some of my trauma and my demons, I was presented with unique work challenges that impacted my sense of personal freedom, and I did some adulting that brought up some fear. I hit a space where my system was overloaded and I couldn’t function well.

I lost sleep, fought to take care of my basic needs, and felt fairly isolated in my beautiful Mexican apartment. I’ve been observing myself and reflecting for a long time. It is an inherent part of who I am, and my pursuit to “fix” myself is an ongoing and unwavering one. I think it has likely morphed from an asset to a detriment, or at the least it fluctuates between the two.

Anyways, as my mind created stories, made assumptions, got caught between cycles of righteous anger and crippling shame, I felt like I was drowning in uncertainty and fear. However, there was also another part of me active. The part that was observing the unhelpful thoughts, attempting to introduce alternative views, making suggestions to use the various tools I have added to my belt over the years. It was equally powerful, but it came with so much judgment.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I shouldn’t need so much. I should know how to better ask. I shouldn’t need to ask. I should be able to take care of this myself. I should know what to do. I should be less selfish. I should be more compassionate. I shouldn’t have put myself in this position. And on and on it goes.

Through all this angst, I could not find my feet. It took days. It took a sleepless night weeping and beating up my mattress for me to break. It took the kind and supportive voices of several friends before I could ground myself enough to benefit from the other tools at my disposal.

In hindsight, I see that my issue is nothing external. There will always be stressors that trigger things in me. I have a low threshold for discomfort and have internalized a lot of things in my life as trauma. I can be spun into an unmanageable emotional space quite quickly and, despite years of searching, I still do not know how to adequately self regulate. And that, my friends, is my biggest struggle.

I bring that energy into my connections, whether it be leaning on the support of those who can hold space or requesting support from those who can’t. While I so value having people in my life who will walk me through it when things feel unbearable (THANK YOU!), I think I finally get that I can’t rely on it. I need something bigger. I need something internal. I need less shoulds and more self compassion. I need to give myself space to walk through to the other side in the company of my higher self, my younger self, my wounded self.

It’s weird to have the knowledge in my brain, but not the recognition of its truth in my body. I’ve known this is what I’ve needed, but I couldn’t quite see what it meant. I couldn’t quite internalize it. I know its perilous even now, but I’ve had a glimpse of clarity and have some hope for the future of anxious nights.

If you feel like sharing some of your regulating tools, I would love to hear them. Wherever you are in the world and whatever your unique challenges, I wish you strength, clarity and all the self love you can muster to walk you through.

by admin

Fall Reflections

I haven’t wrote in a while, my few readers will likely have noticed! I have sat to do so several times, but haven’t found enough words to feel it worth posting. Today, I am determined to post despite not being sure I have much to say.

The thing I’ve been reflecting on lately is connection. I have a lot of amazing people in my life. However, this year I’ve come up against some interesting realizations that have temporarily, or permanently blocked some of those connections from existing within my life. I had a really close friend, who I’d been through hell and high water with, many times throughout the past 10 years. My experience was that our many disagreements left me feeling unheard and disrespected. I tended to dismiss this feeling and wash it away with justifications and attempts at acceptance that “that’s just how he is.” In a public forum, a fight we had had many times was witnessed. In that witnessing, my experience was validated by countless observers, and my strength to withstand it dissolved. We haven’t spoke since, and while I think of him often, I’m not sure how to resolve it, or if there is anything to resolve.

I continue to evaluate my relationships, particularly those that are near to my heart. I’ve withdrawn a lot, especially in the fall months. I find little reserves within myself to manage the tumultuous nature of the world we currently find ourselves in, and in that lack of resources, I am finding I need a different sort of connection. I’ve found myself reaching for the feminine energy in my life now more than ever. I finally see the difference, and value, in speaking with other women. I find more strength, more acceptance, and more kindness. Let me state, I do not believe these traits are sexed, I know many sensitive and kind men as well, but the understanding I’ve been experiencing in my lady tribe has been where I’ve been most drawn.

In this process, I have not so gracefully withdrawn from other connections. I find myself shutting down more easily when offended and far less willing to extend my energy where I do not feel ease and support. Perhaps this is how most people approach their lives? I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m hurting myself in distancing. It’s hard to say.

