Category: Life

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Stone Eggs

This has been an Easter unlike any other…

For 4 weeks now, we’ve been in quarantine. Four weeks of scheduling grocery shopping. Four weeks my children haven’t seen their friends, cousins or classmates in the flesh. Four weeks I’ve been a mother, nurse, writer, wife … and now middle school and high school teacher, resource finder, creative outlet user, frontline emergency worker. I’m tired.

And now for the sake of my children and for the sake of searching for goodness (a principle I always promote), we are faced with a holiday, that in my humble opinion, must be celebrated. Not because I feel a religious obligation, because I don’t (and I mean that with no disrespect to those who do).  It must be celebrated because our children, our selves, have been robbed of enough these past few weeks.

We’ve been robbed of peace-of-mind, robbed of face-to-face human interaction, robbed of convenience, day-to-day food items and amenities we’ve come to expect, robbed of traditional schooling and many jobs, and some of us have even been robbed of our safety and health. I will not allow this virus to rob us of this holiday too. And yet we have this moral and social obligation to maintain social distancing for the sake of that very health and safety we stand to lose further.

So how? How do we celebrate when everything we’ve come to know and expect has changed? Holidays are largely built upon tradition and togetherness. I come from a huge Catholic family.  And while I have abandoned the religious aspect of the holiday due to my personal beliefs, I greatly anticipate the tradition and togetherness that comes with each holiday, this one included. In my family, we are used to a table filled with lamb and ham, deviled eggs and endless desserts, salads and side dishes. We are used to getting dressed-up in new spring apparel, Easter egg hunts and baskets filled to the brim. We are used to a day well spent in each other’s presence, with laughter, good food, conversation and games.

How do we celebrate this one… in quarantine- when resources and groceries are so limited? And the faces we normally anticipate seeing are all isolated in their own homes… How do we create that sense of ritual when it feels like there is none?

It seems ironic with the happenings this year that this holiday’s roots are in re-birth after sacrifice.

So first, we must be willing to sacrifice. Sacrifice that extra trip to the store… sacrifice having all the food dishes and all the activities that we’ve had in years past, sacrifice some gifts, sacrifice sitting with and hugging our loved ones, knowing that that sacrifice leads to a greater good (remind you of anyone?… Our sacrifices sound pretty small next to his.)

And then we must search for another way… Another way to commune, another way to feast, another way to continue tradition.

My family is setting up a Zoom encounter to see one another tomorrow- to chat and perhaps even play one of our famous family games.

See my previous post on playing family games virtually: (Zoom, WhatsApp, Skype and the like, are amazing technologies that are FREE and can be downloaded on virtually any device. And they allow us to see one another, connect and commune, even if it’s in the virtual sense. So why not still get dressed-up and pick out a family game to play. Or, find the joy in being dressed-down this year, but enjoy each other’s company nonetheless.)

I’ve never had salmon for Easter. My brother always makes this amazing roasted leg of lamb and most of my family members have their signature dishes that they contribute-broccoli salad, homemade cakes and pies, maple bacon brussels sprouts, Jell-o salad… oh how I’m going to miss them! But salmon is the best meat I’ve got in the freezer right now and so I’m thankful to have it and for the reason to cook it. Honestly, it suddenly feels like the perfect choice to accompany the asparagus I have. And potatoes are a lock-down staple! No eggs though… I’m down to my last four. My mom has ham and is cooking for only two this year. So she’s going to do a porch drop off and share some with us. I wonder if others might consider sharing with their families and friends what they have as well…

As long as I have been a mother, I have always crafted Easter baskets for each of my children and filled them with loads of goodies. The “Easter bunny” hides them and on Easter morning, it’s a spring-time scavenger hunt to find their hidden treasures in the house. The Easter egg hunt comes later, when the family gathers and it’s held with all the cousins together.

I don’t have enough goodies to make individual baskets this year, much less to stuff eggs. That is partially due to what was available in the store and partially due to delayed shipments and finances. So I’ve settled on a family basket this year. We will search for it and enjoy it together. And instead of silly little toys, earbuds and socks, I managed to score two new family games to play at home, to replace the time we normally spend elsewhere.

And then we’re going to put in a family garden. It’s the season of fertility, after all.

Instead of dying eggs- because food conservation is a must, a dye kit isn’t worth it for four eggs, and quite frankly- my kids were never big fans of hard-boiled eggs anyway… we came up with a new idea! It started with my teenage daughter painting rocks to pass the time and then delivering “Smile!” eggs to neighbors as a random act of kindness. And now it has continued as an activity to recreate two time-honored traditions- dying and decorating eggs and the well-loved egg hunt.

This year, we are painting and hiding Stone Eggs!

We went on a family walk in the woods this morning, collecting rocks as we went.

Then we brought them home to wash and dry them.

And then we busted out our old paints and creative juices.

After they dried, we hand delivered them in a basket, to the yards and porches in the neighborhood. Little surprises left for the people around us. It’s like we got a turn at being the Easter bunny for once. I watched my almost 13 year old son, who is increasingly hard to excite these days, dart in and out of the yards to deliver our goods unseen, like a ninja… or an Easter bunny. On his face was pure joy and it shot straight to my heart. A perfect culmination of our day of family togetherness.

The irony that the eggs, a pagan symbol of fertility, are made of stone this year, like the stone rolled away from Jesus’s grave, didn’t escape me. I am a complicated bundle of everything that has made me who I am- loss of faith and a huge loving Catholic family all rolled together.

And I am at peace with that.

Just as I am at peace with this Easter unlike any other… an Easter where space might have divided us, but love kept us together. An Easter of sacrifice and giving to others. An Easter of new traditions created from old ones. An Easter of making do, of ingenuity and creativity, of grasping every bit of gratitude you can find and searching for goodness everywhere… even if it leads you to a neighbor’s porch, to a dried creek bed of rocks, to an empty tomb.

This is an of Easter with stone eggs.

There was another Easter that was very much unlike any other… it was the Easter that my grandmother died… read that post here:

Learning the meaning of Easter

 

 

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Virtual activities to play with teens and older children via Facetime/ Skype/ WhatsApp: An Activity List of Pandemic Proportion

This times certainly are challenging ones… especially, when it comes to our social needs. While I have been utilizing Facebook and Instagram for my gratitude lists and my “Daily Jelly Bean Jar,” where I post a trivial daily challenge using the things lying around my house… I am honestly, more than fine being at home (when I am not out on the front lines).

My teenagers, however, developmentally appropriate in their egotistical ways, are miserable! Socializing is such a key element of their lives at this stage, that without it, they are not only pushing my every limit to bend the rules (which I’m not), but they are also battling mood shifts of irritability, anger/frustration and depression. I am honestly very concerned about suicide rates during this time, particularly, from our adolescents. Getting them outside is key-and I often have to force it. And moving their bodies is also crucial- easier to accomplish with boys than girls, I find, but nonetheless a necessary step. Solo bike riding, dog walks and hikes have been a life-saver at our house.

While they Facetime their friends plenty, this is no change from their previous habits. So, they have lost the social interaction at school and in the neighborhood and gained nothing. But this is what I have learned these past two weeks: Togetherness is not dependent on location but instead on intention. We can connect and socialize without being in one’s immediate presence. (I had a therapy session with my Best Friend- locked in my car, sitting in the driveway with a glass of wine…and it was fabulous!) This time that we have been given, is a gift. Use it!

Having a history riddled with unexpected loss, I have always been very conscious of making the best of the present day. This Covid-19 crisis has made that even more apparent. And every time I head into the hospital, I ask for the gift of continued time with my family. I’ve heard it said… and I’ll say it again… “You are not stuck at home, you are SAFE at home.” Reframing is an effective tool my friends… learn it!

So, rather than to complain and get on each other’s nerves… I encourage you to use this precious time to reconnect and have fun in a previously, non-traditional way! And on those hard days, give each other a little extra grace… we’re in a global pandemic, afterall… stop expecting normalcy.

