Author: amandameneses0101@gmail.com

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Aphrodite

A single match is struck and the flame lights the room. Its shadows dance on the walls to the beat of the thundering water that fills the tub. My clothes fall to the floor. A small lavender sachet tumbles under the spout and celestial tunes transport me as I sink into the steaming bath.

Closing my eyes, I am no longer in an acrylic basin but stretched out on sand and cradled by the sea. Palms sway overhead against a turquoise sky. A warm breeze sweeps subtly over my exposed form and the waves crash in the distance. I am on an island far away… floating…

Before the warmth of the sun begins to burn, the palms slowly multiply and tropical plants ease into the scene. The open sky, broken now into tiny bits of blue peeking through and I am shielded by forest greens and orange and pink blossoms. No longer cradled by sea and sand, under me a crocheted hammock carries me… swaying all the same. Tropical birds, waterfalls and the wind moving through the leaves, replaces the sound of the waves… and I sink into the rocking cocoon, softening further…. alone in a tropical rainforest paradise.

Just as peacefully as they came… the palms and ferns begin to dissolve as evergreens silently take their place and the sky begins to reveal itself once again. The brilliant blue darkens to a embracing navy, framed with black spires of trees and speckled with tiny flickering stars, brilliantly illuminating the heavens. No longer crocheted threads, but a soft canvas now swaddles me. The thundering waters have ceased and all is quiet. I am cooler now and I can’t stop staring at the night skies painted on the backs of my eyelids. Relishing in the silent, peaceful, solitude… I am at ease in this wooded sanctuary at night.

Eyes still closed and as I stand, the ocean and the waterfall merge as the water rolls off my body. Stepping out on the bath mat, I imagine it is the cool earth in my wooded scene and my problems are now underfoot- not gone away… but beneath me. I am stronger than them, and in this moment, they have no power over me.

“Momma”, a small voice comes from behind the door and my meditative state is broken. I am reminded of where I am on the journey and the life that I have been given. And while I cannot run away or escape my troubles forever… I can for a moment step away… I can transform… I can recharge and renew.

Some lavender lotion and cozy sweats and I am ready again to embrace this beautiful life in all of its wonderous complexity. For what is peace, if we never feel unrest? What is ease without hardship?

This pandemic paired with life has been a potent and deadly cocktail for many… and I too have suffered the pains of isolation, oppressive fatigue, tightening anxiety, griping fear, the heavy cloak of depression and dwindling hope. I want desperately to go back to my old life of happy hours on the porch, hugs, endless travel plans and friends and family abound.

But I am reminded that that life too, knew challenges, conflict, exhaustion, and fear. And that long as this season has been and despite its hardships, it has afforded us a much-needed break from many things. It has defined relationships that needed defining. It has invited us to explore our creativity- at work, in the kitchen and the arts. It has allowed us more opportunities to take on new projects, to hear one another with less distraction… and to take more baths.

When I allow the worries of the world to consume me, I am a helpless child… quivering in fear and uncertainty. When I detach, I am a leaf blowing where the wind takes me, unfeeling and removed. When the pain hits close to my bones, I am enraged and like an untamed flame, I ache to scorch everything in my path.

But when I let the pain and the fear and the worry wash over me like the waves of the sea- accepting it, not denying it, releasing it, not holding on to it…

I am Aphrodite… and my power lies in the goodness I create; my fertility yielding wholesome fruits of creation- a plated meal, a painted wall-or- fingernails, a freshly pruned plant, a gentle ” I love you”, a craft, words scribbled on a page…

Every season affords us a series of days, and every day, a series of moments. It’s what we do in those moments, how we choose to respond, to reflect and embrace… that define us.

Yesterday I might have been the anxious child… and tomorrow the winds of trauma may sweep me away again as the leaf… but today….

Today… I am Aphrodite.

Who are you?

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“You will feel better than this….”

 

Very few people know that 2019 was one of the hardest years of my life. For very personal reasons and to protect the privacy of those I love, I kept my tragedy contained to a very small circle. 

Ringing in 2020 brought me some sense of hope, but to be honest, I was still knee-deep in shit. Surviving and caring for my family were my main goals.

So, when the pandemic hit just a few months later… while it was another added challenge, I largely felt as though I’d been through worse. So I tried to take it all in stride, another speed-bump on my already crappy road.

While the virus was scary, there was a much-appreciated silver-lining for me.

After months of wanting to curl-up in a ball and shut the world out, I was allowed, mandated actually, to slow down and stay at home. While many felt trapped in their own space, the shut-down offered me a much needed break and quality time with my family. It gave me respite. My family too-got a break from the busyness of the world. No more long commutes to far away schools and battling city traffic for doctors appointments and therapy. We could attend them in our quiet and happy little home. We could eat lunch together, every day. Family game night came many times a week instead of a pressured one. And we finally got a really productive garden in, after years of haphazard attempts.

For the first time, I was gifted the ability to work one of my jobs from home. I was afforded the time I needed to prepare our house to be sold. The stimulus check gave us just enough money to make the repairs we needed to. And the boom in the housing market gave us the perfect window to both sell and buy-landing us in our dream home.

Overnight, nurses became “heroes” and kind messages and free meals were popping up everywhere we turned. In many ways, it felt like a long-overdue acknowledgment- 16 years for me. Suddenly the hard work I’d been doing my whole career was “extraordinary”. While the work was hard, it felt good to make a difference and to be “seen”.

There was also a lot of hope. Stay inside for a few weeks and “flattened the curve”. “Do our part now so we can celebrate beating Covid this Summer.” While the scientists predicted another uptick and a grim winter to come, we focused on the longer days and sunny weather that had already begun to show. I was energized with hope, acknowledgment and my blessings at hand.

Despite the predictions many months ago, it’s hard not to feel like we failed-as a country and as individuals to contain this virus. With cold and dark days and the numbers climbing, hope is a scarce resource now. The side-walk chalk rainbows are long washed away and the drive-by celebrations feel stale now, while the morgues continue to overflow.

On the frontlines, the adrenaline has worn off. The quick sprint that catapulted us in the Spring has dragged into a painful, seemingly never-ending marathon that I didn’t train for. And this harsh Winter, is still just beginning. The “Heroes Work Here” signs are sagging. The ‘thank-you meals’ are long gone. And the lines on our faces, from the masks and the stress, are deeper now than ever.

I am sad and lonely and really fucking tired.

I miss the people I love. I miss travel. I miss peace of mind and reassurance. I miss comradery.

I am in grief. Grief awakens old grief. And it is easy when we are “down” to replay all of our losses- a pathetic tallying of all of the miserable things that have happened to us. It’s easy to wallow in the darkness and allow ourselves to limply fall down the rabbit hole instead of climbing towards the light-because falling uses less energy. God knows, energy is one thing we’re out of – we’ve been running on fumes for a long time. 

It is easy in this dark world we are living in, for my mind to fill with all of the forms of tragedy and grief that I am faced with every day….

Family members and friends who suffer (often silently) with mental illness and traumatic histories, some hanging on by threads and others, the ‘non-covid’ losses in the pandemic.

Loved ones and icons gone too soon, often without warning or a chance to say good-bye.

Foster children, more of them now than ever, as in-home abuse escalates. And the foster parents who take on heavy risk to welcome a new exposure into their household for the greater good – who minister to children, who instead of feeling rescued… often feel like they’ve lost it all. Because all children love their parents and even their abuse/neglect was something familiar to them. Their resources are dangerously limited now and family visits are more challenging than ever with covid restrictions.