I remember a counselor telling me years ago that I put everyone on my inner ring. He talked of my being a planet and that it’s okay to determine some as more worthy than others to be on the ring closest to my orbit. That I could decide where to place connections and offer energy accordingly. I have always had trouble with this. For two reasons. First, I hate deciding who warrants more of my time and energy. I feel as though its judgmental and in denial of the spiritual union I’ve come to believe in. Second, I tend to open myself easily and see the best in people. This results in my making fast and deep bonds that I don’t foresee, or recognize, as being more harmful than not.

Right now, the ability to decipher seems to be coming out of necessity. Perhaps an ability to listen to myself more deeply. Perhaps a level of sheer exhaustion that doesn’t allow me the flexibility I once prided myself on. Regardless, I will continue to reach out to those who nurture me and try to judge my assessments less. I know that just because a relationship isn’t working for me in any given moment, it doesn’t mean there’s anything inherently wrong with it and that my taking care of myself doesn’t have to be a slight to another persons character.

by admin

Proverbial Old age

Well, folks, cats out the bag. I’m not so young anymore. I think it was last year, maybe the year before that I got the arthritis diagnosis, and its only been going down hill from there. I’m pretty sure if I eat ice cream three nights in a row, I can see the extra roll. I’m fairly certain that the lines around my eyes are there even when I’m not smiling, and I’m 99% sure the days of sleeping on plywood in hostels are behind me. At least the part about waking up and feeling spry.

I mostly kid, I am actually staying in a pretty rough camp-style situation right now and bask in the simplicity. Even the dirt and bathing out of a bowl have charm, at least in the short term. But I am getting older and the one area I truly feel it is in the womb. Okay, I don’t actually FEEL it in the womb, but you know what I mean.

I’m 34 years old. I decided somewhere around 25 that I wanted kids. I actually remember the exact moment. I was laying in bed with my partner at the time. He lived in a simple little yurt that was full of love. He had a dog that followed us everywhere, I’d lay my coat down as a blanket for him outside of restaurants while we ate. One morning he climbed up on the bed between us. Playful and panting with pleasure. That was the moment. I realized I wanted a little kid to bust into my room in the morning, wake me up from my likely much needed slumber, and scream “Mommy” at the top of their lungs. Or “daddy,” so I realize that my birthing them has little to do with how they choose their favorite parent.

The years to follow were ones in which I finished my degree, gave up drinking and tried my hardest to learn what a healthy relationship looked like. I had flailed about in open relationships for the years prior avoiding intimacy and commitment. I was used to distracting and finding comfort in another connection, rather than working through whatever the initial bond was triggering within me. I studied psychology and did training to be able to counsel with a local organization. I even upgraded to be able to support couples, in hopes that the education would help me in my own pursuits of family.

I dedicated my time to men who were open to the potential of children and fought my way through a lot of discomfort in hopes that with enough effort, I’d end up in love, married, and on the trajectory of the sweet little family I longed for. When my nephew was born, my maternal drive kicked in with even more fervour. I loved fighting to get him into clean diapers and reading to him until he fell asleep.

I was in a relationship with a man who was always uncertain, but open. We had a tumultuous relationship, mostly. However, he was willing to work on things, stuck with me through a lot of personal struggles, and allowed me a lot of freedom to travel and tackle new things. He got on with my family, had drive, and said he loved me daily. We worked through countless struggles that, in hindsight, were just born from a foundation of incompatibility.

Last July, after nearly a year of doing long distance, I decided to end it. I’d met someone who showed me the things I longed for and wasn’t getting in my relationship. Simple things, like listening to music rather than watching TV, talking openly and with emotion, sharing spiritual pursuits and perspectives. I didn’t connect with him beyond a friendship, but the insight into a more fulfilling connection helped me step away from the man I’d been planning my life with.

The grief process was different than others prior. Rather than grieving the loss of the relationship, which I didn’t much as I’d already got used to living alone and not seeing him often, I grieved the loss of the life I wanted. I felt, even then, at a young 33, that choosing to leave that relationship greatly diminished my chances of ending up with family. In the year to follow, that brings me to today, I attempted to date a few people. I made sure that the possibility of kids was there in the first few conversations, not wanting to waste any time. When one hopeful attempt fell apart, I took a job that I thought may pay me enough and offer me maternity leave. I thought perhaps I should plan to do it on my own, rather than leaving my one life dream to fall, even partially, into the hands of another being.