For mutual benefit… I have created here, a list of games that can be played over Facetime, Skype, WhatsApp, etc. Some of these games would be better enjoyed if you do a little prep work and create the space, board, or clues in advance, before you make the call. So, message your friends/family, create a plan, settle on a time… and have fun! We’ve done many of these over the last two weeks and it really is a good way to spend the evening and to connect with friends and family that we are missing.

  1. Charades– as long as the camera is focused on the person who is acting out the word/phrase, everyone can play… no matter what side of the screen they are on!
  2. Hangman– all you need is paper and a pen!
  3. Pictionary– Create a drawing space and focus the camera there. Before playing, each household can get their own set of cards (if they own the game) or create their own (in advance) to draw from (you can’t draw your own). I suggest breaking into groups of 2-3 people per team so that each drawer has only 1-2 guessers. When a lot of people are yelling out guesses over phones and screens, it can get a little confusing.
  4. Trivial Pursuit– As long as someone has the board and each household has a die, each group of players can roll, and the masterboard can keep track of the playing pieces as per norm.
  5. “Watch ya’ Mouth”, or a similar dental mouth piece game, has players trying to pronounce ridiculous phrases, and can be be enjoyed even if only one house has the game. Those without the game can simply guess. We even played a flash-version where we used the same person, saying the same phrase and called various people via video call. Whoever answered the phone was given a quick explanation for the call and then timed as soon as the phrase was said. We recorded the time it took each caller to guess the phrase correctly and we texted everyone the results and winner. Spontaneous fun!
  6. Battleship– can be played the traditional way if both callers have the boards… but if not, the board is really only a simple grid. Draw it out on paper and mark your ships (1-10 horizontally and A-J vertically with dots at each coordinate. Photo copy at home to save yourself additional work).
  7. Twenty Questions– an oldie but goodie that merely requires each person to think of and then write down a word. The other players ask “yes” or “no” questions and try to guess correctly before their 20 question limit runs out.
  8. True or False– One person gives a statement, the other players guess if it is a true or false statement. It could be a simple statement about one’s self, or a little known trivia fact. The score is kept on the wrong answers. The first person to get 5 answers wrong, loses.
  9. Guess that Movie Line– Before you convene, write down a few signature movie lines. When you gather virtually, take turns guessing what movie the line came from. Guess the movie on the first try with no clues- 5 points. With one clue- 3 points. With two clues- 1 point. If no one can guess the movie after two clues, the answer is revealed, no one gets points and you move on to the next player.
  10. “Would you Rather?”– Play using the cards, if you have the game. If you don’t, search “Would you Rather questions” online or create your own. Many of them are so giggle worthy and/or bizarrely thought-provoking, that we have enough fun answering them, that we don’t even keep score.
  11. Build a Story and Memorize it– The story starts with one person saying one sentence/phrase. The next person has to re-state that sentence/phrase and then add their own. Going in rotation, everyone has to remember all of what was said before them, in order to add their own sentence/phrase. Make it just for fun -or- make it competitive and assign a recorder to write down the story as it unfolds and keep track of whether or not people remember correctly. If you miss a sentence, your turn ends. If you remember it all, you add a sentence and gain a point. The person who remembers the most, adds the most, and thus wins with the most points.
  12. Personality Quiz- create or download a set of personality questions. Pass the quizzes along to all the participants and have them fill it out in advance. Starting with person 1, question 1, the remaining players take turns guessing the 1st person’s answers. Play for fun or for points. 1 point goes to the first person to yell out each correct answer. Or a more civilized version- take turns going around the circle to guess. If the first guesser gets it wrong, the guesses continue around the rotation of players until someone gets it right or you return to the owner of the test, who reveals their answer and then no point is assigned for that question.

 

These time calls for creativity and thinking out of the box. Use this time to grow! Stay safe, stay sane, wash your hands, and stay the f*ck home!

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I’ve been waiting for this day…

As a bedside nurse and mother, these times are frightening ones… and a title such as the one I’ve chosen, likely seems a strange choice. Let me explain.

My life has been filled with an intricate balance of hardship and opportunity. I grew up poor; but thanks to loving friends and relatives, I had middle-class opportunities. I spent my first six years in a trailer park, where my parents raised four kids and shared one second-had car. Our home environment was strained, and yet my grandmother would have us over to play with our cousins and teach us how to cook. My aunts would take us out to the zoo, theme parks, various outings and treat us to special things. And one year, my grandparents even treated the whole family to Disney World! We were loved.

By school-age, we had a fixer-upper, single family home. There, the local library and woods served as our playground. My great-aunt splurged for a community pool membership and lessons; and that pool became both our babysitter and the source of a great skill. We were avid swimmers when our grandparents invited to us to their “beachhouse”, a bay-side trailer that was our only vacation, every year. While my parents fought to provide us our basic needs… I was afforded the opportunty to receive a private school education. I was the kid in a uniform, who’d never been skiing, or owned name-brand anything, but knew how to cook. I was the honor roll student, who lived in a home that the police knew all to well. I was the girlscout who passed all her tests but never had her badges sewn on, the teenager who had four jobs, the young mother who didn’t drop out of school and earned her degree, but will carry her loans for decades. I was the 25 year old white woman, who married a 43 old divorced immigrant, who had not a dollar to his name, but a heart of gold…and we made it! 18 years and counting!

For ages, I felt like I got the short end of the stick. And yet, I was so often met with unbelievable blessings. My education allowed me a career in healthcare… and yet my hardships gave me perspective. Exposed to universities and surrounded by professionals, I grew and I saw what the world had to offer, but my childhood reminded me to stay humble and it helped me to withhold the judgement of others. This combination of struggles and gifts, continued my tug-o-war of gratitude and discouragement into adulthood. While I was grateful for my blessings, I often struggled with feelings of inadequacy and wished I hadn’t had to work so hard to achieve what others seemed to have so easily.

Having married a man who grew up in a dictatorship, tackling the challenges of parenting, and a nursing career that brought me to the world of grief work, however, helped me to sort those feelings. All of these things furthered my sense of perspective and settled my priorities. Nursing and grief work gave me an outlet to apply my own lessons learned in grief and loss and it reminds me daily, what truly matters, as I help people who have suffered the ultimate loss-the loss of a child. And the challenges I face with my own children, heavy as they are (and trust me, they’ve been heavy!), are never as heavy as losing them.

Both my husband and I work very hard in our professions to give our children the things we didn’t have. And yet we hold our family time sacred, because we understand that life and love is a gift. We cook every day and save restaurants as a special treat, in order to afford travel. And while we have the grand goal of traveling to all 50 states (we’re up to 35!), we make it happen by driving and camping a lot. Travel too, improves perspective. And busy as the day to day is, we limit our children’s activities and it is a requirment that we sit together at the dinner table every night. We found …. no we fought… for balance.

Together, we took our bucket of disadvantages and hard knocks, missed opportunities and lessons learned hard, and we seived out the things that really matter. And we have created a happy and balanced life.

Yet as proud as I am of the life we have created, it has become harder and harder to maintain, as our children have entered adolescence. “I’m not hungry”, one will say as I call them to the dinner table. Homework has sabotaged our afternoon walks and friends have stolen family game night from me… leaving our closet full of games often abandoned (until the foster kids come that is.). As hard as we continue to fight for balance, the culture in this country and social pressures to be everywhere and do everything, are hard. I get tired of being the “bad guy” and saying “No.” What good is time together, if it’s forced?

For years I have been uncomfortable with the busy culture that our country has embraced. We kill ourselves and work til exhaustion. We fill our children’s lives with so many activities, we’ve forgotten how to feed the family unit and spirit. Money has replaced compassion. And materials have replaced selflessness. Our intention to get ahead and to plan for the future has left our arms full of things, and our souls empty. I am appalled at the condition that we have left our planet in, all in the name of convenience and greed. And I am discouraged by the loss of community and the selfishness that this culture seems to breed. Technology has flourished, with computer tech salaries doubling my own and contributing to the nursing shortage. And yet it’s nurses that save lives. We’ve created a generation of children who have no survival skills and think You Tube is the greatest source of information.