Perinatal loss families who have suffered the greatest loss there is-the loss of a child and all of the hopes and dreams attached to loving and parenting that child, many of whom can’t even hold a funeral right now. Their supportive family are kept away by travel bans. I meet new, tear-stained faces every week, that I am enlisted to guide on their heart-breaking journey. And I worry for them now more than ever.

All families of loss, whose family members are locked away in facilities that are desperately trying to keep their patients and workers safe… who are denied the visits and home-cooked meals we’ve become so accustomed to as we minister to the sick, now trapped in isolation, saying hello through a window and “good-bye” on an i-pad. 

The loss of safety and security… of innocence and independence… peace-of-mind, freedom and joy.

So here I stand, a grief worker by profession, and all the tools I hand to others, in my own bag are now dull. Getting fresh air and sunshine, the cold air stings and reflexively, I turn away from it. My gratitude list has lost its luster. Chronic stress has my joints aching and real, therapeutic movement feels like an insurmountable chore. Healthy eating habits and avoiding excessive alcohol have never been harder when you are cooped up inside and comfort foods are one of the few comforts you have left. Virtual meetings, whilst a much appreciated technology, after so many months, leave my arms aching now for a human hug.

Yet so many people have it so much harder than I do right now. My complaints feel selfish and petty. I know that I am bathed in blessings and yet everything feels so empty and so hard right now.

For many months, I thrived during this pandemic, making the best of what we had and seizing every opportunity I could. But like everything, that too came to an end. Now I’m surviving. 

 

It was a quote I heard on an episode of “Call the Midwife” when an older Jewish woman who had survived the holocaust ministered to a young girl in grief…  she said,

“You will feel better than this. Just keep living until you feel alive again.”

 

So that’s where I’m at today. With a new year around the corner, I am trying to be hopeful. I am reminded that I have done many hard things before and that nothing lasts forever.

One day, I pray soon, I….we… will feel better than this. 

So for now, we keep trying. Along with the cookies and wine, there’s dark-leafy greens. Despite, the cold, there’s windows to sit in and steps to run the laundry up and down for exercise. And in my nightstand, there’s a half-empty journal that I’ll half-heartedly scribble my blessings in, again… lest I forget them.

I’ll continue to soak in every chance I get to interact with the people I love-virtual or not; and to stop and gaze at sunsets, Christmas lights and other small beauties. I’ll continue to grow the game closet for fun, interactive, mind challenging family time; and I’ll keep trying to say “I love you” more. Because now more than ever, tomorrow is so very uncertain.

For everything that is good and worthy in this world, I will keep living… because I know from grief journeys in the past, I will one day, feel alive again. And every lesson, every hardship will make me stronger and more colorful than I was before. 

Let this New Year, let this time, be a transformative one. And let us awaken… more alive than we ever were before!

Blessings and Hope for the New Year!

 

this photos belong to Anthon Cauper – all rigths reserved by the author – solen_@hotmail.de

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Solstice

“Winter solstice, also called hibernal solstice… when the path of the Sun in the sky is farthest south…. At the winter solstice the sun travels the shortest path through the sky, and that day therefore has the least daylight and the longest night.” In the Northern Hemisphere, this falls on December 21 or 22.- Encyclopaedia Britannica

If ever there was a year that the light felt far away and the darkness seemed to linger too long… this might be the year.

It’s not my most painful year by far… but the longevity and the constant stream of challenges has been remarkable. Instead of a sudden, gut-punching blow, this has been more of a slow bleed… and I am weakening from the anemia. I am tired, sore and sad.

Pain and sadness have always drawn me inside myself- be it emotional pain and grief or physical pain. While at first onset, I am unsettled… after a period, it draws me inward; and there, in my own shadows, I am afforded the opportunity to allow the pain to transform me- to become bitter-or- to reflect and learn, and become better. The choice is mine.

I reflect on my many moments of pain-my brother’s death, childbirth, accidents and illnesses, holding my first stillborn, saying good-bye to foster children, burying a beloved pet, losing a patient… the moments are many… and every time, I went inward.

I was both a nurse and a mother of two when my grandmother died slowly from cancer, cancer she elected not to treat as it was end stage when it was discovered. I remember that she would keep busy with small projects and pray when the pain was at its worst- a distraction and a novena of sorts for a devoutly religious woman. While I processed the loss, I reflected on the myriad of feelings that came to surface. I tried to apply my hospital training to at-home hospice, all the while guiding my children through their first experience of death. Secretly, I hated her martyrdom. Pain should be avoided not coddled, I believed.

But pain, I’ve come to learn, is inevitable.

While some know this old foe better than others, no one is afforded a life without it. And the timing of our meetings are rarely anticipated- leaving us unguarded and taken aback by its arrival.

Acceptance is never immediate. At first the pain is an intruder and your reaction is rejection, discontent and a drive to fight the force that is ailing you.

But with time, your energy eases and your senses soften as your stance melts and you bend to sit. It’s not martyrdom or loss but surrender. Surrender to the transformation at hand.

And then, the very darkness you at first, jumped to slay, changes form… the shadows shift and you no longer see a foe… but an old friend… and you ease further and commune, settling in as you settle into an old chair.

And it is in that place, where the light meets the dark that you will find your greatest revelations, if you allow them. Your eyes need time to adjust and to filter the light from the dark. And so long as you don’t stray too far from the light… if you allow yourself to sit in the shadows for a time… allow the process, if you allow the surrender… the darkness becomes your teacher.

For a week I wondered, why? Why the week before an already challenging Christmas am I in pain again… but pain is never well-timed… or is it?

Tonight, with the Winter Solstice approaching… I realize it is not an assault but my old teacher returning.

For many cultures, the solstice is a deeply spiritual time, full of sacred ritual and reflection. The long night affords more time for such inward thoughts and revelations.

This year has been hard and every part of my self feels it. My heart, my mind and my body are exhausted. I am a caregiver by both nature and profession and this global pandemic, along with life, has depleted me. Perhaps this pain was my calling to rest.

Busy with work, busy with packing/unpacking, busy with homeschooling, buying and chores… for a time I allowed myself to be consumed by tasks, when what my soul really needed was rest and time- time with the people I love, well spent, not rushed.

And yet, I am kept away from so many of the people I love. Never have I missed family and friends more than I do now. And I vow to remember this…

Life and love are the greatest of blessings- never should they be taken for granted.

To simply awaken every day is a gift- a gift denied to so many this year. Furthermore, to be afforded people that love you and that in turn, accept your love, are what makes life so rich. Relish in that love while you have it. Be present. Listen. Take it all in. Feel. Invest in the people and moments that matter. Loneliness is the void of every day joys we ache for when they are taken from us.

Yet not every person is worth the energy it takes to create such moments and sustain such bonds. Pain helps to sort out worthy relationships-the people that understand, the people who offer support, the people who remember, the people who stand by and hold your hand until you are whole again. Pain builds a shell that only the worthy take the time to chip away. It is a blessing to know who your allies are. Don’t let the fair-weather friend distract you from your loyal companion. Those who walk through the valleys with you… should never be forgotten or taken for granted.

Nor should your abilities. The ability to walk, talk, see, think… to use our bodies to explore, create, learn and produce goodness… that is a tremendous gift. Many people have learned just what it was to take taste and smell for granted. Over and over, I’ve read accounts of people crying when their senses began to return after a covid infection. And yet these experiences are not a new phenomenon- The vet who lost his legs. The elder whose sight has clouded away. The accident that robbed one of their ability to hear… How easy it is to jump out of the bed and run to the phone… until you’ve lost the ability to walk…and talk… To see someone’s face… until you go blind… To hear the laughter and music of the season until your ears no longer process sound. Today I am choosing to marvel in my abilities.

