The Slowdown: We Say We Want It, But What Happens When We Do?

We often talk about the need or desire to slow down when we feel like we are doing too much. We feel the pull to step out of the race we didn’t know we signed, but what happens when we do?

A few years ago I was looking to shift my business goals and focus more on writing and less direct work with clients in my private practice.

I couldn’t wait for things to slow down. My personal and professional responsibilities seemed to take up every moment of my day and I wanted more time for myself. If I knew how many moments there were to count before I got there, I would have counted them.

The compromises played out on repeat.

“After this, I’ll be good.

When this happens, I’ll slow down.

I just gotta get through this and then I will be able to breathe.”

One of two things generally happens next- either the slow down is avoided as other distractions fill the potential space or once the slow down begins, our bodies and minds which are easily accustomed to the ongoing stress, begin to create new stressors and distractions to avoid the feelings that come with the slow down.

Why?

Because the slow down is hard. We say we want it until we become so used to the adrenaline high and crash of stress we don’t know who we are without it.

I started asking myself questions I had never considered…

If I’m not actively doing something, who am I? What’s my value? What’s my purpose? What do I bring to the table?

I didn’t know if I wanted a break from activity as much as I wanted a break from the expectations.

The expectation that I have to prove something, like my value. Or the expectation that I have to earn free time with no responsibility, or doing things I genuinely enjoy.

During my slow down, I began to see the cracks of where my energy was seeping out. The time I spent trying to build something outside of me instead of focus on the instability inside of me.

I know that sounds a bit cliche, but it was true. I looked for ways to maintain my energy from feeling needed from others. As I began to have less distractions I could see that I was incredibly uncomfortable without all the inner buzz asking me to stay on top of my responsibility. The Should’s were super loud.

“Well now that you have time you SHOULD dig in and start writing. You have space so you SHOULD fill it with all the things you didn’t have room for before. You SHOULD move your body everyday and eat well and meditate more deeply and have all the answers to what you are doing next by…the end of the day today. Get on it.

Oh also, you SHOULD be having more fun and feeling fully content.”

But instead, I froze. And felt drained…just by expectation alone.

I didn’t want to push. I didn’t want to hustle. I wanted to rest and learn what relaxed felt like.

When you are living in fight or flight for so long, the let down and “healing” phase feels completely unfamiliar. When you spend most of your time scanning for threat and a problem to solve it becomes an instinct and lasts well after the threat has left. The system becomes addicted to the adrenaline and protecting itself so when the threat is not there, it will create one just to feel “normal.”

I imagine this is what people who retire must feel like. Or when someone is suffering from an experience or illness that forces you to slow down.

All the stuff that was avoided before now has the space to remind you it’s still there. And this time, it’s not letting you close your eyes. In fact, it may even make your eyes stay open all night wondering what the hell is happening with all these weird feelings coming up.

I can see now it’s a detox of sorts. Letting the feelings come up and the habitual fear thoughts who were quietly running the show reveal themselves with a more forceful approach.

The irony? I teach this. I see it in other people so clearly, but in myself, it felt like I was stranded in crazy town with no ride or exit out.

So what did I do? I cried a lot. And read books I was drawn to. And took a lot of naps. I looked for distractions to fill the space but there weren’t any I even had the energy for.

I was tired. And sad. And lonely. And all the yucky things I avoided for a long time because those feelings were not “productive” and there was no space for them to get shit done.

As I said to a friend, sadness makes me feel helpless, whereas anxiety motivates me, yet makes me impulsive. I was on my way towards the middle but I felt no patience around it. I had no blueprint or map on where I was going or what to expect.

I was no longer sinking but I was not comfortable riding the waves either.

What did I used to say all the time? Oh yes- Go with the Flow.

Yet going with the flow is hard when you lost your faith in the middle of it.

And that’s where I landed in the middle of the slow down. Faithless, lost, and having no idea how or if I’d find my way out.

I don’t know at what point I recognized I needed more help, I just knew I did.

A mental health therapist myself, I’d never had much luck with therapy. I rarely lasted long with talk therapy because I could process my own experience and patterns quickly and didn’t leave my therapist with much room to help me. I knew I’d have to try something different and I was ready.

I didn’t need help seeing my patterns, I needed help feeling and moving through the resistance that came with changing them.

I invited in a tour guide (my first somatic based therapist) to help me go into the depths of myself and find my way out a bit less beat up.

This is where I learned how many injured parts lived inside me and the ways they were showing up. Life hasn’t been the same since, and for that I am grateful.

The more I look and feel what’s inside me the more I can see the ways my life outside me both reflects and challenges my injuries. And the more I see, the more I can make new choices to change and enhance my life.

The deeper I dive into this work the more there seems to be to explore and reveal. I am both fearful and fascinated by what I continue to find. And that is how I know I am on the right path for me.

What Are Your Really Scared Of?

When I tell the story of my life path and how I ended up where I seem to be, I most often start with life with my mother.

A beautiful, sensitive spirit, her 41 years of life was a rollercoaster of joy and pain, like most of us, yet from the majority of the memories I can recall, not an enviable one.

When I was nine months old she displayed some odd behaviors, namely trying to make my brother and I throw up believing we would die if we didn’t. This landed her in the hospital for a month to assess what was “wrong” with her.

Several medications and observations later she was sent home with a diagnosis of mental illness. A few different variations but ultimately she was ushered into the box of bipolar disorder…or in those days, Manic Depression.

She would spend the next 14 years trying to find the cure to her manic highs and debilitating lows. She just wanted to feel better, or at least not worse. She searched for answers, prayed, took the advice given, then scrapped the advice given and tried to exist without wanting to die on a regular basis.