This virus has this nurse and momma fearful for her safety and for the future of the world. With hospitals worldwide packed to the gills with people starving for air and dying due to lack of enough equipment, the world is broken… and yet… in some ways… we already were.

While Covid-19 has created a plethora of problems and I believe we will see the repercussions for years to come… in some ways, it might just fix some of our others.

Out of work and shut off from the outside, families have found one another again. Skills and supplies have become our currency. Nursing and other manual labor jobs are once again valued. Wealth is less useful than ingenuity now. While panic and selfishness are certainly evident in hoarding and ignoring quarantine restrictions, the people I witnessed when I did my weekly shopping were kind and considerate and patient. We’ve been forced to let go of luxuries and we’ve re-discovered our creativity. Last night, my teenagers played with sidewalk chalk again. Two weeks ago, I was looking for someone to gift that very set of chalk and paint to. And a week ago, I was the “worst Mom in the world” for denying my 16 year old, the party she was invited to, because according to her friends, this virus “wasn’t serious”. But last night, she snuggled against my legs, all four of us, piled into my bed to watch Frozen 2. As I sit here and write, both kids are playing BINGO with their Dad and he’s playing music by Kenny Rogers, to educate them on “one of the Greats”. Time together, it turns out… IS valuable… even if it’s forced. Venice’s waterways are clearer than they’ve been in ages. Smog and pollution are down. And the technology that turned my children into zombies and I once screamed to limit, is allowing me to play virtual games with my family, across cities and states.

This is just the balance I was praying for.

We’ve stopped looking over the rainbow for our happiness and started looking in our own backyard… and drawing them on our own driveways.

I have been a mother for 16 years now and a nurse for 15. I have witnessed countless births and deaths. I’ve held babies while they took their last breath, raced out of work to respond to my own family’s 911. I’ve been called to the school after being awake for 28 hours because my child was in crisis and received devasting diagnoses and news for the very children I raised so carefully. I have struggled and suffered… but I have known a love that few people do. I laugh until I cry and I have made it my daily goal to search for goodness so as not to be consumed by darkness. My life has in so many ways, been very, very hard… but it is also so very, very good. That, is balance.

What is money if you have no one to laugh with? Education, if you have no platform to apply that knowledge? Opportunity, if you can’t create your own? Good food, if you always sit at the table alone? A green and blue planet, that is covered in waste?

For the sake of healthcare, for the sake human lives, for our economy and for public safety… I pray that this pandemic will soon end. But I hope the positive change doesn’t. I’ve waited for this day… not like this, not with lives lost and a job that now has me in a war zone… But a balance of priorities, a time to love and cherish, and quiet, to find amongst the storm, rainbows.

Seach for goodness… and where you find none… create it!

Wash your hands, stay home, stay safe!

 

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Learning to Listen to Myself: A Lesson in Self-care and Self-awareness

img_7448I was a tremendously busy person not long ago… four jobs, kids-biological, step and foster, animals-mostly rescued (it’s a zoo), and a million activities and outside interests… like tentacles of a twenty- armed octopus, all tugging and grabbing, competing for a slice of me, drawing from me every last drop of energy. I was tired; but I was also to some extent, very content. While it was a juggling act, I was handling it. My job reviews were good, vacations still happened, and I was able to maintain loving and meaningful relationships and human connections. I felt accomplished- tackling my goals and providing for my family. And the nature and diversity of my life interests brought me a lot of fulfillment.

As for my stamina… somehow, for those 2+ years, it seemed, I was able to produce new fuel as fast as I was burning it. I think I knew it was a momentum that I couldn’t sustain for long. So I told myself… “Just one more semester to teach… One more house project to pay for… One more goal to reach…” But what I didn’t realize, was that by burning off each drop of fuel as soon as I produced it, I was forever running on an empty tank. With no reserves, I had nothing to fall back on when life dealt me a hand that would require every ounce of energy just to put one foot in front of the other. It was life circumstances, a tragic sequence of events that forced me to slow down, forced me to listen.

And it was Me, that I had to learn to listen to.

With no reserves, no time, a terrible habit of hearing my inner voices and not my inner-self….and…in the midst of one of my greatest crises… I embarked on the journey of self-awareness, because if I didn’t… I wasn’t going to make it out in one piece.

The first step in this process was the initiation of self-care. Yes that’s right… the person who often blogs about grief and tragedy and taking care of other people was TERRIBLE at self-care. Sure, I had writing and an average of two travel escapades a year… but even those, I performed with high standards that I placed upon myself. Blogging is not the same as free and unedited writing and traveling with typed itineraries is not a pick-up and go, sit and relax kind of vacation. The two things I attributed to self-care, I discovered, hardly qualified as such.

I had to find new ways of being kind to myself.

It started with cutting back on work… drastically. I also stopped my kids’ extracurricular activities- the non-stop running around was wearing us all out. With less money coming in, cutting costs also made sense. For my child who needed the physical outlet- good ol’ fashioned bike riding and running filled the gap; and we supplemented with add-on weekend activities such as rock- climbing, when we felt up to it.

I learned how to say “No”. “No” to activities that were too much to take on. “No” to people that added stress or drama or who simply didn’t feed calm into my soul. Self-preservation does a really good job at helping to define relationships and life’s priorities.

But those actions merely gave me back time… the next step in my journey, was filling that time with activities that nurtured my body and soul.

So I started doing things that allowed my mind brief escapes from the stress, without completely avoiding it. I painted rocks. I took hikes in the woods and stopped to listen to the birds and rushing water. I picked up an adult coloring book and began journaling. Instead of structured blog posts, I got back into writing poetry. I started taking baths- the ones that are extra hot and extra long and have nothing to do with cleaning and everything to do with relaxation. I learned various relaxation and meditation techniques and began incorporating them into my daily life. And my husband and I even took a four day escape to Puerto Rico where, gasp I had no itinerary and spent most of my time swinging in a hammock and listening to the leaves rustle and the frogs sing.

All of those activities were lovely and gave me the mindless escape that I was just now learning at nearly 38 years old. However, because my inner voice is particularly critical when I don’t feel productive, I also needed to find self-care activities that served a purpose beyond my immediate sense of self and was geared more towards my goal-oriented and complex self. Acknowledging that my many roles all contribute to my fulfillment and well-being, I chose to extend myself only where I felt at ease to do so.

So, to not completely neglect my goal of professional writing, I published and submitted some of my poems to writing contests. To continue feeling fulfilled as a mother, I brought the kids hiking and invited them to paint with me- but instead of making it all about them and keeping a fast pace, I kept painting after they had stopped because I was enjoying it. I had them pause and listen to the sounds of nature too. I’d park myself on a cool rock while they played happily in the river, with no schedule, no rush to get back home. And I also did a lot of cooking. Not only did cooking provide me a preoccupation, but it also filled my need to nurture-as I was feeding my family and also cut down on the cost of buying out. Not to mention, it was healthier too!

And healthy matters when it comes to self-care. During this time, I cut back drastically on alcohol-going dry for several months and then restarting with limits that I imposed on myself. I increased my water intake. And I re-focused on my diet-not to cut calories, but to ensure that the foods I was consuming were feeding my body’s needs. It’s hard to eat your best when you work 60 hour weeks, so I took advantage of the decrease in work hours to make better food choices, for both myself and my family.

Lastly, and probably most importantly, I added sleep. After 15 years of nightshift, chronic sleep deprivation was something I had become accustomed too. I sacrificed sleep every day to be present- as the mom, wife, friend, family member and person that I wanted to be. “Fear of missing out” is a real struggle for people who work opposite hours of the rest of the world. But it is well documented that that lack of sleep is not only associated with errors and accidents, but also with depression, anxiety, irritability, low productivity, decreased creativity and poor coping skills. So I started making sleep a priority- 8 hours on my nights off and consistent naps during the day. (Post-work day sleeping was harder to control, but I did my best to maximize it).