And I am choosing to marvel in my blessings-my family, my home, a full refrigerator and warmth- just a few enormous blessings denied to so many right now.

Joy and connectedness are not lost- with the tremendous technology available to us. Technology that allows us to watch our holiday favorites on the screen, listen to the tunes of the season, have gifts and goods delivered to our doorsteps, and video calls to see our loved ones faces and share in each other’s moments in an alternative way.

While the darkness affords us the time to reflect, the solstice is also a celebration of the re-birth of the sun, the survival of the longest night and the gain of light to come. I am so incredibly grateful for my bounty and yet, oh, how I yearn for better days to come…

As I sit in this ecliptic state, my blessings are illuminated by the light. They are what I am choosing to set my gaze upon. And yet to see them, I had to sit in the dark for a time. As I continue on my journey, I aim to hold steadfast, my focus on such blessings, but I will not deny the darkness. I am entitled to my grief-from wherever it comes, or however big or small it seems to others. I will honor both the struggle and the reward, the blessings and pain; because one cannot exist without the other.

The solstice is “a time to set goals and intentions for the coming year, to examine and let go of our past, and to make changes within ourselves”… It is “a personal awakening.”-Jessica Booth, Bustle.

This is not the way I would have chosen to spend my holiday season- in pain, away from family and friends, removed from so many meaningful traditions. And yet it’s a year I’ve been afforded so many blessings. And it’s an opportunity to reflect and better myself-to awaken. Perhaps in this time of great unrest, this solstice may be the most meaningful yet… straddling both the light and the dark and embracing them both… A restful hibernation, all the while welcoming a rebirth… as pain and struggle always offer a transformation… and the world circles the star… yet again.

solstice | Definition & Facts | Britannica

What Does The Winter Solstice Mean Spiritually? It’s Celebrated In Tons Of Religions And Cultures (bustle.com)

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Thanksgiving

I actually wrote this post in August and amongst the busyness of life, am just sitting down now to complete editing it. Upon re-reading it, I was struck by its timeliness.

In the midst of a global pandemic, working the front lines and home-schooling my children, we also moved from our home of 13 years… not to mention a plethora of life’s “other” challenges that we continue to work through.

The content of this post was inspired by my bi- monthly grocery shopping trips,  a stark change to life before the pandemic. “Sacrifice” takes on yet another new meaning now (and I’m not just referring to groceries). After such trips, the teeming fruit bowl reminded me of a stuffed cornucopia. Upon further reflection, the meaning and historical references associated with the word “Thanksgiving” yielded similarities and meanings far further reaching than a full fridge. Beyond gratitude, it is an acknowledgement of our hardships and a cautious and calculated hope for the future.

I remember being a young pupil, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our classroom, while my teacher with thick, beige panty hose, held up a large picture book and taught us about the “First Thanksgiving”- with “Squanto and friends”, an indebted invitation for their fishing and planting skills, extended by the newly settling Europeans who dreamed of religious freedom but struggled to survive in this new land- a peaceful meal was shared between them-the pilgrims and the natives.

Later that day, we made headbands out of construction paper to resemble feathers and pilgrim hats. And we wore them home proudly… telling our parents about the smart and resourceful natives that saved the sick and dying settlers and the pilgrims’ kind gesture of thanks. It was such a simple and sugar-coated version. “They taught them how to grow corn and how to fish and then they had dinner together and became friends.” It was a sweet lesson in gratitude, working together, accepting outsiders and trying new things.

So much of what we learn as a child is a lie… or at least so turned around, smoothed-over and overly-simplified that it hardly represents the often complicated and ugly truth.

Last summer, our 50 states escapades took us on a New England Road Trip. There, we spent some time in Plymouth, Mass. As per our norm, the trip consisted of part leisure, part local food and part history. So in addition to munching on fresh seafood and eccles cake, we did a bit of studying while we were there- and Thanksgiving was of course one of the subjects. What we learned was, while we don’t really know exactly what that first Thanksgiving looked like, there are two written accounts of the event-one from a participant who mentioned it in a letter and another account thought to have been written about 20 years after the event. And neither of these accounts really got noticed until about 200 years after the fact.

Whilst still a great story of our country’s early beginnings, we learned that the story we were told as children wasn’t quite accurate. We learned that many of these early New England settlers called themselves “separatists” at the time, not pilgrims. And that they wanted to make money as well as create religious theocracy (government by divine guidance/a legal system based on religious law), not just gain religious freedom from the Church of England. How very different this country would be if that had been achieved!

Most historians agree that the “invitation” to the famous meal was probably less of a formal one by the settlers, and more of an acceptance of the natives (who far out-numbered them) being in the area- for their own harvest, as well as keeping an eye on the Europeans who were reportedly, loudly celebrating and firing their guns (some things never change lol) during this 2-3 day harvest celebration.

The relationship between the natives and the settlers was often tense, as the Europeans fought to conquer and own land and the natives to defend both their way of life and the sacred earth they believed no person could own. By virtually all accounts, Squanto was deemed to be a helpful mediator between the two groups, and did reportedly teach them about farming and fishing, but was also later captured. The fall-out for the natives, many agree, was tragic. We know that many natives died as a result of exposure to European illnesses and virtually all of them were eventually pushed off their land.

While as a nation, we have continued the tradition of celebrating this harvest meal, many natives mourn the loss of their land and people as the expansion of the new world grew more from selfish means than mutual respect. Thanksgiving for them, is and always has been, a daily practice of gratitude- not a holiday. Nonetheless, there were elements of cooperation and adaptation and the holiday became official when Abraham Lincoln signed it as a means to bring together a nation divided in civil war.

The massive killings, plagues and pillaging are a part of history that we must acknowledge. And I implore the textbooks to be changed, so as to reflect as honest of a representation as we can provide. But those are not ones I’m going to dwell on here. Instead I will choose to focus on the slivers of goodness- cooperation, coexisting, adaptation, togetherness and searching for reasons to celebrate, even if those reasons aren’t perfect; because there’s enough hate and sadness right now.

As both a frontline worker in this war and a human being with my own struggles and challenges (many of which never make it to this page), I relate to the first settlers who came with a goal and suffered tremendously- whether from their own ignorance, arrogance or simple misfortune. Suffering, no matter the causation, deserves compassion. Life can be fortuitous, but it can also be terribly cruel. While they likely came with what they believed were good intentions, they paid a hefty price in the beginning, with a mortality rate of over 50%.

And the natives, strangers to the setters, who were better off at the time, offered them help. For a time, they negotiated and shared the land and resources peacefully. They bartered and traded… a practice we are seeing again, as resources are again limited and people try to minimize their trips out of the house. The natives saw people who looked and acted very differently than themselves, but they helped them all the same, because they saw that they were suffering. And we are here today because they did! While they taught the settlers how to help themselves, by teaching them how to grow new crops and hunt in this new land, it is documented that the natives also brought whole deer for the colonists to eat. (A real life example of “You can give a man a fish AND teach him to fish-it’s easier to learn how to fish when your not starving“). And the colonists (whether from desperation or not) were willing to listen and learn! Then, with those goods and skills, by working together and negotiating, they began to flourish as a colony.

The early settlers’ survival laid in the hands of accepting help from others, learning new skills and ways of doing things, accepting their new reality and embracing change. Are those not lessons that apply to us in this pandemic and current state of politics?

Many years later, Abraham Lincoln saw this story as an opportunity to bring together a divided nation… a new holiday to celebrate, when the north and the south were divided by more than just land and the issue of money and slavery pitted brothers against one another.