In March, as we all know, a global pandemic rocked the world. I went from working full time between two cities, studying therapeutic yoga, and volunteering to doing, well, nothing. To being confined to my home and restricted to the company of my family. To be honest, aside from the financial worry, this was a welcome reprieve. I started walking daily, focusing on my mental health, and embracing the time to reflect. I was met with hurdle after hurdle. Some personal and some global. At some point, I hit a wall. I’m not sure what exactly the conclusion of the wreckage was, either some form of acceptance, or some level of apathy. Regardless, I let go. I decided that maybe I had no idea what was supposed to happen. That maybe I didn’t really want to have kids on my own, and that if I didn’t want to do it on my own, did I REALLY want it? Was I capable of it? When the majority of my life has been spent saving to travel, could a life filled with adventure fulfill me? Perhaps even more so? I let go, on a deep level, and for whatever reason, I really could.

I don’t exactly understand how I went from kids as my driving energy to not caring, or even wanting it anymore. I don’t know if its maybe the uncertainty of the world, the sheer volume of emotional stress over the past 6 months leaving me too depleted to care, or simply a shift in my truth. But today I am approaching life with an energy of openness. A lack of control. A lack of intention beyond making it through, one day at a time. And you know what? I’m ok with it and it is a lot more fun.

by admin

The Fear

My friend asked me today why I don’t share when I’m struggling.  I’ve spent a decent amount of today pondering this very thing.  I told myself that my muddied mind and heavy heart wouldn’t be able to effectively communicate anything of value.  He suggested that the reminder that we are human and can rely on the support of others is a powerful message in itself.  I know this to be true.  Most of you would likely argue THAT to be the whole foundation of this blog you sit down with periodically.  It was my intention when I started it, to share openly about mental health in order to destigmatize and open dialogue.  Here I am waiting until the storm passes instead of getting vulnerable.

I think there is wisdom in waiting, especially in this format where a bleeding heart for an unknown audience could be unskillful.  But in the company of others with similar struggles, friends who are likeminded, it doesn’t make so much sense to be guarded.  So, I ask myself, what’s going on?

I think the root of it is fear.  I don’t want people to see my struggle to find my own self worth and realize I’m really not worthy.  I don’t want the people who easily identify and judge struggles within themselves to then hold mine against me.  I struggle to love myself when I can’t dig myself out of my sore spots, I’ve been surrounded by criticism, and witness to so much judgement.  I don’t know how to believe that people can love you even in your weeds.

When I don’t have a relationship with people, it doesn’t matter.  I’ll share anything, I have nothing to lose.  Maybe that’s why it’s easy for me to send these thoughts out into the void.  But when I care.  When I fear the end of a relationship, a loss.  I can’t handle it.  It overwhelms.  It hurts.  

I’m trying to take this awareness and explore what it might be like to share it.  To sit with the person who triggered things within me and speak it.  Honour it.  But when I can’t be consoled.  When I need to work through it on my own regardless.  When I need to sit with the feelings and find a way to transform them for myself.  Is there really value in airing the dirty laundry?  Putting your aching heart forward for people to hold in whatever light they wish?  Is that intimacy?  Is that vulnerability?  Is this how people deepen relationship?  Is there a time when this becomes safe?  Are there people in which to do so IS safe?  People that will hold space and really adore you anyways?

Maybe there’s only one way to find out.

by admin

The path.

If you travel by foot through my yard and down a short stretch of road, you find yourself at an access point to the many trails in behind the main trail around Westwood lake. I wander them often, sometimes daily.

This morning, as I roamed through the muddy paths in a sprinkle of rain, I was reflecting on choice. At first I wandered the trail in the same loop, unsure if branching out would leave me lost. Slowly, as the spring warmth became more consistent and my energy levels built, I didn’t care so much if I got lost. I knew I could retrace or find a new way. I knew I had and could manage the extra time. I started to take trails I knew were more rigorous and would get my heart rate up. I’d opt for a magical narrow path knowing I would find soft, bright patches of moss. I would follow the sound of water and find myself along the Creekside.

Every time I come to a fork in the path, I pause. I absorb what limited information I have of each option. I don’t think too much about it, and often choose based on intuition. Perhaps my reaction is in relation to my body “I’ve had enough and I know for sure the energy requirements of this direction.” Maybe it’s my whimsical nature that makes the choice. “This looks like somewhere the faeries would lead me, I’m following them!” Sometimes it’s the part of me that doesn’t love routine, that says, “hey, I haven’t been this way yet, where will it lead me?”