Any chance of having a present and nurturing mother was gone before I could walk or say words. My childhood was one of parentification and neglect. Of soothing my mother’s big needs or being on alert for the next blowup, breakdown or suicide intervention. She referred to me as her “little psychiatrist.” She relied on my words and comfort during her darkest of times and I felt compelled to be that support for her. I didn’t want her to leave again.

Days before my fifteenth birthday, she ended her life by suicide. Took over 100 of the pills prescribed to save her life. My job as her caretaker ended, but my new career of becoming a healer for others was just beginning.

At some point, very early after her death, I promised myself I would use the horrible experience I encountered for good. I would find a way to serve others with what I learned. That promise was one I kept. I became a professional counselor and later a master energy therapist. I authored a work-ing book and guide to connect us to ourselves. And another book for children, and those that read to them, with a heartfelt reminder that love never dies.

My passion and gift, it seems, is to seek and find the good in the devastation. The elixir in the pain. And the faith in the fear.

And while all of that is true, and the motivation has been a propelling force since I was young, what I did not know and realize is how the trauma of my childhood affected me. The level of dysregulation in my nervous system, the chronic stress I would accumulate, and how the untamed drive that pushed me to “do good” was also what caused me to burn out and self sabotage.

It would be many years later I would understand the root of my anxiety, the way the parts of me split and overcompensated under stress, the injuries that went ignored inside my psyche and the grief that was delayed because it felt like “too much.”

I spent my lifetime focusing on others needs abandoning my own by default. Partly out of love and partly out of fear.

For the past ten years I’ve been learning to discern which voice is leading the show. And now I’m ready to write and share more about my journey.

As I share my inner world you may see parts of yourself, your patterns, your motives, and your pain points. In fact, I hope you do.

After working with the inner worlds of others for the entirety of my career, I know none of us are alone.

Welcome to the unraveling, one fear at a time.

What Lights Your Fire?

I have many, many irrational fears and one of them is running out of gas. It’s never happened to me because once the light goes on I hone in on the first gas station that crosses my path. 

The other day the gas light went on and my inner panic lit up with it. I stopped at the first gas station available. One I’m not sure I ever noticed before. As I pulled up to the pump I noticed a young man sitting on the stoop by the door holding a sign made from a ripped cardboard box.

“Homeless…anything helps,” written boldly on the sign.

I noticed my gaze immediately went down. The same way it does when the girl scouts are staked out by the grocery store entrance. I don’t want the cookies and I don’t want to be guilted by the cookies, but now I feel guilted by their cute little faces. “Look away, Lynn, look away.”

His face was not cute. It was lost.

Don’t look away, Lynn. I heard my inner voice say. 

What?? I thought we were supposed to look away. This is uncomfortable. I can’t fix his pain. I can’t make it stop. I can’t face him knowing I have a warm place to go and food to eat that I get to cook. 

Don’t look away. The voice more pronounced. 

Fine. I looked directly at him and his eyes met mine.

I looked down and saw $6 in my console that had been there for weeks. I rarely ever have cash. “Anything helps.”

I opened the car door and walked directly over to him, cash in hand. I acknowledged it was very little and I hoped he found what he needed soon.

He immediately got up and looked me in the eyes. His eyes were clear and bright. His voice confident and filled with gratitude. 

“Thank you. I’m just waiting on my birth certificate from Texas and am working with a social worker at the soup kitchen to get a job.”

I felt his inner warmth, his spark, his optimism.

I met it with my own. 

“There are many services to get you back on your feet. I’ve used some of them myself and I know it takes awhile, but it does help. I’ve been there.”

He gently smiled acknowledging that winter was hard but he was hopeful things would change soon.

I wished him well and returned to fueling my car and was on my way.

Once out of sight, the tears came fast. I couldn’t stop them or slow them down.

I cried for his plight, his pain, his challenges, and the loneliness I’m sure he feels. I cried for those who feel the same, including myself, and the moments I’ve had (and still have) where overwhelm takes over and questioning everything feels consuming.

I cried for the human condition and how many people live with hopelessness that this is all their is. 

And then, when I was done crying, I asked myself what I wanted to DO about it. How could I best serve? How could I help the young man? How can I touch the loneliness and helplessness we all feel at times? How can I use my skills and resources with the limited capacity I have to do my part- whatever that is?

Keep sharing Hope, Lynn. Keep sharing the stories of Hope. Everyone needs the reminders, including you.

I took the answer as the sign I needed to keep moving forward. To keep plugging along. To keep listening to that inner fire that says- we all make a difference. 

And that is what I will do.

I later met my friend at a cafe and designed small cards I can hand out to strangers and people I meet to remind them there is Hope. There is Support. There is Love to be felt by all. I will keep asking and sharing Stories of Serendipity to reignite and remind our Faith to keep burning. 

What is your nudge? What is the little voice that speaks in terms of passion and aliveness? What lights you up? 

Go there. Keep blowing on the embers. “Anything helps.”

Who knows what your spark is meant to create? 

If you have a Story of Serendipity to share, please do! We ALL need the reminders. 

Submit Your Story:

http://www.livingwithserendipity.com/submit-story-of-serendipity

Get your weekly dose of Hope:

https://lynnreilly.substack.com/

The Challenge of Trusting the Process

I am in this weird, uncomfortable stage of life right now called transition, where everything is changing and I’m not actually sure where I’m going or how I’m going to get there, but I KNOW I am going in the right direction…to somewhere. 

A few weeks ago I was heading down the rabbit hole of frustration and not knowing where to put my energy and I wrote down- “Live one day at a time for now. Practice not knowing and trusting the process.”

Sounds kind of romantic unless you are one who actually likes to grip on to what you know. 