And here we are again… divided. Our blue and red have never seemed so far away from one another.

I don’t have all the answers on how to fix it and I hate politics. I come from such a mixed group of friends and family and embrace such a moderate viewpoint, you might as well call me purple! But I do know this:

Selfishness and hate have never helped. While selfishness may provide a short-term gain, it likely brings on a greater long-term loss. But working together for the greater good, mutual respect and love for humanity always puts us on top in the end. Many times in history, we used the way we treated natives and minorities to justify helping the economy and leading to progression. As a result, we left a huge shameful stain on our country and the repercussions continue to shake our culture. When we focused on rapid progress, we usually made big mistakes. When we focused solely on ourselves, we destroyed others. But when we considered the possibility that we could change directions and actually improve rather than combust, when we stopped talking numbers and started seeing faces, when we listened to other’s points of view, we made great strides as a nation.

While division has created much pain and damage, unity has always been our saving grace as a country- from the colonial period, to the revolution, in war times, civil rights and post 911. We survived and thrived when we came together for the greater good. Our forefathers literally advertised unity in the newspapers, because they knew how essential it was to our success as a country. And in our most trying of times in history, it was unity that allowed us to rebuild.

Fighting for the rights of minorities shouldn’t be a blue thing… nor should wearing a mask or quarantining (if science supports it for the public’s protection)… and being concerned for the economy and the over-stepping of the government shouldn’t be a red thing. Instead, considering both sides of the argument, honoring both science and freedom of religion, understanding that your liberties only go so far as to not infringe on another’s, having respectful and intelligent conversation and working towards the good of all humanity, celebrating whatever we can, that should be the American thing.

If you’re not afraid of the virus, wear a mask to respect the people around you, it literally causes you no harm. If you don’t believe you’ll get it, take pre-cautions out of respect for the healthcare system that is treading water, the same system that will fight to save your life if you do need it. Don’t think the virus is a real threat? Talk to a nurse on the frontlines in an affected area. If you don’t think the economy is a concern, why not talk to some small business owners, get their perspective and find ways to help. Instead of riots, why not build charity to assist the people you are working to defend? If you think your life is more important than another’s, try looking their mother in the eyes. Pause to read, listen and think, instead of spouting blind hatred on social media. And for every story, perspective, person you struggle to understand, I encourage you to invite them to your table-a Thanksgiving (perhaps virtually, at least for now). See them, listen to them, imagine their struggle as your own. You may not end in agreement, but the more we strive to understand one another, the more we cooperate, share ideas and work towards solutions, the stronger we become as a nation.

And be kind. While technology, healthcare, access to food and our individual freedoms have come a long way since the days of the Mayflower, life is still hard for us right now. We all need a Squanto in our lives- to teach us and lend us a helping hand. And each of us, in return have skills and ideas to share with others- hatred shouldn’t be one of those.

I am incredibly blessed to have a healthy family, a viable means of employment and a very happy and lovely new home. But I’ve also got two teenagers who have had virtually no contact with their friends in 8 months and their mental health is an every day concern of mine. I’ve got one virtual learner and one brand-new home schooler and I am overwhelmed, teaching an 8th grader by day, working night shift at the hospital, cooking healthy meals to keep us well… just living for god’s sake. I’m tired of caring for patients looking like an astronaut and I’m tired of explaining to people that this virus isn’t a farce… I see it every day people- It’s f***ing real! And yet I’m sick of my own paranoia as every ache and tickle is a covid symptom- and I’m mandated to report and get tested. And that’s just my one little story… people are out of work, businesses have folded, families have lost their loved ones, everyone is spread incredibly thin.

We need to be kinder to one another. 

And we need to be kind to ourselves. Many of us are plagued with fear, anxiety and uncertainty right now. It is effecting both our psychological and physical health. “Give yourself grace,” I often remind myself. Every day I fight my demons by practicing self-care. I reframe by struggles as “challenges” and I remind myself that most things are temporary. And like so many others, there are days that I fight to keep my head above the water. But when I’m able, I do try to keep helping others, because I know charity in-turn helps my spirit to be soothed and it helps humanity as a whole. Quiet, reflective, alone time is necessary for my ability to process and de-compress. Utilizing my therapeutic outlets and creating boundaries is essential in creating a work-life balance. Pampering always helps… whether it’s a soak in a hot bath, a yummy treat or zoning out to some meditative music for a few minutes. And in the spirit of the holiday, daily gratitude and celebrating small victories is proven to improve mental health. We must remember to take care of us, while tending to others.

 coping strategy; but togetherness is required for family function and survival. And I look Fleeing from where they came, with no modern medicine or amenities, the early settlers helplessly watched person after person die from illness, elements and starvation. And the natives had no defense against small pox or massive artillery. We have research labs, experts in virology and economy, vaccines and medicine, hospitals and government assistance. We are going to be okay… but we must learn from our mistakes and mustn’t let our fears cause us to turn on one another. We must always respect one another and remember our shared loved of humanity.

Unlike my childhood version of the first Thanksgiving, I don’t mean to overly simplify solutions or sugar-coat any of the challenges we are currently facing. In fact, I acknowledge just how ugly and complicated the truth likely is. And like everyone, I am very cautiously calculating my hope for the future. Still, truth, goodness and growth as a country are worth pursuing, always.

It has been a harsh, harsh season, and there are more hard days ahead. But like the famous meal, let us come together, count our blessings… and celebrate our victories. Because in this great country… there are so very many!

Happy Thanksgiving USA!

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.history.com/.amp/news/first-thanksgiving-colonists-native-americans-men

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A letter to my child when they turn 30

Hello my love,

I hope this letter finds you well… finds you happy. In fact, I hope you’re reading it snuggled up and cozy, with a family that you love quietly preparing for bed, after you’ve just returned home from laughs and drinks with your old Mom. And I hope as you drove home from our date and reflected on how our relationship has changed over the years, that I’m a Mom that you’re proud of.

I hope that I am and always was enough.

You know, the day I discovered I was pregnant with you, I was both terrified and instantly inspired. I wanted to be the best Mom in the world. I cut out coffee and alcohol and ate all the healthiest foods. I was afraid to ever make a mistake with you and I  wanted to give you the world. And then you were here and you were mine… and I made mistakes and told you “no” more times than I can count.

But every mistake was felt almost instantly and painfully. And every decision trial, was harder than you could ever imagine.

Remember how tough it was to have a nurse for a Mom, a night-shifter at that. Every time I came home grumpy from sleep exhaustion or a difficult shift and I yelled for you to “get your shoes on and get out the door”… I regretted, the moment you climbed out of the car in the drop-off line. And after those encounters, when I nodded off to sleep while you started your day at school, I vowed to be better tomorrow… and some days, I wasn’t. Every time I sent you to school with a stomach ache or a sore throat because you weren’t throwing up or had a fever, I stalked my phone all day just in the case the nurse called and you needed to come home.

Remember that teacher that was shitty to you and didn’t understand your feelings or your needs… and I tried to point out the positives to you and give her the benefit of the doubt. I fucking hated her. And I wrote more scathing e-mails demanding change, than you’ll ever know. Her words were never more important than your feelings.

On the hard days when you cried and with a solid expression on my face, I rubbed your back and told you to keep trying, told you not to quit, told you some days are hard like this… my stern exterior broke when I was alone, and baby, I cried right along with you. I cried when you didn’t get picked for safety patrol, when I knew how bad you wanted it. I cried when your drama audition and your visitation day went badly. I cried when you broke up with your first boyfriend-watching your heart break, in turn, broke mine. Every disappointment, every pain, every sense of failure wore on my soul like a ball and chain… even if on the outside, I didn’t show it.