What I came to realize after all of this self-care was that for the years I put-off taking care of myself, not only did I suffer, but I was less pleasant to be around. So the super-mom, super-wife, super-nurse I was trying to be, was less focused and more irritable without self-care. Where I once feared that self-care would make me inadequate, it actually made me better.

But on an even grander scale, self-care taught me how to listen to myself. After months of going through the motions of putting myself to bed earlier, eating healthier and meditating… I became more in-tune with my body and my needs. I learned how to feel on a deeper level and how to differentiate those new feelings, and then, how to act appropriately.

I learned that there was a difference between feeling tired and feeling unmotivated. When I felt tired, it meant my body needed rest and whenever possible, I tried to fit in a nap or get myself into bed sooner. When I felt unmotivated however, I kicked myself in the butt to keep going, all the while listening to my inner-self and acknowledging what barrier was present that was causing me to feel unmotivated.

I learned the difference in eating/drinking for blind comfort and necessity, and eating/drinking for nourishment and enjoyment. It is easy to fall into the trap of over-eating, poor eating or alcohol abuse when we are stressed or grieving. But when we shift our focus to nourishment and listen to what our bodies are asking for, we feed it what it needs. Your craving for citrus, likely means you need some vit. C, salads-vitamins, minerals and fiber and craving red meat, some iron. Don’t get me wrong, while I truly believe in the power of good food, I still love me a sloppy steak and cheese, a crisp gin and tonic and a glass of Chardonnay. And I found this new peanut butter and jelly cereal that is my new guilty pleasure and I allow myself a cup when I’m craving it. Self-care is honoring ourselves, not abstaining from everything. Moderation is key. And making the effort to appreciate the food we are eating and taking note of how it tastes and makes us feel, allows that food to not only feed our bodies, but to feed our souls.

I learned to notice when I felt stressed or anxious, and to stop in that moment and breathe or briefly meditate rather than to ignore my feelings and allow those negative emotions to wreack havoc on my body. Consistently feeling negative emotions and carrying high levels of stress are well documented to not only put one at high risk for depression and anxiety, but can also have very negative physical consequences, such as high blood pressure, GI disorders, heart disease and a multitude of other serious health problems. Not to mention, bottling them up and allowing those feelings to build, often leads to a mental break-down and going into complete shut-down mode. And that is no good!

Equally, I also learned to notice when I felt happy or peaceful. I learned to appreciate that feeling and revel in it, taking notice of the goodness that it carried. I learned to listen to my emotions and to honor them instead of simply reacting to them. “Mindfulness”, some would call this.

I found myself on this journey due to necessity and out of complete self-preservation. However, I regret that I hadn’t learn to listen earlier. I am sorry that it took a crisis to make me realize that coping without any reserves is nearly impossible when tragedy strikes. And I encourage anyone else who is running on fumes, to heed this advice as well.

We never know what awful secrets life has waiting around the corner. Make “You” a priority right now!

With a meditation track and a hot bath instead of a quick shower, I am still a bad-ass, strong and resilient woman. With two part-time jobs now instead of four, I am and always have been, enough. And my kids are still well-rounded without their half-dozen extra-curriculars. Self-care doesn’t make us princesses, it makes us smart. It makes us more functional, more effective and more pleasant to be around. I hope to one day add back in some of the work hours, interests and activities that I had to cut-out in the past, because many of them brought me a good deal of fulfillment (not to mention, more cash to play with, lol).

But for now, I’m still learning to listen… because if I can’t hear me, I can’t hear others. And if I’m not willing to listen to myself, how in the hell can I expect anyone else to hear me.

This world…I,  was not born to live in silence. And life is a gift to be cherished and cared for, not casually spent. Take time to listen…and cherish yourself right now.

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Baking a Cake

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Tonight I am baking a cake… and the irony doesn’t escape me.

You see, tonight is my brother’s birthday. He’d be 41. He died by suicide at the age of 17, 23 years ago, when I was just 14. Long ago, I was dubbed the “family cake maker”.

This cake should be for him, but it isn’t.

Tonight I am baking a cake for my son’s drama club. Once it has baked and cooled, I’ll crumble it and with my hands, mix in some cheap, store-bought icing and turn it into Wizard of Oz themed cake pops- my voluntary contribution to the drama club’s concession stand on performance night.

A cake… baked and then crumbled… like my family. Once again, the irony doesn’t escape me.

There will be no writing in icing, no birthday candles and no singing tonight.

And even though as a perinatal grief worker, “baking a cake and singing ‘Happy Birthday’ ” is one of the many suggestions I make to families who have lost a child and find themselves in search of ideas, when their baby’s birthday rolls around and they are not in arms to help blow out the candles… 23 years later, I still can’t bring myself to do it. And he wasn’t even my child.

A single candle I’ll light and memorializing I will do, but it won’t be blanketed in sugary icing and my words won’t be recorded with mirth.

Tonight I am baking a cake, for a birthday that is no longer celebrated, to be used for a performance that will not be attended by my children’s uncle. An uncle in fact, they’ve never met.

Life is full of irony… and misfortune. I don’t ever expect to rid the world of either. But it can be rid of unwarranted and preventable loss if we open our eyes and start to care. If we pay attention to the people who have withdrawn. If we notice who is just a little quieter, a little more to themselves, a little less engaged. We can save lives if we accept that the world is hard enough without judgement and criticism; and we deem mental health as legitimate and worthy of treatment as physical health.

I have not made my brother’s story a secret. And since I have begun telling it, I can no longer count on two hands, the number of personal stories of suicide that have been brought to me by people that I love. And while I love that I am a safe place to land (and hope always to be so), I am really fucking tired of attending funerals that didn’t have to be.

Tonight I am baking a cake and my tears have replaced my singing.

Tonight, like with many life events, I find myself talking to my brother a lot- telling him all that’s happening, all that he’s missed since he’s been gone. At my wedding, my graduation… my children’s births and life events… it’s like reaching back into time to tell him “I’m a wife now… a nurse… a Momma”. And it makes me so very sad that he isn’t here to see it.

Imagine your life cut short at 17 and all of the wonderful events that you wouldn’t have ever experienced. It doesn’t matter how old you are when you die prematurely, there is always unresolved longing by those left behind.

Depression robs you of the ability to see past your current state. Every day activities are exhausting, goals feel insurmountable and the future seems unreachable. Telling someone who is depressed to “Snap out of it”, “Get over it”, or “Pull themselves up by their boot-straps”, is like telling someone who is ravishingly hungry that there are better food choices than what is presented in the vending machine in front of them and to just “hold off”. If you want them to eat a salad instead of pop tarts, you’re gonna have to hand them the salad! Telling them that the salad exists, isn’t helpful in that moment, if it isn’t a tangible option with support in place.

People who suffer from depression or a sudden insurmountable life stressor, need tools, not ideas. They need someone to say, “I am here to listen, not to judge and we are going to do this together.” They need constant support.

I refuse to allow my brother’s death… or any of the other suicides close to the persons I love, to be in vain. And I am asking you to do the same. If you struggle with making judgement against people, find a way to understand. Help me fight for better mental health services. And if all else fails, just be kind.

And for those of you who find the idea of another tomorrow overwhelming… my heart and my home are always open. I know you can’t see it now, but there is a beautiful purpose for your existence… hold out for it, please! From the sister of a severely mentally ill, drug and alcohol addicted, and at times homeless individual, you are enough! You are and always will be loved! Don’t believe the lies that leaving this world will help anyone. Your absence will cause a lifetime of heart-wrenching pain… and there is always another way.

I am baking a cake… and my god… I wish it was for him.

Bring me your hurting, bring me your rejected, bring me your downtrodden… and in his name…. I will give them respite.