I teach the value of trust and even techniques how to trust, but what I know for sure is, trust is not easy when you have been trained to not trust. It takes daily practice when your default is to control the world around you. Or at least think you are controlling the world around you. 

I woke up last week and had the urge to go check out a new library. The library has been my destination of choice as of late to get out of the house and write or do work…or just sit in the energy of all those words and dreams that came to life on paper. 

I had a strong pull to go to this one library and feel it out. I wasn’t sure why and when I questioned if that was REALLY where I wanted to go, the answer was yes. 

Okay, I’m in. Although I will readily question my intuition, I also know it rarely steers me wrong when I follow through to the end of whatever adventure it takes me on.

This time was no different. 

My drive to the town library 30 minutes from my house was not what I expected. Beautiful, yes. It usually is. But quiet? No.

As I drove by a few familiar houses and vista points my emotions began to bubble up and my mind began to race. The ache I thought I had moved through began to resurface.

Ugh. What do you want now??

“You’re not done feeling this one yet.”

The tears began to silently drop one by one. “What happened? How did I get here?”

The confusion began to flood my thoughts as well. The multitude of question marks and lack of periods.

Can’t I just accept it for what it is? A part of the journey. An experience I was meant to have. Maybe I don’t need to know why. Maybe I just need to appreciate what is. 

The sadness filled my chest. 

“I just wish I knew…” I heard her say.

She speaks often- the part of me that wants to understand life and it’s meaning. The part that likes to make sense of it all. But I can’t yet. I’m still in the middle and I can’t see what is meant to be next. I’m simply supposed to TRUST it’s all happening for me. 

My conversation with my client earlier in the morning popped up in my mind.

While she spun in circles with the fear of not getting the home she wanted, I recounted the story of buying my current home. I thought I was buying a different house, one I thought was perfect for me. 

Everything lined up as though it was meant to be mine. I did the daily drive by stalk. I felt myself living there. I envisioned it as though it was mine. And then, when I least expected it, it dropped out. It was no longer an option. 

Within a week, my current home popped up on the market and took the offer I never dreamed would work. It took another year of more question marks than periods for the house to officially be mine and mine alone, but the windy road brought me to a place that at once seemed impossible.

One door closed for another to open. 

I know how it works….but it doesn’t turn off the grief.

Even knowing its “happening for a reason” doesn’t eliminate the discomfort or frustration or old feelings that wanted to remind me they still needed to be felt. 

Including the aftershocks after the quake…

I arrived at the library and it was not what I thought. It seemed as though it was a temporary location while whatever new library was being worked on. The library I was drawn to visit was also in transition. 

When I went inside it was busy and uninviting and it didn’t really have the vibe that anyone wanted to be there. I took a quick tour of a few different rooms and quickly determined, I too, did not want to be there. I walked out.

“Why am I here? What brought me here?” 

I got in my car and decided I would try another library closer to home I hadn’t been to but always wanted to go. Accepting the reroute, I turned the music up in my car as I headed towards my next destination.

And then it came…the answer. I was brought this way to feel my feelings. To go back over the ground of the familiar to bring up what felt unexpressed. I didn’t WANT to feel the sad but the sad still needed some space to breathe and the stomping grounds I drove through brought out the memories I needed to feel it through.

Fiiiine. 

The current journey was my destination. The unexpressed feelings were the experience I was avoiding. I drove there not to experience the new but to feel the old, so I could open myself up to the new. 

As I walked into the next library, tiny and full of good vibes, I was directed to the children’s room. My eyes welled up when I walked down the stairs and saw the long table covered with books inviting me in. 

Welcome to the day’s serendipity. 

Surrounded by joy and colorful captures of life in the most whimsical forms. I had almost forgotten, I too, had created one of these live treasures. My own published children’s book brought to life by the visions inside me coming out to be seen. I was surrounded by dreams that looked like mine reminding me to stay the course and see how it plays out. 

It is indeed scary to not know where you will go and be at end of the day. Yet the journey is also one full of possibility, hope, dreams and unknowns which could turn in to the dreams you didn’t know you had. 

So much passion waiting to come alive and birth into the fullness of life. 

Maybe I don’t know where I need to be. Maybe there is no need at all. Maybe each day has its own set of serendipity waiting to be experienced when you open the door to live it. 

I don’t know what I’m doing next, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe I never really did.

Where I am is exactly where I’m supposed to be. And maybe trusting the process is learning to be okay with that. 

Dealing with Uncertainty: 5 Tips to Tell The Difference Between Fear and Intuition

I sat in meditation waiting for an answer for over an hour. Okay, that’s not true. It was more like five minutes but it felt like wayyy over an hour. 

I didn’t know what to do. I felt lost and uncomfortable and I wanted that feeling to go away. I didn’t know what was going to happen next and I wanted the answers now so I could plan accordingly. I waited for the quiet voice of intuition to present itself.

Instead, the “what if’s” began.

“What if I get hurt? What if I’m wrong? What if I don’t know what I’m doing? What if something happens and I don’t have what I need?”

I don’t even know what “something” could be but my guess is it’s probably really big and devastating if it’s always invading my thoughts. 

I have been in the business of change for quite awhile now as a mental health counselor and energy therapist. Teaching how to trust is my jam. I’m good at it. I have lots of practices that help the head connect with the heart to make conscious, trust based decisions and I still have to use them alll the time.

It doesn’t come natural to me. Fear is always the loudest voice in the room.

I don’t fault myself for that. I know I’m trained for it. One news article later or a few minutes of scrolling through social media or turning on the television and I’m blasted with some sort of fear that I didn’t have beforehand.  Usually one I didn’t even know I had at all.