And discipline was no different. The love a parent has when they chose to make hard calls to instill good values and character… is a love that is both exhausting and painful… like debriding and cleaning out an infected wound to save a limb- though essential, your pain didn’t go unfelt within my soul. And so often I wished lessons didn’t have to be learned hard and that indulgence didn’t have to be spared.

As you became a teenager, the struggles got harder and your push for independence was a constant tug-o-war with my undying instinct to protect you. It was around this time in your life that you began to see little slivers of me as a person (not just me as your mom)- a curse word here, a little too much wine there… If I disappointed you then, I hope that by now, you see me as a human that you are proud of. It’s hard to wear the super mom cape forever… though I tried.

You were always a human that I was proud of… even when I didn’t say it. And I know I wasn’t always good about saying it… that was a hard skill for me to learn. Every step you took brought me tremendous pride and unbearable angst. The statistics and stories of tragic death from drugs, motor vehicle accidents, suicide, accidental death, human trafficking… kept me up at night… and the thing I feared the most, was losing you.

From the moment I knew you existed, you were and always will be, my most precious possession… only you’re not my possession. If you were, I’d keep you locked up in the valuables box. But no, you my dear were meant to be out in the world, to shine and to share your gifts. You are a wonder to behold… even though sharing you, means sharing my own heart… cutting open my own chest and exposing the blood-pumping vital organ that sustains me, to the crowded and selfish world around me… silently begging them not to poke.

I wasn’t always able to save you from pain… but my god… I sure as hell did try! And the soul-twisting, gut-wrenching pain that I felt when I couldn’t… seared like a hot poker on my heart… tissue dead, permanently scarred, leaving the muscle to twitch before it learned to pump again, resilient but blackened by the pain you suffered.

I would have given my life to save you from that pain. But in doing so, I would have missed your wonderous recovery… your resilient spirit and tremendous strength. I live every day tormented by your suffering, yet in awe of your wonder.

Despite the hardships, I hope your childhood memories are more sweet than bitter. I hope the games, vacations, parties and quality family time unweigh the time-outs, harsh words, disappointments and tears. I hope I taught you how to both survive and love fiercely, to think critically and trust your gut, to work hard but know when to ask for help. I hope you remember the tree house, ice cream and s’mores, road trips, day hikes and family hide-n-go-seek.

By now, you know that adulthood and even parenthood, isn’t some magical veil that you pass through and instantly gain wisdom and patience and all that is good. By now you know that the super hero cape I wore was one that you merely envisioned. And as you grew and it dissolved, I hope you found grace for my misgivings and recognize my humanity. But I hope you see that I never ever stopped fighting for everything that was good for us and that my love for you is endless.

I hope that you are proud of me, as I am of you.

And just as I listened to your childish pleas and I satisfied them when I was able, I hope you hear this old mother’s plea…

Don’t ever stop coming by to visit. Don’t ever stop asking for advise or a helping hand. Or calling just to say “Hi!”. And don’t you ever… for a single second question that I am not forever proud and in awe of the person you were and have grown to be.

I hope you don’t knock. Come for dinner or a drink, for an afternoon nap or an evening chat. I hope you open the fridge and my front door like you’re home… because you are… in my house and in my heart… darling, you are always home. You are mine and I am yours, forever.

Love,

Mom

 

 

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Fractured Fairytales

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When I was a young girl, there was a line of books called “Fractured Fairytales”. They were essentially, a silly, every-day spin on the old classics. Cinderella wasn’t into glass slippers, but was more of a loafers girl. Prince Charming wasn’t a perfect suiter but had hang-ups. And in the end, Cinderella was better suited to one of his relatives instead…It was that sorta thing.

I haven’t seen the books in years, but the term came to mind the other day as I was finishing up another 12 hour day of providing bereavement services, after a 36 hour weekend of working in covid world and simultaneously mothering, wifeing and adulting. Reflecting on my job and my life as a whole, everything kind of melted together and “Fractured Fairytale” came to mind… Not in the silly sense that the books were written and not in the overwhelmingly tragic sense of a fairytale never coming to fruition or hopelessness… but in a life-like sense… where both goodness and tragedy reside, side by side.

My life in so many ways, is a fairytale. I am madly in love with my husband. We have two absolutely beautiful children together and several more through my husband’s first marriage and foster care, who’s love sustain us. Our house, whilst small, is ours and has blossomed lovingly from the work we put into it. I am well respected in my profession. We take fabulous travel adventures and play games almost nightly as a family. I’ve delivered babies and saved lives, which has provided me tremendous life/work satisfaction. And the kind words people offer me through my writing and my work, has me walking on clouds many days. For these things, I am the luckiest woman in the world.

And yet despite all the wonderful blessings, there are so many fractures…

While I am very open about things like my brother’s suicide, my parent’s divorce, foster care and the tragically beautiful work I do for a living, there are many aspects of my life that I do not share publicly, out of respect for the people I love, and in keeping my private and public life balanced. Some of those things have brought me life-shattering pain; pain, that I don’t believe I will ever recover from. For these things, I wonder why life has been so unbelievably cruel.

It is as if I am caught in this day-to-day see-saw… of celebrating my blessings and grieving my losses, bathing in gratitude and wallowing in my sorrows…

And I know that I am not alone. I know there are many people who carry tremendous burdens, burdens heavier than even my own, that few people know anything of.

I suppose every life is that way, to some degree. We all have private struggles and ups and downs… To love is to have great comfort and risk great pain; and very little success comes without some degree of failure…that is to live. No one is spared all loss and tragedy.

And yet my experience, both in my own life and in my work as a foster parent and nurse, has shown me that those highs and lows often seem disproportionately assigned in the world. Some people’s pendulum of successes and losses seems to swing much harder than others’ do. While some people seem to be able to skate through life with relative ease, others are dealt a hand that slams them with assault after assault, leaving them in a constant state of gasping for reprieve. While we all have challenges and hardships that create cracks in our lives, some people’s fracture lines are many and they run deep.

It’s become my life’s work to walk alongside those people. Because we never do know, what people are silently dealing with. And everyone needs a friend.

The next time you look at someone and label them as “having it all”, being “Mr./Mrs. Perfect”, “living a fairytale”… or better yet, the next time you judge someone for their “low” place in life, remind yourself that every fairytale has fracture lines and some are much harder to patch.

Still, it’s what we learn to take away from our hardships that make our fairytales that much richer.

One thing I have learned, is that life is part hard-work and part sheer-luck, part what we can control and part what we can’t. Working our hardest, we can improve what/where we can. But, we must also be willing to relinquish control over what we can’t.

When I reflect on my greatest highs, I see that I had a big hand in them- my career, my marriage, my family. That reflection reminds me that my hard-work was worth it! But when I reflect on my lowest lows, I realize, that very little was within my control- genetics, the choices and behaviors of others, accidents. And it gives me a small sense of relief. Not all of our misfortunes are ours to own and yet they impact us deeply. Whether they spontaneously befell me or I missed a signal, I was unable to prevent them from happening. Therefore, my only remaining energy must be dedicated to learning from them, improving from them, and working to heal from them.

That, gives me some control back and it carves out a sliver of goodness from the pain.

But it also gives me a lot of hard work to do. Learning, Improving and Healing… Changing… are hard! They require much more intentional energy and effort than silently mulling in regret.