The more time I spend with myself, the faster those choices become. The faster the process of weighing the options. The less fear I have about trusting the choice. Part of it is that I developed a comfort with the trails, I found myself in familiar places every time I took the unfamiliar path. I came to trust in my sense of direction. I came to trust that the trails couldn’t leave me so far from home that I wouldn’t be able to find my way. I came to trust my body could carry me long distances. That I could adjust my path to meet my energy and push past my reserves if I needed.

I was relating this to my ability to make choices in my daily life. I have a lot of resistance to choice. I flip flop a lot. I fear making the wrong decision. I fear ruining things, or living in regret. Lot’s of fear, much like my initial approach to the framework of paths. So many options, what will happen if I branch out? What happens if I let this path go for something unpredictable? What if I end up stranded on this new path, depleted and wishing I’d had the sense to stay on the familiar road?

Times in my life when I’ve been strong in my embodiment of myself, I’ve found the same things as I do on my morning walks. A deeper trust. In the strength of my body, in the validity of the feelings that arise, in the wisdom of loud, clear, thoughts. As a result, I’ve managed choice with more grace. I’m in a process of deep self reflection amidst this pandemic. I’ve been blessed to connect with a great support group as I work through things and am fortunate to be continuing on with my counselor via Zoom. I’m feeling more clarity, more ability to choose. Nothing is definitive, everything changes. Maybe my choice IS wrong. Maybe it’s right, but only for the moment. Regardless, I know that I’ll never be so far off my path that I can’t find my way back. I’ll never be lost, not truly. The unfamiliar will always lead me back to the center of my Self.

by admin

Hello, faithful readers!

I come to you after a bit of a writing dry spell to share… well, whatever comes out.

As we enter whatever week it is of physical distancing and relative isolation, I can’t help but feel like I’m living in Groundhog day. Without the awesomeness of getting many chances to learn how to fall in love with an adored crush or try our hands at robbing banks. My days have shifted somewhat, but mostly consist of walking or driving aimlessly, reading, zooming and creating when the urge takes me.

One good thing that’s come out of this time is that I’ve started to look at some of my childhood wounds. In light of a relationship that swept me off my feet and left me reeling in January, I started to explore my interpretation of the situation and realized my adult self was inactive. I wasn’t hearing the other persons real reasons for leaving the relationship and instead fell into the core belief I hold that I don’t matter.

I unfortunately played that out again with another person I met. Maybe I didn’t even give myself time to dig out of the initial fall. Because I operate, almost consistently, from a place where I think I don’t matter to the other person, I tend to interpret situations or lulls in affection as them withdrawing. I don’t enjoy the uncertainty. I make assumptions. Sometimes I opt to bow out first. I know that this behaviour doesn’t set up a strong foundation for a relationship and have shame about it.

So this most recent attempt at a connection, I played this out. I wanted to expand the breadth of our dialogue and maybe start to develop something more meaningful. Said person was evasive, dismissive and ultimately distant. I had several moments of assuming (maybe intuitively knowing) that said person wasn’t interested. The first time I attempted to bail they played at being disappointed and I thought “oh, i’m wrong! This person does want to invest, I best hold it together!” However, I was met with the same behaviour and again said my farewell.

This person used that against me. Said they were done. They shouldn’t have to explain themselves, aren’t in to hasty goodbyes and triggered responses. I was hooked. I asked for forgiveness. I got weak and needy. I took it on. Yes, it must be me! I had no reason to leave or feel the way I did! (Despite his consistent behaviour of showing no respect or investment.) I’ve since learned the term for this is gaslighting.

Now, I’m an open minded and forgiving person. I understand people don’t always behave as their best selves. I give the benefit of the doubt and hold people in likely higher esteem than they deserve. I saw glimpses of a lovely and interesting human so I haven’t blocked or fully ditched them.

BUT, I’m mad. More at myself than anything. For being willing to put up with stuff. For not wanting to express how I really feel for fear of my anger or sadness making me look weak. For assuming that because someone treats me badly, I deserve it. I spent the whole time, with many past romantic connections, feeling like if I were better, they would treat me better. Like I needed to earn their genuine affections. And holding out, with long periods of dis-ease, for little snippets of “love.”