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Angels and Porcelain Dolls

Life is a series of ups and downs, hard days and easier ones, and not a one of us are spared pain and tragedy. Some tragedies however, are life altering. When they hit, they take away not only our breath, but our sense of self. It is with those moments that we are given the opportunity to rebuild and redefine or to withdraw and lay victim. Neither way is an easy way out, as the human mind and heart are fragile. But in rebuilding, we create a journey of giving back that is simply magnificent.

Here’s to those who at one time, found themselves broken.

 

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You were whole…

Despite the scars, despite the hard days’ work, despite an imperfectly perfect life…you felt safe. You felt whole. A hardened shell, cushioned by a life going right, at the day’s end, your body sank into the bed and the quiet calm of the night soothed you. Comfortable and relaxed, you pulled the covers under your chin and breathing out, you sank further into the softness that surrounded you. Life was predictably unpredictable… and you, an imperfect porcelain doll, scuffed and tattered, but intact and beautiful in your well-loved way.

All was well. All was still.

And then, from out the darkness, with no sound, no preemptive warning, an unspeakable, crushing blow leapt from out the shadows, striking you… and you felt yourself break into a million pieces.

Disoriented at first…and confused. One plastic eye hanging loose from its socket, staring at the floor in disbelief. There is shit everywhere and you’re standing in the middle of it.

Braving a glance in the mirror, you look just in time to see another piece fall out of place. What you once were, is now a pile of debris scattered on the floor. And you no longer know your name.

A faceless, nameless tragedy….time and space stand still. You are numb.

Simultaneously, pain and reality soak in. Like a laboring woman, reflexively, you rock. The pain in your soul is too much to bear and you feel yourself crumbling further, from the inside out. Surely, it is your heart disintegrating under the pressure.

And then finally, in the whirlwind that is your life, the racing circles of rational thought, feeling and physics unite and your tears are accompanied by heaving sobs. Your chest aches and you starve for air as much as you starve for reprieve. You beg the universe for a different truth. Bargaining, you’d give anything to have been spared this blow. The pillow that once brought you peaceful slumber, now stifles your wails.

Bouncing between horror and emptiness, in one moment your heart races with panic and dread…and in the next, there is an absence of thought and emotion. You awaken to find yourself staring into space… gone from reality… gone from your body. Unable to speak, unable to move, your only task is to fill and then empty your lungs.

Everything that was before, it seems, has been destroyed. Trust, faith, safety and security, like life-long comrades, lie lifeless amongst the list of causalities. Robbed of your former happiness and ease, you are broken. And the life you once knew, is gone.

Two bare legs, thin and pale, dangle off the bed where you sit- speechless and motionless. As the sobs slow and your breathing again regains some sort of rhythm, you gather your energy and your courage. Easing yourself off the edge of the bed, you crouch to the floor. Slowly and intentionally, you begin to pick up the pieces. Gathering them in your bleeding hands, you are sure you will never be whole again.

Alone in your space, depleted simply by standing and holding what your life once was close to your heart… hands trembling, in a weak and cracking voice, you use the slightest wisp of energy to call out for “Help.”

Expecting your voice to merely echo into the darkness, you are surprised when the doorway fills with light.

Silently and floatingly from the other side, angels move in. One by one, carefully selecting piece-by-piece out of your hands, tenderly, they fill each broken space. With their words and their hearts, gluing each piece back. “Tell me I will be whole again” you cry, as silently, they work. As they mend and you surrender, you begin to see your form take shape again. Knowing that you could not rebuild alone, you revel in their aid. Still you resolve, you will never again be the same.

Time passes and still you gasp for words. Exhausted and aching from every joint, you glance once again into the mirror. Relieved to see the pieces of your life put back into place, you can’t ignore your blessings… but neither can you ignore the fracture lines that remain. Whole again, and yet, still so shattered… your voice quivers when you try to speak, so broken you hardly believe where it’s coming from.

Night falls and anxiety erupts, sabotaging the safety you once felt. Your bed is no longer a safety nest and your room, no longer a sanctuary. You breathe and you imagine and you pray, begging to feel the wholeness the rest of the world sees in you, the wholeness you once felt.

Angel voices whisper in your ears and silently, you respond to the figure in your reflection. “You are strong.” “You are brave.” “You are resilient.” And from the light of the angels, a sliver of hope pierces your heart, “goodness can come from tragedy.” Believing those words, you long for the day that you will regain your voice and your strength. You know you are a survivor and your story will one day be told.

Today you will rest, tomorrow you will crawl… and one day, with grit and knowledge and the pain-staking work of healing, you will fly.

For the broken doll, will one day become the angel- called upon in another’s darkest hour, to minister and mend another broken soul. Your light will fill her doorway when she gains the courage to call for help. And when you reach to pick up her broken pieces, she will see on your hands, the fracture lines…and in your eyes and soul, your strength and undying love.

 

Saviors often wear the deepest scars. Scars are always tougher than uninjured tissue. It takes grace and hard work, not to yield to bitterness and anger. Compassion, wisdom and empathy can be the byproducts of trauma, if instead of shutting the world out, you call for help and accept it… if you work to heal, instead of pushing the pain away.

To every doll standing in the mirror, seeing their missing pieces… broken as you may feel today… if you take the time and do the work, you will one day heal and grow wings.

And to all of the angels, who have at one time or another, answered one’s frail call for help, may you forever know that your pain created a strength that carried them. And the glue that is your love, is ever-lasting.

Perhaps, life is just a series of breaks and mends… some days we are the doll… and if we do it right… some days, we get to be the angel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Not now

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Clinking the last dish into the drainer, she dries her hands and the single tear running down her cheek. “Self care” she hears her therapist say, in the echoes of her ever chattering mind.

Walking past the unvacuumed floors and today’s untended mail, she makes her way to the washroom and draws herself a bath. Bending over to place the stopper, steam drifts towards her face…and another tear falls, joining the tiny ocean she is building.

The same clothes she’s been wearing for two days now, falls to the floor. Stepping into the hot liquid, she remembers the mound of laundry waiting for her…“Not now”, she thinks.

Saturated and soaking in the steamy bath, islands of bubbles float around her body like lonely continents and collect at her breasts. The warm water soothes her aching muscles, releasing the pain from her soft tissue and pushing it into the bony prominences of her spine that lies flat against the hard bottom of the bathtub. Plump, pink feet propped on the stone wall in front of her, she judges their pudgy appearance, yet, welcomes the cool air that envelops her lower extremities, a reprieve from the heat that her body is soaked in.

She is tired.

She wishes the walls of this tub would melt away and that the water were an ocean that she could float away in.

She wishes that lying down would relieve the weight she’s been carrying on her shoulders, as if it were a backpack…weight that feels extra heavy today.

Closing her eyes, she imagines that weight falling backwards into the white walls of the tub, giving her small frame and her soul a break for just a moment. And she floats, suspended in the warm, soapy basin.

The un-quiet of her mind quickly opens her eyes again and staring at the ceiling, she notices a spot of mildew. Her mind wanders to another task that needs tending; but she takes that thought and puts it on a leaf in her mind and watches it float down the river…“Not now…” she whispers.

“Not now” when the office calls for yet another “favor”, “Not now” when her mother starts to criticize, “Not now” when a girlfriend comes just to gossip, “Not now” when life asks for more than she can give.

Now, she tends to her “self”. Now, she takes a break. Now, she lets her body rest…and begs her mind to do the same. Now, she starts to heal.

She is not a laggard. She is a castaway who has given every ounce of energy her body could produce. And she is exhausted. Swimming without a life raft, tossed like debris in the angry seas of life, storms raging around her, head bobbing, she has surfaced from the crashing waves, but she is choking. In a moment of desperation, she reaches for a passing piece of driftwood and clutching it, she collapses. She is in survival mode.

She wishes it hadn’t come to this. She wishes it weren’t such a heavy blow which brought her to realize her self-worth…and self-preservation. She wishes she had reached for help sooner. She wishes she had saved more reserves for the swim. She wishes she felt more sure of the land she was floating towards.

Nonetheless, she is floating. After she rests, she will swim.