They say that “regret, is wasting energy on the past, and worry, is wasting energy on the future”. These days, I don’t have any energy to spare. So, I am consciously working on remaining in the present. Sometimes, it’s an hour-by-hour struggle to do so.

It is easy to get lost in thought over the origin of my fracture lines- whenst they came and how, by god, I could have prevented them. It’s even easier still to wallow in self-pity over why I’ve been dealt the shitty hands that I have. And lord knows, it is just as easy to worry for the future- there is so much uncertainty, so much to be concerned about.

But those are the moments that I am learning to take a deep breath and center myself, bringing myself back to the present moment- where blessings and power lie in bounty.

Today I have the power to change what I am able- to seek help, to embark on the journey of healing, to work towards being my best self. Today, I am afforded the opportunity to acknowledge my fracture lines… and with great focus on my afforded blessings, pick up the mortar and begin to fill them in. The patchwork will always shadow under the surface paint, but perhaps the structure of my spirit will end up stronger in the end. And if nothing else, it certainly adds complexity and character, even if that complexity is one I’d rather do without.

When we are children, we dream nothing but fairytales… and no one ever tells us that amongst our innocent views, fracture lines are already running through them…

Some of my fracture lines are so deep, so pervading, that I would literally have given my life to prevent them. But that is the mindset of regret and useless bargaining. And what the implications of those lines will be on the future, is exhausting worry. So today, my fairytale is knowledge, empowerment, resources, opportunity, endless love and the beauty of another day.

Because despite the breaks and pain… life is worth living… and if you give it your very best, underneath the ashes… lies the gold of your very own fairytale, chipped and patched, but wonderous all the same.

Re-discover your fairytale today… your life is more beautiful than it sometimes feels!

 

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Each time she is alone…

tear-drop pic black and white

She’s wipes a tear

and she makes her bed.

 

She wipes a tear

and she brushes her teeth.

 

She wipes a tear

and calls her children awake.

 

She wipes a tear

and makes her coffee, their breakfast and gives them a second, gentle shake.

 

She organizes and reminds again, of homework, projects and the schedule to come, she prepares and chauffeurs, loves and nurtures, cooks and cleans.

 

On her only break, she finds herself on her knees…

on the kitchen floor, to clean.

 

She wipes a tear

and it turns to a wail

 when no one is around.

Fists clenched, her tears cover the floor and her screams fill the empty house.

 

She wipes her tears

and climbs to her feet.

 

Stumbling to bed, 

she wipes a tear,

sets the alarm, pillow damp, succumbs to sleep.

 

She wipes a tear and grabs the groceries, pulls into the pick up line, helps with homework, sets dinner on the table, heads off to work…and checks the rear view mirror for signs of her self-duress.

 

She wipes a tear

and parks the car.

 

She wipes a tear,

takes a deep breath, clears her mind, sets her intention and prays for relief.

 

And as the sun hits her face, as it does at the store

and in the pick up line,

she slaps on her confidence and joy, her facade that all is fine.

 

They see a smile at first glance,

but no one ever takes the chance,

to look deeper…

or longer…

when she sets that mask aside.

 

Each time she is alone…

she wipes a tear.

 

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The Night Shift

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I started working the night shift many moons ago… a new grad rite of passage. I had to get through one year- and then a day shift position would open up, they said. So for a year, I worked the zombie shift. With a one year old at home and limited childcare, I was always sick and sleep deprivation took on a whole new meaning. It became a lifestyle. I couldn’t wait for my year to be up and to be able to work “normal hours”.

While I waited that transition period out, I went about achieving my goal – “To be the Best OB nurse that I could be”. I stared at the experienced nurses with starry eyes… “One day I want to be like them”. I longed for their wisdom and efficiency. I wanted to run an OR like a boss. I wanted to propose a new plan of care to a provider and have them take it because it was a good one. I wanted to perform exams with accuracy and not feel the need for someone to check behind me all the time. I wanted to do a delivery without tearing up. I wanted to feel relaxed in an emergency and resuscitate a baby without feeling like I was gonna to shit my pants. On my downtime, I practiced the things I struggled with, studied strips, asked providers for the reasons and thought processes behind the decisions they made and grilled the veterans for their pearls of wisdom. If I was lucky, someone would break out a diagram or draw me a map… and if I wasn’t, I was chastised.

By the time my year was up and a day-shift position was posted, I had fallen in love with the staff who taught me how to nurse. I had come to rely on them, knowing that the second I pulled the emergency bell, they would magically be by my side to guide me. So I stuck it out a little longer. My physical ailments of working nights had begun to work themselves out and I decided I wanted to gain more experience and a higher level of comfort before I moved to a different group of staff.

As I gained more experience I came to discover the treasures buried in this shift.

Labor knows no bedtime and babies come when they want to. Providers go to sleep and go home at night, often times because they hold office hours in the morning. So, you are forced to think and act. In the quiet of the night, you become autonomous. Without a provider immediately ordering you what to do, you begin to develop plans of care on your own and suggest them for the doctor/midwife’s approval when you call. Assessments and exams fall to the nurses and with all the practice, you become very comfortable with the tasks that would normally fall to residents at other hospitals. You catch babies when patients arrive late in their labor. Surgery is never scheduled and the chaos of taking a patient to the OR at 3am becomes a learned dance. You are the eyes and ears of the doctors when they aren’t there. Your senses become highly tuned to the early signs of a problem because a baby and a mom’s life depend on you.

Administration are in their beds. Resources outside the unit are scarce and by default, your coworkers become your right hand. Providers aren’t hanging around watching your monitors. You can’t call for back-up staff at 3am or ask your manager to leave a meeting for a unit emergency. You learn how to “figure it out” when it’s busy and how to stay awake when it’s slow.

So here I am, 12 years a night shift OB nurse and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The aspects of the shift that at first terrified me… in the end… have gifted me with experience and skill, confidence and character. I have learned when to not “bother” doctors and when to “demand” them, so as to advocate for my patients. I’ve had the joy of delivering a patient’s baby and doing it well, and the privilege of holding their hand and wiping their tears when the outcome wasn’t good but a provider wasn’t there yet to break the bad news. I have prepped and pushed a patient into the OR before the surgeon was on the floor. I’ve accompanied a high risk patient in transport via ambulance to another hospital because OB nurse transporters weren’t available at night. I’ve run for 12 hours straight without a bathroom or a meal break because there was no help to be had. And I have proudly performed a variety of dance and music numbers for my coworkers when things were slow… it works much better than caffeine! (Ethics discussions and random polling are also engaging for the sleepy mind). But mostly, I’ve gained the respect of providers and nurses alike and achieved the goal I set as a new nurse.

In the blink of an eye, I am the veteran…pushing my baby birds out of the nest to fly as new L&D nurses. And they all ask…

“How do you stay awake? How do you stay so calm all the time? And when will my insides stop going crazy every time I have to resuscitate a newborn or manage a delivering patient with no provider in the room?”

Inside I smile.

“Keep wanting to get better. Keep practicing and it will come. And hang with us zombies on night shift and we’ll be there to have your back and keep you awake.”

If they watch carefully, they too will blossom into wonderful, autonomous nurses with a little attitude and a lot of character… and if they watch extra careful, they might just notice that I still need a back-up or a second opinion sometimes and once in a while, they might just catch me tearing up in a delivery.

This post was first written by me for and published by an online nursing magazine and a hospital newspaper. I am now re-posting it here.