Anyways, I have the opportunity and space (nothing but!) to feel these things, to observe them, to heal them and now, to write about them. I look at my experiences and wonder if all the times I wanted to say bye we’re not in fact hasty, triggered responses, but instead wise actions from a place of self worth that is too unfamiliar for me to be certain of. As I ponder this, I remain connected via messenger to this person. We’re not speaking but I wonder even about my willingness to allow the possibility.

Thanks for reading folks. I leave you with a brief morning reflection. I awoke and went to the ocean. I can go to the same spot every day and have a different aspect of the water- it’s colour, it’s surface flux, it’s height along the shore- and be awed yet again. I realized that without the ocean, I could not survive this. I need the overwhelming breadth of it’s power and beauty to shock me into the moment. What is it that you realize you can’t do without now that our options are limited and our experiences constricted?

(I COULD do without asshats though…)

by admin

So… like… there’s a global pandemic…

I’ve written a few potential posts but felt my headspace too negative to put out into the world.  I’m feeling a little lighter today, so I’m going to try again and see if I create something in which I feel comfortable sharing. 

I’ve been through a lot of emotions in the last week and some.  Two weeks maybe?  I’m losing track.  A few days back I opted to distance myself from the news, and that has freed me up enough to process a little of what I am, and likely a lot of you are, experiencing.

Do you remember that day when we all woke up and saw footage of planes flying through buildings in NYC?  Most people remember the exact moment they saw or heard about 9/11.  There was a collective sense of disbelief, horror, grief.  Well, that is what has been going on inside me.  My chest felt tight and sore (no Covid over here!  Just crippling grief and anxiety!) and I felt… sort of… maybe spacey?  Like I couldn’t be in my body because it was too much, and I couldn’t be in my mind because it was either shut off or overwhelmed.  A weird, liminal space filling with confusion and apathy.  And I felt like that for more than a week as I watched or read the news everyday and learned of the death, the rapid spread, the changing world and the leaders choosing economy over lives.  It’s been a baffling time.  An unprecedented time.  A time I was certainly unprepared for.

So, what else can I say really?  Maybe it just must start with recognizing, acknowledging and shedding light on the breadth of what I feel.  Maybe for now that’s all that I can do.  I will say though, the last couple days of being free of the media has renewed me a bit.  I managed to tackle some online training that I’ve been putting off.  I managed to clean my home a bit.  I’ve managed a couple walks, a few more zoom chats, and most importantly, tiny moments of peace. 

I want to make a point of saying that however we’re dealing with this is ok.  That’s one thing I have found for myself during this, compassion.  I’m not judging myself for not doing better.  I’m not giving myself grief for eating sugar, or staying in bed, or not putting on pants for days and days.  Maybe that’s part of the shift that this will bring.  There is no doubt it’s forcing people to re-prioritize.

I care about seeing my family every day.  I care about not going to work and putting them at risk.  I care about getting to the two week mark of total isolation so I can snuggle the heck out of my nephew.  I care about the people who have family that need chemo treatments or who are having babies soon.  I care about the businesses I love that are struggling to adapt to the daily shifts in regulations.  I care for the people everywhere who are scrambling to prioritize the safety of others and their own mental health.  And in the light of all that, and more, who gives a fuck if I ate all the cookie dough? 

Would love to hear how your spending your days, and welcome digital connection more than ever these days, so feel free to message me! 

by admin

Working with anger

So, it’s one of those days.  I wake up on the wrong side of the bed.  I’m going through some grief and the first thoughts to cross my mind are of the slimy wretch who broke my heart and my equilibrium.  I begrudgingly greet the day, stumble into my kitchen to make the strong coffee that is my saving grace, (and currently my sole purpose for getting out of bed.)  I make my coffee, attempt to come back to bed and engage in the things that once brought me joy.  A hot, deliciously strong coffee and a journal.  Space to devote purely to me.  Pen in hand, note book in lap, ready to dish out the shit that’s already clouding my brain.  

I’m holding my coffee, sipping as I write, periodically placing it on the bed beside me.  You probably recognize something significant with this cup of joe, as I’ve mentioned it nearly a hundred times in less than two short paragraphs.  And you’re right to think this way.  Because, here it comes.  My cat lovingly jumps up to snuggle with his usually affectionate owner and head butts the cup with all his might.  Boiling hot coffee splashes out in every direction, with the majority of it ending up settling into the skin of my face and arm. 