It is no wonder we are terrified of uncertainty. It’s marketed as a negative. Like the perpetrator ready to attack us at any moment, we are trained to avoid uncertainty. Keep yourself safe by filling in all the possible blanks to make sure you are fully prepared to combat it. The last thing you want is to face the unknown. Why? Because you can’t control it.

*shiver*

We must control what we don’t know to keep us safe, right? And yet, we can’t. 

If you know anything about psychology or even indulge in pop psychology, you may have heard our brains are wired for a negative bias. From what I’ve studied and personally experienced, that’s true.

By nature, our brains take in sensory information from the environment and scan for danger before we deem our surroundings safe and cozy. This is the oldest part of the brain that is useful when foraging for food and being aware of predators around us. We’re not dropping this part of our brain’s design with good reason. It gives us the sense to look both ways before crossing the street instead of ignoring the fast moving vehicles around us. 

Once our sense has decided the environment is safe enough, we process information from the past to tell us how to cross the street and how to do it well. But sometimes that information gets infiltrated with “knowledge” that wasn’t even ours to begin with or something we didn’t even encounter. This is where other people’s experiences, “truths” and fears come into play. We use this information from outside sources to determine what is true and right for us without ever having experienced it. 

All because “they” said so, and their fears match our own. Or at least the ones we’ve been taught.

This includes our parents and caregivers and the beliefs they inherited from their families and experiences. It’s also our peers, our teachers, our leadership, “experts”, and pretty much anyone we are taking in information from. They become the different voices in our head we use as information when making decisions. 

Often the person we want the most approval from becomes the loudest voice in our head. Those who we believe know more than us or those we want to please. The challenge is deciphering what is their belief and what is our own.  

So how can you tell what is your voice when making a decision and what is not? How do you discern between intuition and fear? I’ll share with you a few tricks that help me tell the difference. 

1- Sit with it. Let the fear speak. It’s a simply a voice that wants to be heard. Let it tell you it’s story and all the reasons it exists. Pretending it’s not real doesn’t quiet it. If it feels ignored it will only get louder to demand your attention. Remember fear is the loudest voice in the room. Just like a tantruming child, it eventually calms and dissipates once it’s been acknowledged and had it’s say.

2-After letting the fear speak, ask if it’s true. Fear tends to play out the worst case scenario in order to emphasis its power, but rarely does it offer factual advice. What evidence does it have to prove it’s valid? Where in your history have you died, been desolate, isolated or completely alone forever? When has it not worked out and ruined you for eternity?

If you felt pain, did it decrease? If you lost resources, did you regain them? If you were embarrassed, did you recover? If you were hungry, did you eat again? If you felt alone, did you stay alone? Use your past as proof to show you your previous difficulties were temporary and didn’t ruin you the way you feared. 

3-Take the fear out. If you could take the next step and there was nothing to fear, nothing could possibly go wrong, what would you do?

This question bypasses the fear temporarily to access the heart (intuition) to make a decision that on a deeper level you already know the answer to. This allows the quieter voices of our knowing to be heard and offer clarity while the louder voices step aside. 

Once heard, they will be challenged again by fear. This is normal. Write down the “what if’s” fear presents then write down the opposite “what if.” For example, “what if I end up alone?” versus “what if I have stronger and more authentic connections than I’ve ever had before?”

Or “what if I become broke and have nothing?” versus “what if I have everything I need when I need it most?”

Fear feels heavy and daunting, while truth feels light and free. You don’t have to believe it at first, but the more you practice, the more it will assimilate to become your truth. 

4-Listen to your body. When making a decision, put your hand over your heart and ask the question at large. Then feel how your body responds to the yes or the no. Do your muscles tighten up? Do you cringe when you say one answer? Do you feel light and free with another? Your body has direct access to your intuition when you slow down to listen to it. It holds the answers to all your questions when you give it the chance to speak. 

5- When you listen to someone give their opinion about something, ask yourself how you feel about it. Does it feel true for you? Does it make nervous? Does it put you at ease? Does your body move toward the person or away from them? How do their words feel in your body? Use practices 1-4 to help tune in to what is yours and what is theirs so you can discern the difference. 

Is it really uncertainty we fear, or are we really scared of making the wrong choice and not being in control of the outcome? Are we afraid we can’t trust ourselves and must rely on others to tell us what we need and how to live our lives? 

Every night we go to sleep, we practice trust in the unknown that we will wake the next day and have another opportunity to play. We live with uncertainty and practice faith without even knowing it. It’s not uncertainty we can’t live with, it’s lack of trust we struggle with. 

Fear is not always the enemy, but it sure does ruin the party sometimes when it’s the loud, obnoxious voice telling you what to do and calling you names when you ignore it.

You do know the answer. It’s okay to not trust it sometimes and think twice. We are trained for this. Yet the more you practice connecting with the quieter voice of you, the more you’ll see you had the power all along. The certainty is you. 

Originally published on Mind Life Spirit.

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

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

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

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

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

I paused, unsure what that meant.

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

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

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

I had no idea what healthy felt like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This article was written for and published on Tiny Buddha.

What If There's Beauty on the Other Side of Your Pain?

“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” ~Albert Einstein

“I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to be here. I can’t do this. It hurts too much. It’s too hard.”

I’m curious how many times I’ve heard these words over my lifetime. From different people, ages, genders, ethnicities, and walks of life. The words the same, the heaviness no different from one to the next. Hopelessness has a specific tone attached to it. Flat, low, and empty.

Being the child of a parent who committed suicide, there is a familiar inner fear that washes over me when I hear these words. A hyper alertness and tuning in, knowing it’s time to roll up my sleeves.

As a psychotherapist, there is a checklist that goes through my head to make sure I ask all of the right questions as I assess the level of pain they are experiencing.

As a human, a warm wave of compassion takes over as I feel around for what this particular soul needs.