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Serenity Prayer

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

 

I don’t pray very often… that dwindled around the time that I lost my faith- sometime after my brother’s death, my parent’s divorce and more than my share of traumatic experiences. I left the religious schools that I spent twelve years in, and in a public university, I met new people that embraced intellect and understanding over short-sightedness and judgementalism and I learned an in-depth view of science… and that was it… the frayed threads that held my faith and kept me a “believer,” broke. I’ve tried to mend them but it’s like they dissolved…You can’t sew with thread that isn’t there. I admit that church and religion got the short hand of the deal from me because there are many good and smart people in faith communities. And there’s more than one way to embrace “belief”… but going back now is like trying to convince yourself in your 40s that the Easter bunny really does exist. And so I resolve to make peace with where I am. If a god really does exist… then he gets me… and he sees my efforts… and when I’m really in a hard spot… hopefully he still hears my lonely prayers.

Although, in these days of pandemic and personal struggle, I’ll admit that I’m praying more than I ever have. They say, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” And while I don’t believe a desperate cry for survival constitutes “faith”… I accept their point that sometimes desperation leads to the consideration of other ways of thinking, or believing. And when you have exhausted every physical and intellectual effort, and fear and doubt persist… you throw a Hail Mary because fuck it… it can’t hurt. I don’t mean any disrespect for those who treasure their faith deeply… I just sit in a different place. And I wish I had the peace and assurance that they have.

But I am working on creating that peace, that serenity, in other ways. I’m doing that through reframing negative thoughts, acceptance, prioritizing needs, working towards positive change and self-care.

So when I see frustrating things on the news- leaders who in my opinion, display complete incompetence, citizens who endanger others through selfish and ignorant means, the short availability of needed and life-saving supplies, viewpoints expressed that are completely out of balance with humanity as a whole, when I feel overwhelmed and frustrated with my own challenges, deficits and burdens and those of my patients and family, I take a deep breath and I reframe:

“They are not selfish- they are afraid.” “They don’t know any better- ignorance is their crime.” “Their challenges are different than mine.” “I am blessed to have what I have.” “However painful this is, this is a learning experience.” “Today I am here, and I am fortuned with the skills to make a difference.” “This is an opportunity for success.”

Reframing is a technique used to change the way we think, into one that sees the good in a situation, and focuses on positivity, productivity and acceptance, instead of negativity, useless rumination and defeat. When we change the way we think, we then change the way we feel and behave.

When I can’t reframe, because some realities are just that… then I swallow hard and try to accept that I cannot change other people or circumstances and that the life that I have been given, is my own and it is beautiful despite hardship. I can share my messages and shed my light, but I can’t do it expecting people to change. Nor can I let their ignorance rob me of my peace or ability to find beauty. If I let them steal my peace and contentment, then I let their contempt win and their ugliness spread.

Darkness can encroach, darkness can shadow and shade, but darkness can never win.

Then I focus on what I can control, what I can change. I prioritize what is most important for my life and what matters most to me. And my family, my wellbeing and my career sit at the top of those priorities. I can control MY family’s compliance in this pandemic. I can wear a mask and be diligent in my hand-washing and infection control practices. I can control our diet and exercise by providing as much quality produce as I can purchase/grow, be mindful of adequate water intake and use our space and the open outdoors to move when my body is able. I can meditate and practice good sleep habits to enhance the quality of my sleep as much as possible. Exercise, good nutrition and sleep will give my immune system its best fighting chance if I get sick. I can turn off the news and practice self-care activities like soaking in a tub, painting rocks, listening to music, gardening, cooking, writing and laughing and playing with my family to decrease my stress- because stress is not only a detriment to the immune system but it impacts sleep and overall wellbeing. Stress is the enemy of happiness. But serenity, is her friend.

In ordinary times, tomorrow is promised to no one. We are in a global pandemic. I hope that my good health and that of my family pulls us through, but there are no assurances. If I am to lose my life, or that of one that I hold dear, I want to have spent my last days well- knowing both that I gave us our best fighting chance… and that we embraced one another in love and quality time, all the way to the end– not fighting, not angry and stressed out, not ungrateful, not with regret.

If I die tomorrow, I want them to say “She was a warrior”– who practiced diligence and safety and risked her own life to serve others, but not recklessly. I want them to say, “She was kind”– while she spoke the truth, she didn’t put others down, she tried to see the best in every situation and she always lent a helping hand where she could. I want them to say, “She was fun.”– she was forever dancing, singing and laughing and throwing new activities and games at us. And while she might have liked wine a little bit too much and curse words may have slipped-out, both in her discontent and in her mirth… “She loved life and she loved us.” In the words of our little foster baby, I want them to say, she made “This a happy home.”

What do you want people to say about you? And how are you going to get there?

I am so very far from perfect. Stress makes me grumpy and short. I think I appologize more than I say “Thank you.” I’m loud. And it’s possible that my bluntness might offend more than it soothes. But I’m trying.

Many years ago, when I was a young, single mom in nursing school (yes my husband and I worked very hard to get where we are) and my life was one of the hardest and most complicated that it ever was, I threw a penny into a fountain. And when I did, I chose very carefully what my wish would be. Unsure of where I’d be living, desperate to graduate, provide for my baby and to make something of myself, and completely overwhelmed by how to make the very complex and at the time, difficult relationship with the love of my life work… I wished only for “Happiness.” I had no idea where my life was going to end up… but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with true happiness. And it’s been my wish in every fountain and every birthday cake since. Nothing about my life is even close to perfect, but we are happy.

In my eight grade year, I, like all good little Catholic girls, received the sacrament of Holy Confirmation. In the classes leading up to the sacrament, we learned that this made us an “adult” in the church and we learned about the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit- Wisdom, Knowledge, Right Judgement, Courage, Understanding, Reverence, and Fear of the Lord/Wonder and Awe. Caught in another very difficult time in my life, my family was divided, broken and ailing. Of those gifts, I prayed the most for Wisdom, Courage and Understanding.

Perhaps the sacrament worked after all… (Reverence and Fear of the Lord certainly weren’t ones that came through, LOL). While plagued with previous traumas, I did emerge from my most difficult experiences with fortitude, a gained perspective and a desire to understand people and their stories. I have embraced my journey in nursing and in foster care courageously and from that, have gained more wisdom and more understanding than I could’ve ever imagined. Whether or not I was gifted with these through the sacrament, they didn’t come without a hefty price.

Wisdom, I am convinced, is gained when you weather through difficult circumstances, seek to understand them and then derive from them, lessons for the future. However, with that, often comes tremendous pain. While grateful for the wisdom I have, some days it’s hard for me to believe that it was worth it. Some days, if given the choice, I would have sacrificed the wisdom, to escape the pain. But in life, we don’t often get a choice with the cards we are dealt, instead we choose only how we manage them. Understanding that, is acceptance.

This time of the year holds many anniversaries for me. As I soon enter my 38th year of life, 16th year as a mother, 15th year as a nurse, 13th year as a wife, 2nd year as a foster care provider, and day 50 of quarantine…

In these unprecedented times, I am reframing this rainy day as: one that is feeding my garden, as a gift to be alive, as an opportunity to create goodness and to make a difference, no matter how small. And when I am challenged the hardest- on the days when my face hurts and my body sweats from isolation gear and a respirator, when my patients and my family face insurmountable hurdles and the world seems to have gone mad… maybe, just maybe… this self-proclaimed non-believer, might just say a little prayer. Then she’ll take a deep breath, wipe her tears and take another step, because life, horrendously hard as it can be, was meant to be lived well. And my soul aches not for discontent… but for Serenity.

Live well friends and know that in your times of challenge, courage will push you through… and where your heart aches, scars will one day patch the pain… and with them, understanding and wisdom will accompany you.