I scream a little and then realize, as I rip my sweater off, that it soaked into my sleeve and was continuing to scald my arm.  I spent the rest of my sweet journaling time with a cold cloth dabbing the wounds.  Worst part is, I can’t even get mad because for 6 months the little shit wouldn’t let me touch him.  How can I now, after wooing him with stories and hand feeding, possibly get mad when he wants affection?  I can’t.  I just can’t.

I realize as I write this that this is my thing.  The area I’ve been told by countless counselors that I need to work on.  I justify away my anger before I even feel it.  I believe I shouldn’t be angry.  I don’t deserve to experience that emotion, or maybe I just “shouldn’t” express it.  And you know what they say about internalized anger?  It’s depression, folks.  And that, THAT, I have.

I was listening to a podcast of an interview with Johann Hari (who if you don’t know, I recommend you sift through all of Spotify and find every interview with him ever) and he talked of a young girl getting angry and being told that’s not how young girls behave.  But rather than internalizing that she’s a young girl who “shouldn’t” get angry, she instead internalizes that she is unlovable for having anger.  (Now that I’m thinking about it, it may have been Gabor Mate… who I also recommend downloading every interview with…)

Anyways.  This is it.  Young girl, old woman, 33 year old lady.  We all get the same message.  Anger is unladylike.  Anger is volatile.  Anger is aggressive and violent.  Anger is something we stuff.  We should understand, hold space and soothe anger.  Nurture anger away, not engage it.  Certainly don’t act from it.  I can see why it’s unfair to be angry.  Almost 99% of the time I see anger arise, and have already justified why the other person or circumstance doesn’t actually warrant anger.  And it’s likely true, and maybe even a skill to be able to see clearly, but negating the anger is not a solution.  It’s not the most kind thing I can do for myself.  I can say “this person is just hurting and that’s why they acted this way, so I “shouldn’t” be angry.”  Which may be true, but it is also true that I’m angry.  And if I internalize it, the anger then becomes self hatred for having this visceral emotional response that I’m now judging myself for having because I know why I “SHOULDN’T” feel this way.

Even counselors, amidst my training and my receiving of support, seem split on how to process anger.  Some tell you to go out into the woods; scream, hit trees with sticks, whatever.  Others say that expressing anger with violence, even towards an inanimate object, just reinforces aggression and puts you at risk of slapping someone when angry in a fight.  So how do we do it?  When even health care professionals are split on what “healthy” expressions of anger look like?

I definitely do not have the answer.  I’ve taken to letting out the occasionally angry scream while cruising the highway.  Or beating my hands and arms against the steering wheel so that the energy moves through me.  However, I still mostly stuff it.  Rationalize it away.  Hide it in the confines of my car.  In my most recent counseling session I was guided through an exercise to speak to someone who didn’t give me the opportunity to really discuss the end of our connection.  My counselor pointed out that the part in which I was saying what I was angry about, my voice and conviction were weak.  I can see the other persons side and don’t think my anger is “fair.” 

But you know what?  Who cares?  Who cares if it’s “fair?”  Who cares if it’s “justified?”  Who cares if it’s “ladylike?”  And most importantly, either way, it’s real.  It’s there.  It needs to be honoured and moved through. 

I’d love it if you send me your thoughts or practices for working with anger.  This needs to start coming out somewhere rather than spreading it’s poison all throughout my being.

by admin

Fight for faith.

The past couple months of my life have been insane, unsettling and cloudy as fuck and my efforts at expressing it reflect that.  I fell hard.  I went into a depression likely worse than others I’ve been in before.  In my last post I mentioned that I was doing all the things I’ve known have helped in the past and not feeling much better.  Well, it got worse.

I was fighting to feel better, and I was fighting hard.  Which is unusual for me.  Historically, I’ve stopped.  I’ve struggled to get in the shower in the morning, never mind out the house to do something good for me.  The scary thing was that it wasn’t helping.  I’d have moments of reprieve, for sure, but then I’d resist any thoughts of hope because I couldn’t fathom a life filled of ups and downs.  I understood that things would get better, but I didn’t want to feel better for even a moment because I knew it could, and realistically would, be ripped out from under me again.  I felt I couldn’t go on.  I didn’t want to.  I felt like I was asking my closest friends and, even my mom, for permission to go.

I know that this particular low was so bad because I lost faith.  I listened to the voices, both in my head and around me, that told me there is nothing.  There’s no bigger purpose, there’s no higher power, there’s no meaning.  And while some people can operate in the world from that place, I cannot.  If I believe there’s no after life, no divine guidance, no rhyme or reason, or at least the possibility of, I can’t carry on.