After asking the typical safety questions and determining this person is not at significant risk of ending their life, I ask, “So what is the end goal here? What do you think happens after you die? Where will you go? How will you feel? What will feel different when you’re dead versus how you feel right now?”

The answers vary from “It will be dark and nothingness, no feeling, no existence” to “I’ll be in heaven and done with this,” but more often than not they say, “I don’t know.”

I sometimes question, “Well, if you don’t know how can you guarantee it will be better than this? What if it’s worse? What if you have to relive it all again? What if you are stuck in a dark abyss and can’t get out?”

More times than not they have not thought this through. They are not thinking about what is next, mostly because what they are really saying is “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

I get that. We all have those moments.

Then I dig in further:

“How do you know your miracle is not around the corner? How do you know relief will not come tomorrow if you allow the opportunity for one more day? What would it be like to be curious about what’s next instead of assuming it will all be just as miserable?

Since you have not always felt like this, is it possible you may one day again feel joy and freedom?

If you look at your past, you’ll see you have had many fears and low moments. Did they stay the same or did they change? Most of your fears did not come to be, and if they did, you survived them—you made it through. You may have even learned something or strengthened your ability to be brave.

If you turn around, you can see there is a lifetime of proof that your world is always changing and shifting. You’ll see many moments when it may have felt like things were not going the direction you wanted, but you’ll likely see an equal number of moments that led you to exactly what you needed. Use those as evidence that your surprise joy may be just around the corner.”

During these conversations, my own curiosity resurfaces. I often ponder if my mother held out a little longer what her life would have looked like. I wonder if another medication would have helped her. Or if the words of an inspiring book may have offered her the hope to keep holding on. Or if the feeling of the sun on her face would have kissed her long enough for her to want a little bit more.

What if she held on to the curiosity of what was to come instead of deciding there were no surprises or joy left? Would she have felt the bittersweet moment of watching me graduate from high school? Would she have been there to cheer me on when I earned my master’s degree hoping to help people just like her? Would she have held my daughter, her first grandchild, and wept tears of joy knowing she made it?

Who knows what her life would have been like if she held on for one more day? I will never know, but I am curious.

I have sat with countless children and adults while they are deep in their pain. I ache for them, cry for them, and also feel hope for them. I wonder out loud what will happen next that we cannot see. 

I’ve seen pregnancies come when hope had left, new relationships be birthed when the people involved were sure they would never feel loved again, new jobs appear out of nowhere at just the “right” time. I’ve seen illnesses dissipate once people started paying attention to themselves, and moments of joy build in the hearts of those who were certain there was no light left.

The truth is, we don’t know what will happen next, but we know we have made it this far. How do we know tomorrow won’t be exactly what we’ve been waiting for?

I believe our baseline feeling as humans is peace. The loving calm that fills us when we are in the presence of those we adore. The kind of whole that we feel when we’ve done something we feel proud of and we reconnect to the love we are made of. The way we feel when we are giving love to others and the way we feel when that love is returned.

I also believe that the human experience is filled with struggle and hardship and challenge. I don’t think we are getting out of it. I believe we are equipped with the power to lean in to our pain to let it move through us. To use our experiences as our strength and our knowledge for the next wave of frustration.

I don’t believe we are supposed to suffer, but rather learn to thrive in the face of hardship and use hope as the steering wheel to guide us through… knowing even though the light may not be right in front of us, it’s just around the corner. 

And the more we employ this faith and our practices that support us, the quicker we are able to return to the peace that lies underneath.

In the moments of hardship, what would it be like to allow for curiosity? To not only acknowledge the feeling in front of us—and feel it—but to also allow for the possibility of what is to come.

All of our experiences come with the free will to choose how we will respond to them. With openness and wonder or dismissal and resistance. It’s also okay to feel it all at once. The feelings will pass. They always do.

The next time you feel stuck in a feeling, or what feels like a never-ending experience, consider thinking, I wonder what will come of this. I wonder what I will gain. I wonder what strengths I will develop and how I will support myself. I wonder what beauty lies on the other side of this pain. Don’t push through it but surrender into it.

Then allow for curiosity. Be open. You never know what surprises the day may bring. Maybe today is the day it all changes. Or maybe tomorrow. You may not know the day, but you can be ready and open for when it arrives.

Original post published on Tiny Buddha.

What Is Holding You Back From Trusting Yourself?

Several years back when I was newly divorced, had just left my job and was building a new life for myself and my kids, I met my friend Jayne. Our serendipitous meeting left us instant friends when we both discovered we were on nearly the same exact path.

We both had left our jobs, were divorced/single moms, broke, healing our past, and losing and shifting many friendships in the process. We began supporting each other every day with inspiring texts or examples of what we were learning through facing our fears. Our motto: Trust Yourself, Trust the Process. And like every other human, we wanted proof we could.

Jayne was the first person I text when I was inspired to write 30 Days to Me. She even wrote affirmations for each day I wanted to include. She cheerlead me through the process and I relied on her wisdom and love. I trusted her guidance and support completely. 

A year into knowing and growing with Jayne, she died in her sleep. The night she died we spent the evening together prepping for a group and sharing how magical life was. I wasn’t just crushed, I was terrified. 

My biggest fear was that all I believed I could trust was a lie.  I trusted Jayne was who I would work with for the long haul. I trusted she would continue to guide me when I was lost. I trusted I could fully rely on her support and wisdom and in one instant- she was gone. 

The pain of the loss scared the shit out of me and my old fears of attachment came rushing back in. I didn’t want to get to close to anyone ever again. 

Yet, what if I hadn’t trusted myself to befriend this earth angel? My intuition assured me she was meant to be my friend. What if I never let myself get close to her? 