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Coping

A few weeks ago, when the pandemic first made its self widely known in the U.S., someone asked me if I was “scared”. I reflected on the question and my feelings and I resolved that, no, I wasn’t afraid… at least not of dying… but my pervading feeling was instead, exhaustion. It took me a few weeks to again reflect and identify exactly what was causing my exhaustion; to nail down and come to grips with why, even on my days off, I was so tired. And that became the content and the inspiration of my last post- “Tired”.

 The post hit close to home for many of the healthcare workers that read it.

But then, someone posed a new question to me, “How are you coping?”

So, after more time reflecting… here goes:

While some level of coping involves grit and determination, of grounding one’s self and remembering what you are called to do, even when it’s hard… like going into battle or powering through childbirth unmedicated or pulling through the last leg of a marathon…. that inner strength and adrenaline only lasts but so long. There comes a time, when you must find inspiration and joy to re-fuel you. 

So, while I give myself this little pep-talk before a shift. And I embrace the profession I was called to do… in between the moments of dehydration, patients’ tears and painful isolation gear… I look for inspiration and joy and I practice self-care.

Self-care can mean taking a hot bath and listening to soothing music, taking a nap or practicing Yoga.  It can mean a favorite television show, book or movie. Or spending a few minutes to prepare an extra-yummy snack or allowing yourself to enjoy a hobby. It’s time that you intentionally elect to do something that you enjoy, which does not sabotage you in some other way (ie. drug/alcohol abuse). For me, what self-care looks like, changes daily and it’s more about listening to what my body needs or craves at a given time- be it quiet, an outlet, healing heat/movement, or distraction.

When I have cared for myself, I am in a better place to search for inspiration.

I find inspiration in the faces of my patients. Whether they are there for the best or worst day of their life… they are looking to me to both care for them and to give them hope. Behind the mask and through the face shield, they are searching for what my eyes have to share. It will never stop being a tremendous honor to be present at the moment of birth and death. And exhausting as my job is right now, if it ever stops inspiring me… it’s time for me to step down.

I find inspiration knowing that this pandemic, horrifying as it is, is making history. Viewing it through that lens, helps me to open my eyes and take-it-all-in, rather than to shut-down- which is easy to do with the grim daily statistics. We are living history right now and the day-in and day-out are stories that we will one day tell our great-grandchildren. The same way we sat vigilant, listening to our grandfather’s stories of war and our grandmother’s resilience in the great-depression, we too are being given the opportunity to be great warriors and survivors. And that prospect gives me energy to live well. Do I want to tell a story of how much I complained and feared? Or how I learned to create and contribute to the greater good? Will I talk of sharing or hoarding? Of coming together or dividing? Of hurting or helping?

I find inspiration in others. I am inspired by the distillery who used their alcohol to make hand-sanitizer instead of spirits. The factory workers who lived in their facility for a month’s time to make PPE. Clothing and shoe companies who donated goods to healthcare workers and used their facilities to make masks and scrub caps. Small business owners who expanded their license to provide carry-out and delivery, even though that meant tremendous work on their part. And bigger restaurant chains who donated meals. I am inspired by the retired healthcare workers who ached to help and sewed and cooked from home to help their comrades on the frontlines. The grocery workers, truck drivers, and environmental service workers who showed-up to stock, transport and clean the areas we needed  to stay “essential”. And the teachers, telehealth workers and therapists who didn’t abandon their students and patients and found a way to work from home, so that their desperately needed services could continue.

I am inspired by the other foster parents who didn’t close their homes out of fear and instead opened for placement, knowing that doing so might mean introducing the virus to their family… but seeing that life-threatening abuse and neglect, that is sky-rocketing with this quarantine, took precedence.

I am inspired by the mothers and fathers who find a way to provide for their family and still maintain quarantine- by shopping as infrequently as they can and sacrificing their well-loved luxuries for the greater good. Who have learned home schooling in a pinch and “do their best”, even though teaching was the last profession in the world that they would’ve chosen. 

All around us, there are sources of inspiration, if you choose to see them. And every day, I make an intentional effort to find joy. 

I find joy in having all the laundry clean and folded- that’s a feat that rarely happened pre-covid. I find joy in a clean house. Clutter and messiness is “visual noise” for me and causes me to feel unrest. So I am joyful when I have available time to house-keep.

I find joy in my pets. The dogs are thrilled to have us home and get frequent walks now. The rabbit is finally getting the exercise, out of her cage, that she’s suppose to. Even the snake gets handled more and the fish bowl stays clearer than ever. It’s only the cat that probably wishes we’d get out of the house… but even she, still brings me joy.

I find joy in creative cooking. It really is a game for me to create the most delicious meal I can, with the ingredients I have on hand. And I’ve expanded our go-to meals exponentially. Nightly meals have become more of a family affair- both in planning and preparing the meal. I love not being in the kitchen alone and I love creating goodness with less.

I find joy in gardening. Most years it’s something we do, but it usually feels very pressured to get the vegetable garden in before it gets too hot. And our composter was out of commission for a year because it was full and we simply hadn’t had the time to empty and till it into the earth. Now going outside to weed is more feasible, and it gets me my daily vitamin D. I’m saving my seeds from store-bought produce to create starters in egg cartons. And watching them get rain and sun brings me joy… and so will their harvest! 

I find joy in writing and crafting-something I again, rarely had the time I wanted to. Writing is a therapeutic outlet for me. It gives me a way to process my thoughts and “talk it out”- like talking to a girlfriend… only I get to carefully select my words and chose only the ones I wish to share. Coloring and painting rocks are therapeutic too, but in a different way. Those activities allow my mind to escape thought and to enjoy just being ‘lost’ for a bit. Our photo puzzle gave us new wall art. And when I get around to using those corks I’ve been saving, that will provide me a feeling of resourcefulness and a new trivet to enjoy. And that will make me smile 🙂

Above all else, I find joy in my family. If this virus means not taking people for granted and telling people that you love them when you get the chance… then seeing their faces every day and spending quality time with them means I’ve hit the jackpot in opportunity. Every night we choose a different activity and I soak in every card game, every puzzle, every show/movie, every silly moment.

I’m a nurse. I work the frontlines. I know grief. I have a husband 18 years my elder; and a 16 year old, who in two years, plans to move out of the state. I’ve lost people close to me from unexpected and tragic causes. I don’t take anything for granted. Family time is always precious! Even if it’s forced. Even if it’s via a computer screen.

While we are all living through this pandemic, everyone is experiencing their own reality, differently. Some of us are living alone and the isolation is what is hardest. While others are wishing they had moved out of their parents’ house before now, and the crowded space is driving them mad. For some of us, work is the hardest it’s ever been and we regularly ask ourselves if the paycheck is worth it, if we end up paying for a family member’s life in return. Others, are desperate to return to work and wonder how they will survive another month without income. While some of us feel safe, others are living a nightmare. While some of us are enjoying “a break”, others are willing to risk it all to escape the quiet.

Regardless of what your reality is, I assure you, there is joy and inspiration to be had. Despite those out to hurt, there are many, many more, out to help. Today I implore you, at the advice of dear Mister Rogers, “Look for the helpers” and look for the joy. And when this is over… many, many years down the road, I wish you safety, good health and young bodies crowded around you to hear your stories of creativity, resourcefulness, laughter and the shared respect for humanity. 

Keep coping!

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*If this pandemic finds you in a place of inescapable horror: the police department and your local DSS are still open. And if there’s anyway I can help, email me at my blog e-mail address: amandameneses0101@gmail.com and I will do everything in my power to find you aid. I am a registered nurse and licensed foster care provider.