I used to think it was weak to believe in things.  I saw people turn to faith to explain the horrible things that happened to them or find strength within them.  I thought faith a denial of reality.  An inability to deal with reality.  Sometimes I can feel that again.  I spent years beating it into my bones and I had to fight my way out of the view of the world, but its still within me. 

I was reading something by Mark Manson this morning (the guy who wrote the subtle art of not giving a f*&%, and others) and he told the story of two guys sitting in a bar in Alaska talking about God.  In the story the one man is sharing a tale of being stranded in the cold and praying to God that he be saved.  The other fella comments that this guy is here now, so it must have worked!   The first man says, “nah, some Eskimos came along and saved me.” 

This sums it up.  You can choose to believe that Eskimos came to save you, or you can believe they were sent to answer your prayers.  There is no proof of existence or non-existence.  If it serves someone to believe that they were sent by a higher being, why would it be weak to do so?  I now feel admiration for those who unquestioningly believe.  Those who have unshakable faith.  Those who can meet situations with grace because of an undeniable connection to something greater.  Those who in the face of horror can still believe in something taking care of them and offering them opportunities to grow.  That’s a kind of strength and commitment I can’t yet fully grasp.

Many intelligent scientists believe in something too.  The closer to the root of everything they get, the more awe and wonder they experience, and the less able they are to explain things in any other way.  Does that not say something quite powerful in itself?

I had an experience I’m not exactly ready or willing to share in detail yet, but it restored my faith.  I felt guided against my doubt and my will.  I had someone show up in a unique way to walk me through my pain and help me surrender.  Someone who I trust now in a whole different way who helped me choose and continue to choose life.  I’m still trying to erase the message that there’s nothing because if there’s no definitive proof either way, why not operate from a place of believing.  Especially when it’s life or death.

 I’d love to hear your stories too.  Feel free to comment or message me your experiences of finding or affirming your faith <3

by admin

Valentines Day

A few days late, but I spent a lot of the Valentines weekend in reflection and thought it of value to process in writing! So, even in relationship, Valentines hasn’t been a huge deal for me. I often haven’t dated guys who put weight into things like that, and I’ve often written it off as a Hallmark holiday and another night of the year where it’s just too much to try and scrounge up reservations and pressurized thoughtful gifts.

This year, I was alone. I struggled a bit with the loneliness, which was exasperated by scrolling through countless shout outs to adoring partners. I processed failed relationships and what seems to be countless disappointments. I shed some tears.

However, I also took back some power. I made Galentines dates with my girl friends. I hate a multi course, amazing meal with some power house pals. I indulged in some healthy veggie bowls with another. I also signed up for a yoga teacher module so that I knew I’d be practicing and spending time connecting with these feels that would inevitably come up. I stayed at my half home in Victoria and spent time with the home owner and her sisters, one of which I’m friends with. I left class early to get home and rest. And the biggest thing, and what I assume in a result of all the other things, is I ended a relationship that was causing me dis-ease.

I spent the weekend taking care of myself. Listening to myself. Honouring myself. I’ve done that the whole week before as well. Today too. I’ve been opting for lady connections over men. I’ve been going to support groups and yoga classes. I’ve been removing connections that don’t serve me and fostering those that do. I’ve been creating. I’ve been reading and writing. I’ve been logging my daily moods again. I’ve been scheduling my future full of pursuits of passion. I’m theoretically NAILING the self care thang.

To be honest, though, I’m still not doing great. I’m still feeling sad. Generally unsettled and unwell. A lot of the time even hopeless. I have the fight in me. And I suppose SOME hope. Because I’m doing the things. I’m remembering a time in my life when I was happy and I was going to support groups and yoga regularly, and so I’m trying. I’m trying to force myself to do those things. And even though, so far, I’m not feeling great, I guess somewhere inside me I DO believe that things have the potential of getting better. So I’ll continue to push. I’ll continue to foster the connections with those who are doing the same. I’ll continue to hold on to a time when I was happy and hope I can get there again.

To those who may feel similarly, I hope that you find some reprieve in however it is that you take care of yourself. I hope that you can hold on a bit longer until the sun shines a little more often and castes a little more warmth. With Spring comes a renewal of life, and it’s not that far away. I remind myself of this daily.

by admin