I would not have had a bold cheerleader to inspire me to share my story. I would not have followed through writing a book that I knew would be helpful for others, as well as for me. I would not have connected with the strength inside me to keep trusting myself and my path- even when it hurt like hell. 

And the truth is, in many ways, Jayne never left me. Her angelic presence still works with me, as I believed she would. Her words, forever etched in mind, remind me to trust myself and the process. Her unexpected exit reminds me to live in the moment because you truly don’t know what is going to happen next.

These are the stories I remind myself when I’m in an uncomfortable place not fully trusting what direction to go. They allow me to pause and know that whatever happens, and whatever I choose, I’m going to be okay. We all have these stories- many of them.

Here’s a reminder- everything we experience is meant to teach us something. The joy, the pain, the hope, the disappointment- all of it. 

Some of it feels amazing and we want more. Some of it sucks and we want to forget it ever happened. Yet all of it is part of our experience of how to truly LIVE.

I often hear people say they can’t trust themselves because their choices bring them down a road that was painful. Yet what did that pain teach you? Where did it lead you? What door opened when another closed?

Pain is meant to help us open our eyes, not close them. 

What are the experiences you’ve had that stopped you in your tracks and fed your fear? Is that fear still leading the way?

What fear is currently holding you back from living? Why are you scared to trust yourself? What would your life look like if you let your deepest desires lead over your fear?

Spend a few minutes sitting with these questions to see what it is your heart wants you to know. 

The Resurrection of Faith...a Story of Serendipity

For about 5 or 6 years now my children have been asking for a dog. Well, first they asked for a sibling…right after I got divorced. I don’t think they were quite grasping how that works. Since no baby was happening, they harped on getting a dog and I have consistently said no. I enjoy dogs, but I didn’t want the responsibility that comes with them. 

Fast forward to two months ago. I asked myself what I was really scared of when thinking about getting a dog. The answer came quickly. Loss of my freedom. I have two independent and responsible teenagers, which means my freedom in many ways, has returned. My daughter is turning 17 and has a car. She does errands for us and even gets her brother around. Why would I want to give up any more of my time and energy?

I then realized…wait…I have two responsible and independent teenagers…who would likely do a fantastic job with the responsibility of a dog. I then gave them a month to show me they were ready by keeping their rooms and the house clean without me asking. I didn’t actually think they would do it. They did. Then I asked them to draw up a contract outlining my responsibility versus theirs. They would have 85% of the responsibility and I would hold 15%. This I could commit to. Plus, dogs are cool. I’ve always secretly wanted one. 

I told the kids if we are meant to get a puppy it would find its way to us. I believe in Serendipity. I believe whatever we are meant to have will show up in our life. And yet, during a pandemic when all the regular rules of life have changed, it seemed that we would be doing more of the searching and seeking than letting much in. 

We searched for weeks. If you’ve ever attempted to rescue and adopt a puppy you know it’s an interesting process. And for a feeler like me, I found it odd to be looking for my future family member on what felt like a dating app. A few dogs were available to us, but none that quite felt right. 

Last week, as we prepared to virtually meet another dog who was cute, (aren’t they all?) my daugher’s friend reached out and asked if we were still looking for a puppy because her mom was friends with someone who had a local rescue. She sent us some pictures and one puppy in particular struck me. It’s energy was beautiful and it’s markings drew me in. I wanted to meet this dog and it would be in the state on Sunday. We could meet it then.

Later in the day my daughter told me the pup was a boy and his name was Phoenix. “That’s cool,” I said. “I like that name but not sure if we’ll keep it if we get the dog.”

An hour or two later I was outside sitting in the sun and the puppy’s name popped in my head. 

Phoenix. Wait a minute…Phoenix? That’s some powerful symbolism.  The Pheonix is a sign of deep transformation and renewal. It is known for bursting into flames when it dies and rising from the ashes after death. Wow. That’s a powerful dog.

Then it hit me, we are meeting him on Sunday…Easter Sunday. The day when Jesus rose from the dead and resurrected to prove eternal life, and rebirthing faith and hope. 

Serendipitous.

This dog came to us and was meant to be ours. When we met him this morning, he was calm in our arms and gave us plenty of kisses. His tail wagged and my kids fell in love.  He’s spent the day with us seeming pretty comfortable in our presence and even in his crate. It is clear, he is home. Rebirthed into our hearts in a way that will transform our family. No doubt. This is Serendipity. This is the way Love always makes it’s presence known. Welcome Leo Phoenix Reilly.

I do not subscribe to a particular organized religion, but I do subscribe to Faith. My faith was strengthened today and my heart cracked open just a little bit more. When you’re ready, love finds it’s way. 

Happy Rebirth and Transformation from my family to yours!

The Fall of Man is the Rise of All

When I was about 18 years old, my dad, brother and I had a competition to see who would hold the title of “Man of the House.” We had an electronic dart board in the middle of our living room and used the winner of this game to determine who would hold this esteemed position. Being the most athletic and competitive of the three of us, I used my determined focus to ensure I hit my mark and they met their match. I won.

I was officially -The Man of the House- in all my teenage girlness.

During my brother’s graduation party, my dad and brother waited for my arrival to get the beer flowing as I was the only one who knew how to tap a keg.

My father often remarked he didn’t worry too much about me because when my friends picked me up, there were usually several large young men over 6 feet tall arriving to greet me. He knew I wouldn’t be messed with. Ironically, he never questioned why I was often the only girl in the group. 

The truth is, I was always more comfortable around boys. I had my girlfriends and adored them, but I could not always relate the way I did to boys. The boys seemed simpler, less emotional and I did not want to feel my emotions, so this worked beautifully for me. 