And then, one day, one day when her feet once again feel earth, she will run.

But not now…

Now, under the moon’s gentle light…in the quiet of an empty house, despite every lie the universe tries to whisper…she tells her self… “You are enough…right now.”

 

 

 

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“You are Not Alone”- A Letter to the Person who Finds This Season a Struggle

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Dear friend,

I see you. I see you sitting at the table, hot cup of coffee/tea in your hand…and a pause…that you wish would go away…or last forever. A desire to move on…or to freeze and be lost in thought, anything but to deal with the outside world right now. I see the struggle to decorate, the struggle to participate, the struggle to smile.

I see that you are tired. I see that this is hard.

You are not alone.

This isn’t how you want to be. The rest of the world is happy. The rest of the world is bright and busy…and you are just trying to hold on and survive. You want to feel “normal”. You want to get caught-up in the happiness and the joy…but just when you do…you remember…and then…you’re low again. You’re alone again. You’re tired…again.

Maybe the holidays were never good for you. Maybe they have been a reminder of your trauma since as early as you can remember. Or maybe, they used to be good…and things changed. I don’t know what’s worse- to have never had…or to have had and lost.

Either way, I see you.

And I feel you. You are not alone.

This is a hard, hard time for so many people, myself included.

This is what I have learned:

Sometimes, it never is the same again or the way we wish it would be. We may never get the family, the partner, the wishes that we’ve had for so long. We can’t rewrite history or resurrect the dead. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find value despite our pain.

Finding a way to give back, attaches purpose and positivity to the season. Years ago, my family and I decided that we’d pick three “give-back” activities every holiday season. Some years I called soup kitchens, others we packed a box of donations for the local cat/dog rescue, and still other years, we sponsored a family in need and added their needs and wishes to our holiday shopping lists. Our longest running tradition is creating gift-bags for the homeless (as we live close to a major city with a large homeless population). The kids decorate gallon-sized zip-lock bags with colorful sharpies and we fill them with things like weather-appropriate socks, hand/foot warmers, non-perishable proteins, sweets, toothbrush/toothpaste, hand wipes, a water bottle, etc. We hand them out on the days leading up to the holidays. And on the years that I am scheduled to work at the hospital on Christmas Eve, I make a deal with the universe that if they don’t call me in to work, I will instead, drive around the city to hand out bags with my children. We never get tired of the satisfaction that we gain in helping others. And the kind words and expressions that we receive in return, make it feel like Christmas morning on the city streets. Good deeds are scientifically proven to improve happiness. With no obligation, no price point to match, nobody over-seeing you…find your own way to give-back…and let the magic happen.

And a smile or a kind word is immeasurable to the person receiving it. Don’t get caught up in consumerism-either feeding into it or fighting it…just be kind! The world needs it!

Rituals and traditions-however mundane or silly they might seem at times, help to improve mental health outcomes. Not only do they give us something to look forward to- the game that we always watch, the recipe or the restaurant that we always enjoy, or the “thing” we always do…but they also decrease anxiety because, whether we realize it or not, traditions within a family/group, are predictable. Whether you like the tradition or not…the fact that you know that it’s coming, makes it less anxiety-provoking than the unknown. So, traditions provide us with a comforting sense of “what to expect.” If you don’t already have long-standing traditions, start them! Let this year be the beginning, so that future years reap your ritualistic rewards.

Self-care is essential- and that doesn’t have to mean the spa… (cuz who has time for the spa this time of year?!) While cooking/creating can feel like a chore sometimes…it can also be a wonderful method of self-care. There is something very therapeutic, very maternal, very practical and satisfying about cooking or creating a gift (instead of buying one) for our loved ones. Consider building a photo book/calendar, painting a canvas or ceramic, drawing, writing a poem/letter, making homemade bird seed ornaments or dog treats or baking for friends/family/neighbors. If it feels pressured or overwhelming, than we’ve missed the point, but if it provides distraction and a sense of accomplishment… then well done! You have experienced self-care, with a practical multi-purpose.

You don’t owe anyone, anything… Ok, so if you’re a parent with small children….you’ll have to pull it together for them. But other than that…work functions, family get-togethers, community events…they will all go-on without you-and you don’t owe anyone an explanation. This season might be self-preservation-mode for you. While the rest of the word seems to be operating in over-drive, what you are comfortable doing, is enough! Create boundaries. Know when you are approaching your limit. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to “sit this one out.” It’s okay to stay close to home this year. This is your holiday too, protect your heart and your energy.

Energy is precious when you are struggling. When I am in grief, I have learned that I can have one really good, productive and social day. One day when I’m acting like I’m back to my old self and it feels like “the old days”… and then, I’m exhausted. The next day, both mentally and physically, I have nothing else left to give. Learn what your patterns are. If this is true for you…then don’t schedule more than one busy day back-to-back. You can always spontaneously add activities if you are feeling up to it, but don’t set yourself up for failure by committing to more than you are comfortable doing. Ask for help if it’s a matter of carting kids around to activities or other such stops that don’t require your presence. And always make an escape plan- a easy way to get out of a social gathering if you need to.

I see you.

I see the sadness and the longing in your eyes. I see the heartache that feels as though it will last forever. I see the broken promises and the shattered dreams.

I see you standing in the middle of the flashing lights, the blaring carols and the larger than life trees-donned in loud and bright decor…in the middle of lots of happy people.

You feel small. You feel unheard and un-noticed. You see their smiles and you hear their laughter and you want to join them… but tears and the urge to run away feel stronger than the muscles that could turn the sides of your mouth upwards.

You are not alone.

But you are loved and you are important.

I urge you to step out of that busy scene and use this time to discover the real significance of this season. The quiet, reflective season of giving, nurturing, and loving one another. If you feed that…it will feed you in return. And blessing will come, even in your darkest hours. You can do this. You will survive this season.

Wishing you peace, this season…and always! Happy Holidays, from LIFELIBERTYANDLIBATIONS.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Quilt

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Forward: A deeply personal piece, I have woven into this quilt my own life experiences. This quilt, while unique to me, represents the patchwork inside all of us. Some days I struggle with the loss and tragedy that has touched my life. And some days it’s hard to see the good through the bad. But we must remind ourselves that in the end, it is both the light and the dark, in the struggles and the successes, the tears and the laughter that build the beautiful masterpiece that we are. I am learning to love myself, in all of my different shades. And this piece was an exercise in doing that through writing. I encourage you to reflect on what your quilt would look like and learn to love yourself too, in all your many colors.

Outside, rain smacks against the window panes. Sitting in her chair, her wrinkled hands guide the shiny needle, poking the soft edge, then pulling the thin white thread through the colorful panes of fabric that lie folded on her steady lap. As she sews, she reflects…

Her eyes scan the fabric for a pattern. Is there a pattern? She holds in her lap and in her heart, a patchwork of progress, experiences, accomplishments and hardships that have unfolded over a lifetime. Each event, each square, occurred separately in her life and when stacked in a pile on the table, felt solitary and unrelated. And yet seeing them now, in her old age, side-by-side and top-to-bottom, she realizes that the thread in her hands is not the only thing that ties them together.

Olive and white strips with a silver ring filled with burnt orange felt- the colors of the trailer she was born in and the mud pies that she learned to make from the clay outside. It was there, from her very beginnings, that she learned how to make-do and find joy in simplicity. And the move was her first experience in feeling uncomfortable in order to make positive change, at age five.

Change is easier with magic. She was always looking for magical things- like fireflies and genuinely kind people. Royal blue, with stars, the outline of a jar and little black and yellow fireflies embroidered within its lines. Next to it, a frog, patiently plopped with a subtle smile. The flying creatures that she watched decline in numbers over her lifetime, brought magic to the evenings of her childhood, and lit-up both her jar and her inner joy. The jumping amphibians that she chased as a girl, became an exotic pet and then a tattoo on her back…and then a favorite pitcher and candlestick set on the dining room table that she used to entertain her guests. She loved frogs!