The boys were trained to talk about surface level conversations like sports, girls, cars, and money; nothing too deep. So was I. My father did not talk about feelings. What to do with them, where to put them or that we even had them. He was not trained to either.

As a young child I listened to my mother’s feelings often. I was a deep feeler right there with her. But when she became overwhelmed with emotion, my desire to fix it, to make it stop, took over. This was when I learned that feelings existed, but too many feelings was most definitely not a good thing. When my mother died from not being able to combat the darkness, I was relieved to no longer feel responsible to fix her feelings. It was shortly after I chose to stop feeling mine. 

I pushed them down and was reinforced this by my father who never quite learned that feelings were okay. To be a man, you work, you fix, you safeguard. You push through pain and discomfort and you find a way to make it all work. By all means necessary. 

My first month of college I made amazing new friends who informed me that girls plucked their eyebrows and did not wear white tube socks with every outfit. What?!?

This was mildly devastating to learn but I was grateful that I was learning such truths. I had no idea. 

I later joined a sorority and discovered that women were not so bad after all. They were courageous and fun and could drink almost as much as me. Some of them shoved their feelings down in the ways I could relate to. And yet, they also talked about deep and interesting things that very much spoke to the part of me that loves depth and introspection and behavior. 

I also took women’s studies classes and learned that women had earned less income than men and were not seen as equals in religion and influence. I was shocked. For real. My father had raised me to believe I was no different than a man and any discrepancies between us were simply from physical makeup, not from what we bring to the table. 

It wasn’t until I became a mother where I really began to see my masculine training shift. Nurturing little humans became my focus. Once my daughter was born I was determined to make sure she would not succumb to the overdone world of pink and purple and let her choose her own colors. She did. She always has. She wore dresses when she felt like it and sweatpants and mismatched socks when it struck her fancy. When my son was born I felt similarly. He wore his sister’s princess dresses more than she did and cried big real tears when he learned he could not have a baby out of his own womb.

They have feminine traits and masculine traits. Both of them. They feel feelings and shove them down when they become too much. They try to fix when they want to control or make it okay for someone else. And other times, they sit in silence allowing big feelings to be felt and let them move through them. They embody both energies. 

I’m 45 years old and I am still learning. My default is to fix when things get hard and to make the deep feelings go away. I don’t even realize I’m doing it sometimes because its so deeply ingrained. I noticed this last week after what felt like a highly intense and emotional week for many, and I just want to make all of it okay. For all of us. 

I stop listening and start fixing. This is masculine energy. The energy that wants to control and protect. It is driven and decisive. It is the energy of action and doing. When in overdrive it feels stressful, particularly when not in control. It works harder and more forcefully, at times angered when it can’t take over. When not in control it can come out as aggression, critical and unsupportive. 

Last week I worked myself into numbness. I stopped feeling. It was like my brain hit the screen saver and said- no more till you rest. I heard myself talking but couldn’t even connect with my thoughts. My head did not feel attached to my body. This is a clear sign of disconnection. Wayyy too much energy out (masculine) than energy in (feminine).

Feminine energy is that which nurtures the flow of emotions. It is the energy that lives with understanding and compassion.  It is creative and insightful. Vulnerable and warm. It is the energy that receives, often intuitively and connecting to the universe and all it’s wisdom. When imbalanced it also becomes controlling, manipulative and people pleasing. 

I did not balance my energies with my effort and therefore I felt awful. Physically, emotionally and mentally. 

After a full day of sitting in stillness and slowness pouring energy back into me, I started to feel more like myself. Reading, meditating, napping, and not doing a damn thing for anyone else, the tears that normally keep my eyes moist, returned. I felt in flow in again. Resistant still, but flowing nonetheless.

It was during this time I “heard” what was happening around me and within me. We are all being asked to rebalance our imbalances. We are shifting from one paradigm of masculine dominant energy to invite in more of the feminine. 

“The paradigm of control, domination, fixing and suppression is asking to end. The era of thinking our way through conflict. The masculine in overdrive. The paradigm of feeling, allowing, supporting and creativity is asking to be seen and strengthened. The action of feeling our way through conflict. The feminine is rising. The energies are asked to work together to build a new world. Using logic to support feeling. Using intuition to support intellect.”

We are currently being asked to feel. To lean in. This is part of living serendipitously, in the flow of life. Being in the flow of what is happening and letting what comes up be. Not resisting, but allowing. And this might mean exposing our deep wounds. I sure know mine are coming up. This is good thing. A great thing really. This is how they heal. And we are a world that is asking to heal. 

I heard…”It is not the fall of man, but the rise of all.”

I love this. It speaks to me and I see it in my work with others every single day. It is a time to listen. To really listen (feminine) and then respond to what we hear (masculine). We all have both masculine and feminine energies. All of us. But for quite a while they have been imbalanced. We are being asked to re-unite these energies to work together in union.

This is an amazing time to be alive. You are here for a reason. And so am I. 

Have you noticed any imbalances you may be feeling in to your masculine and feminine energies? Are you giving more than receiving? Are you receiving more than giving? (ie- are you working too much or giving out a lot of energy? Or are you sitting around paralyzed by your feelings and struggling to move?) Pay attention to see where you are and how you can shift. I’m right there with you. 

How are you managing this very big transition into our new lives?

A Simple Practice to Create Proof of Serendipity

I am in the habit of looking for the beauty in the mess that life can bring. I’d like to think it’s because I’ve been bestowed a special pair of glasses to view the world with this lens, but it’s not. It’s taken a lot of practice and tuning into the gifts that come from pain, confusion and fear. 