And she loved to entertain- something that wasn’t celebrated in the home she grew-up in, because anxiety oftentimes overruled joy. So she had to make a busy and colorful square with a cake and confetti for all the parties she was denied as a child and overcompensated by throwing as an adult. Birthdays, baby showers, weddings, even seasonal changes- her parties utilized her organized and energetic nature to satisfy both her drive to create beauty and to share joy.

Animals also brought her joy. Her Dad taught her to love and respect all creatures-even snakes. When she was a girl, she thought she’d grow up to be a veterinarian. She wanted to help animals that were hurt or sick. She’d grow up to teach her own children the same values and have a house full of pets. There was never a time that she didn’t have several. So with tiny, shaped pieces of material, in various hues of brown, she created a square for a lifetime of unconditional, furry, scaly, love.

And next to the mud pie, the frog and the pets, a powder blue square with a white house and a tree for the childhood home, she at first hated, but grew to love. Pragmatically perched across the street from her school, with the best climbing tree a kid could ask for, it survived both a house fire and a multitude of challenges. That house held her bed, her pets buried in the yard, her secrets and her screams, her dreams and her nightmares for 15 years. The house that she both ran to and ran from, taught her both what she wanted to be and what she didn’t.

A dark gray square with a single candle. “There’s a candle burning”… sings the Aerosmith song of child loss, “Fallen Angels.” Her family of six crumbled to a family of five when as a teen, her brother ended his life too soon. And it burned a hole in her heart where her faith once resided. Out of the darkness she crept and many a survivor she ministered from her own painfully, preventable loss. And while his flame of existence he might have snuffed, the threads of his influence weaved the most intricate pattern and spelled compassion and understanding on her soul.

An emerald green square, for a pop of her favorite color and birthstone, a symbol of her Irish roots, the color of frogs… And the color of mental illness- that took so much more than a brother from her; but became a passion that she fought for fervently. And top-stitched on the green, a purple and turquoise semi-colon, a lovely cool color pallet that appealed to her on the days when she felt low, and the symbol of suicide prevention.

The turquoise of the semi-colon almost matched the teal hearts sewn atop the solid black square. One tiny heart for each time hers was broken by another “me too,” her own and the children and women she loved so dearly. She wished she was left with more open space and her heart and hands grew tired of cutting out the same shape. And yet she knew the experiences came to define a large part of her- the power that grew from her pain and the anger that energized her fight for change. Her gray head nodded as she thought of the progress made by her gender and education on the word “consent”.

The black background and the fight for women complimented the dark red square, that she proudly embellished with a black tassel and a gold RN- for the day she danced across the stage with a diploma in her hand, past the instructor who told her “Who do you think you are… having a baby in nursing school!?” The diploma that handed a single mother the most rewarding career of nurturing (not animals, like she once thought, but people) and empowering women in their life changing moments of childbirth- where the screams and tears of pain, perfectly married those of new life and joy…(the irony didn’t escape her).

And two more blocks of life-altering significance…cotton candy pink and blue ones with cradles, not just for the career she choose, but for the two babes she birthed herself. She added a microphone to the pink one, for her feisty girl’s ability to always speak-up, to use her voice to help others and….for her love of Elvis Presley- (a unique obsession for a girl so far removed from that generation). And the blue one had a monkey with a pink heart hanging onto the side of the brown cradle, for her active little boy who learned to climb before he walked; but carried with that crazy boy energy, a love for the color pink and a tender heart that found compassion and love for the people most often rejected by the world.

Pink and blue mixed together make purple…a lavender square with a dark green leaf and a tear, for the many babies she held in her career that were still…and the many tears she wiped, when a gift became a betrayal. Around the leaf she stitched concentric circles. Like the ripples a falling leaf creates on a pond, the ripples of grief and loss were ones she knew all too well.

The thin lines that created the pond circles almost matched the perfectly spaced blue stitch that repeated horizontally across the white square. Evenly spaced circles lined-up along the left, to create a piece of paper. Like the papers she graded as an instructor and the papers she sat with for hours, helping her children do homework (ADHD sucks), like the papers she filled with her thoughts and poetry. Across the center she added a pen and covering the bottom corner, appeared to be the edge of a book. She believed that knowledge was power and writing was her therapy.

Empowered as she was and though armed with a spirit of steel and a therapeutic habit, during some seasons of her life, that therapy wasn’t enough. And she remembered the days that she walked into an office and said, “I need help…I’m not okay right now and I can’t do this alone.” Then it was someone else’s turn to minister to the ‘soldier’ who so often ministered to others.

A tangerine orange block spoke to the trauma she witnessed too many times to count and the caution it created in her steps. But overlaying the color of both bold fun and caution, she stitched a rainbow, because after every storm always came a new perspective and behind the dark shadows of tragedy, beautiful blessings are always hidden. Rainbows also mean “love is love” and she never could understand why not everyone could support that.

A light gray square served as fitting background for the beige stoop and black and white door, for the first foster child who knocked on that fateful August night. He brought to her what she knew she was being called to do. “Grief is love without a place to put it”. And fostering gave her love a place to go- cradling those in need of comfort and acceptance and a safe place to lay their heads. Coming full circle from her own childhood and experiences with grief and trauma, it opened a door in the greatest of ways. And she ensured that every child that walked through that door knew both love and fun.

A colorful Ferris wheel made of tiny scraps of fabric for another meaning-filled block…that’s fun….or not. A day at the fair gave her an illness that would forever change her perspective and overall health. Like the facial paralysis she experienced as a teen, being a medical anomaly isn’t cool when you’re living it. Whilst some days, it felt like another illusion, another betrayal…from it she learned what was really important in life and she gained an immense gratitude for the things she took for granted- eating, walking and living a day without pain.

A sunny yellow square with a green tent for the camping vacations that started out as “all we can afford” and ended with driving across the states for a lifetime of unforgettable adventure. Persistence and hard work always pays off. And the view from the summit is always worth the climb.

A cornflower blue one, to compliment that yellow…with some clouds and a plane. The plane that brought her her husband, adventures and a worldly view.

And a sand-colored bottom, with an ocean blue top for the bodies of water that bordered both her and her husband’s home lands. The only vacation she ever knew as a child, didn’t bore, but instead guided them to their most favorite place to be…at the beach. There, the hot sand soothed her joints, the waves washed away her anxiety, and the wildlife provided joyful entertainment.

Every square carefully stitched, each one sewn together to create shapes of both light and darkness, warm colors and cool ones. Every experience interwoven into the next, nothing happening by accident or without repercussion.

While she so wished some of those squares weren’t there at all…while she would have done anything to keep the colors of trauma out of her quilt…she realized the fact that they were there, wasn’t her fault. Instead, it was through her hard work and healing that those colors didn’t sabotage the rest and instead made space for new habits, new experiences, new colors. She even began to see the ways that the different colors complimented one another. A black quilt would be drab, but black next to cheerful colors make them pop. A life without pain and tragedy yields a life of ingratitude. And a life without struggle, yields a life without perspective. Painful as they were to experience, the quilt wouldn’t be complete without them.

Snipping the final loose threads, she lays down her tools, sinks back into her chair and pulls the blanket up under her chin. She’s tired now and as her head relaxes to the side, she nods off to sleep. Her dreams are flooded with every memory that together, created the final masterpiece that she has become. And although there are times in her sleep that her brow furrows and silent tears sneak past the wrinkles around her eyes, she ends with a smile on her face; because she not only survived the storms, she managed to create beauty with them.

Behind her, the rain has stopped and a rainbow crowns her…. and her masterpiece quilt.

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Sitting in a waiting room…again.

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I’m sitting in a waiting room again…

Another 2 1/2 hours of my life, spent.

We do this every week,

for psychiatric therapy.

There, I said it. Ohhhh….psychiatric…..gasp!

It’s not because our marriage is on the rocks or because the school advised it for the children based on behavioral concerns (although those are two very good reasons to consider going). We go because we are normal people (whatever the hell, “normal” means), with normal emotions, who encounter normal challenges and struggles and we want some help sometimes to know how to navigate those challenges in the healthiest way possible.

We are blessed to have a wonderful marriage, a loving home and two wonderful, socially mature and thriving children. And we have chosen to share our happy home with foster children. While fostering certainly adds another, emotional and sometimes challenging, dimension to our lives. Fostering is not the only reason we utilize therapy. In fact, we started going to therapy years before we ever considered fostering.

We started going when one of our children found school overwhelming, and we’ve continued as we encounter new challenges. We go because our brains and our hormones, our emotional balance and psychological wellbeing are important to us. We don’t just want to ‘do’ well, we want to feel well. We want to communicate well. And we don’t want our successes to be inhibited by the emotions that so often guide our thoughts and actions.

Just as I go school supply shopping for my children to ensure that they have the tools they need to participate in school…

Just as I take them to the doctor to get immunizations and the occasional antibiotic for strep throat so that they can be well in life…

Just as I call a girlfriend, pour a glass of wine or run a hot bath to unwind…

We go to therapists when we are having a hard time so that we can achieve, settle our minds and be well in life.

We go to therapists so that the patterns in our family lines, don’t repeat themselves.

We go to therapists because we want to utilize every tool available to us.

And there is no shame, misfortune or inferiority to be had in that.

The only shame is ignoring a problem that you know exists. The only misfortune is a person in need of assistance, being denied it. And the only thing that I find inferior, are people who think that they are superior to the services being offered or to those who utilize them.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that my fervent passion for mental health lies in part, out of fear. I was eight when I lost my uncle and fourteen when I lost my brother. I entered adulthood and motherhood afraid to lose anyone else, especially those closest to me, from an untreated, narrowly acknowledged condition. Both my uncle and my brother were never diagnosed nor ever attempted medication therapy…and they died from their self inflicted decision to escape their mental conditions because they saw no other way out. And thousands of others are suffering from the same problem, every day.

And yet the snarky comments, the diverted glances and the air of superiority continue.

We’re all supposed to be “strong”. We’re all supposed to “manage”. We’re all supposed to be able to “figure it out” and “make it all happen”. And yet, no one is giving us the tools to be able to do that. Nor are they taking into account our mental and emotional state and/or capacity.

If your kid has trouble seeing, you get them glasses. If your mom can no longer hear well, you get her a hearing aid. If your back hurts, you take a muscle relaxant, go to physical therapy, do some stretches. But when you’re overcome by fear, anxiety, sadness, loneliness, or feeling overwhelmed or stressed…you’re told to “get over it.” When someone begins withdrawing from social situations, having bursts of anger or crying spells, or is suddenly under-performing at work or school…they are shamed….or…better yet, ignored. And the more subtle signs of mental struggle are almost always missed.

No one expects a diabetic to survive without insulin and diet modifications. No one expects a morbidly obese person to run a mile. No one expects a physically disabled body to function at the same capacity as an able-bodied one. And yet all over the planet, while people acknowledge that our bodies are different, they’re pretending that our brains are all the same. And when someone can’t perform at the same caliber because of their current emotional or mental capabilities, they are shunned.

And so we go along setting unrealistic expectations, over-extending and over-committing ourselves, hiding our problems and making excuses…and it’s killing us.

Yet the excuses keep coming…

“He/she is just doing this for attention.” or “They’re just lazy.”

Attention seekers and people with a low drive exist. But most of the time, there’s more to their behavior than just these single signs. Have you taken the time/effort to explore possible underlying causes? Have you involved a professional to ensure that there’s not more going on? Or did you, with your finite knowledge come to that conclusion on your own?

Imagine the torment of not being able to see and your family telling you that you’re faking your blindness for attention. Imagine losing your ability to hear, and your boss telling you to “just listen more closely and you’ll get it”. Feeling overcome with fear/sadness, being so distracted that you can’t perform…or so manic that you can’t sit still, is like being blind/deaf to the world around you. It’s like sitting in the eye of a tornado and trying to pretend the world isn’t spinning and trying to suck you into it. Talk to them. Believe them when they tell you their struggles.

“I called but I couldn’t get an appointment.”

Mental health facilities are hard to get into. Many of them have 6 month-1 year waiting lists for new patients. Hospitals rarely have an open psych bed. The supply and demand for psychiatric services are incredibly out of balance.

All the more reason not to wait until you are in crisis! Routine mental health support not only provides the resources and support to help prevent a mental health crisis, but it gives you a provider to call when you need them the most.

“I don’t have the money or time for that.” Those co-pays add up and going to routine appointments is cumbersome and time-consuming…

So does carry out pizza and all of your kids’ extracurricular activities. Unlike pizza, investing in your children’s emotional wellbeing will support their overall health. And being a violin playing, chess master, soccer star doesn’t matter if their anxiety, sadness, anger or social immaturity prevents them from enjoying life and reaching their potential. And as parents, the damage we can do by not managing our own mental health effectively, is far more detrimental than any benefit of running ourselves ragged and avoiding self-care to serve our families non-essential desires. Trust me! That shit will come back to bite you!

That being said, there are very real financial hurdles some people face when it comes to affording adequate mental health services. However, there are a lot of resources out there…especially when you live close to a big city. A google search or even a call to a doctor’s office can help you find those resources.

“I tried that before and it didn’t help…”

Medications and therapists are not one-size-fits-all. You don’t go into a shoe store, try on one pair, and then give up on wearing shoes if that particular pair didn’t fit. You have to find a therapist, and when needed, a medication, that works for you. And sometimes, that takes trial and error. But finding the right fit…can be a game-changer.

“We’re not there yet.”

By “we”, do you mean “you”? Because if you are not the one suffering from the mental health symptoms, you shouldn’t be the only one deciding when it’s “bad enough” for someone else to receive outside help, even when that person is your child. Imagine drowning and watching a lifeguard on the shore shout to the onlookers-“He’s okay…he’s got this…he doesn’t need this floatation device yet”. What is the threshold for pursuing a treatment as benign as talking to someone? Why wait for them to go under before you call for help? What benefit do you suppose will be achieved by allowing someone to continue struggling with their head just barely above the water? And just suppose, you do…gasp go to a therapist pre-maturely…what is the detriment, as opposed to going too late? I beg of you, do not let your own pride, prevent you from seeking help for yourself or the ones you love. The risks simply do not out-weigh the benefits.

 

Many people avoid psychiatric services, for themselves or their loved ones, because they are afraid-either of the stigma or a diagnosis. Or because it involves work. The stigma ends with this, us, talking about it and normalizing it. Avoiding it only perpetuates the thing we all hate. While it is normal to grieve, to some degree, if/when a diagnosis is made- it’s important to remember that a diagnosis doesn’t create symptoms-the disease/disorder already existed, it merely has a name now. And having that name allows you to learn how to treat it and move forward. Lastly, becoming better at anything requires work. Digging shit up and working through it, recalling what is tormenting us and recognizing what our faults are and where we have err’d is hard! Growth is hard. Self-improvement is hard. But it’s worth it, to be our best selves.

 

I am sitting in a therapist’s waiting room again…2 1/2 hours…well spent…

Because I don’t have all the answers. Because while I am an expert in some things, I am not an expert in mental health. Because while my children talk to me and I, to my friends and husband, sometimes it helps to have someone else to talk to…an outsider, a professional. Because sometimes, life hands us a load that is too damn heavy to carry on our own.

Because just like pencils and erasers and two-pocket folders, I want my children to have all the tools they need to perform at their best. Because, just like the PT I get for my back, my heart and my mind too, need support and exercise. Because I want to normalize the healthy management of mental health so that one day, when I’m not around, my children, my loved ones, don’t ever hesitate to get the help they need; and so that, they in turn can continue to support others who find themselves in need of support. Because I want to be the best mom/foster mom, wife, nurse, writer, teacher, counselor that I can be. And because I’m not too proud to admit when I, we, need help.