It also comes from defiance. I stubbornly refuse to believe that life would give us so many obstacles and uncomfortable experiences without some kind of purpose and value. With this belief has come a lot of proof, and for a natural skeptic whose default is fear and anxiety, this has been priceless. A guide to thriving in uncertainty and a map to make sure I always find my way home. It is clear to me, it is my responsibility to share. 

I have to say, that is not always easy. For someone who lives on the fumes of hope some days I know it can sound like magical thinking more than concrete proof. Not everyone wants to find purpose or meaning or understanding, and that’s fine too. 

For me, the need started with survival. I chose to believe life was more than “life sucks and then you die.” I had to. The more I swayed into darkness the easier it seemed to get stuck there. The underworld is familiar territory for someone like me, but I could not allow myself to live there. I knew there was too much more of life to see and explore, and I thrive on adventure. 

This current pandemic experience we are in is yet another challenge. We are well aware of the setbacks and concerns and by now we have heard and seen some of the positives revealing themselves. With every great challenge comes the opportunity to grow and expand in ways we were unable to before. We are seeing a small glimpse, but we are nowhere near what will be revealed as time goes on. If you don’t see the serendipity yet, don’t worry, it will find you. 

In order to see the joy in our experiences, we can practice tuning in. The more we do this the more we see the serendipity that shows we are supported and that life is happening for us. Create a book of proof by tracking the small and unexpected joys that show up each day.

Tracking your daily joys allow you to increase your faith that no matter what happens next, something will help balance it out. It may be a moment that feels good and lets you know it’s not always going to be hard and challenging. It may be a promise of hope or a reminder of being loved and seen. It might be someone reaching out you wanted to talk to or an opportunity that you didn’t previously see. It might be an idea that pops in your head or something that somehow shifts your mood. A compliment, a story you hear, inspiration or feelings of love and support of any kind. These moments give you proof that in some way you are supported, even in the smallest of ways. And the small stuff adds up.

For example, earlier this week I went for a walk in my neighborhood, as I often do. On occasion I see others outside, but not very often. With the closing of schools and more people staying home I saw an increase in people being outside. I unexpectedly began talking to an older gentleman in a nearby culdesac. He’s 82 years old and was babysitting his grandchildren since they don’t have school. He was teaching the youngest how to ride a bike and got right on that bike to show him himself! He introduced himself and shared how he finds many people are afraid of death. I shared how I have noticed that many people are afraid of living. He told me he was most recently employed as a hospice chaplain, but prior to that was an insurance agent. I was curious how he moved in such a direction and he shared how he started off as a Catholic priest…until he met his wife. I was incredibly fascinated by his story and his experience. He grew up in Dublin and worked in South Africa for a while learning the village’s native tongue so he could minister to them. He knows and speaks 10 languages! In his last bit of work he said he taught people how to live before they died. I said, I do the same exact thing. Serendipitous.

What struck me most about our brief connection was how easily our conversation flowed and how meaningful it was for two strangers to connect in such a similar way on different paths of life. It quickly elevated my mood and brought me a sense of peace. We all walk different paths in life, but we want the same things. To love and feel loved and find connection to life in some way. To feel alive. 

Later in the week I was invited to an impromptu virtual happy hour with some girlfriends and found myself laughing and thoroughly enjoying their company. I felt some normalcy and comfort in what has been a sea of chaos. We are normally lucky to connect once a year! Between spending more quality time with my kids and embracing the new challenges with the curiosity of what’s next, it has been a wild start with both joy and grief. Reminding us all of the duality of life, and what it means to truly live. 

Consider starting a book of proof that life is happening for you and that serendipity is simply a moment of awareness away. When you tune into the joy, you tune into the hope and hope feels so much better than fear. 

Feeling Fear of Uncertainty?

In times of stress and heightened anxiety it’s hard to grasp the belief that life is happening for us. When we want to close off and hide, we don’t see the safety outside of the walls we’ve built. It’s a defense we created long ago at the first experience of perceived danger. We focus on keeping threat out and keeping ourselves safe from the unknown. 

It’s a learned and fair response. We work to make the unknown a known to protect ourselves.

Here’s the good news: the unknown is already known. You have a lifetime of experiencing fear. You know how to do this. Use your past as proof that in times of great distress, you have created many stories as to what could happen and rarely, if ever, do they come true.

And if they have, you have survived and gained something from them. Sometimes that gain is strength and resilience or new supports, and sometimes it’s deeper joy than you knew possible. But each time, your experiences shifted and stress lifted returning you back to the feeling of safety. We ebb and flow. This is expected. 

This is also the design of life. Experiences that challenge our biggest fears to return us to a place of peace. Our emotions are temporary. Our experiences are temporary. We are ever shifting and evolving as each opportunity asks us to love deeper and harder and with more faith than the time before. 

When fear sidles up next to you ask it what is it’s root. Is it fear of loss of control? Uncertainty? Is it fear of rejection? Is it loss? Fear of being alone? Is it not having basic needs met? Call it by name. 

Then ask for an example when this fear came to fruition in your past, if ever. What was your experience? How did you get through it? What helped as you navigated it? What did you learn from it? How are you still learning from it? What can help you now as the energy  moves through your system? 

Identify ways you can support yourself or ask for support in the process. 

When we are feeling fear we like to feel in control of something. Use this practice to control how you support yourself and others in times of distress.

It shifts our energy and brings us back to our core nature of peace. And who couldn’t use a little more of that? 

Living Serendipitously, in the flow of life, is the practice of feeling allll of your feelings. They all have a seat at the table. Yet at the core, at the head, is Love. After all feelings voice their views, Love, our True and Higher Self has the final say. Love is the only Energy that stays consistent and unshakable.

I recognize in times of heightened fear, we want more evidence than words. I will be writing more about creating this evidence later.

For today, practice listening to any fear that pops up and letting it speak. Use your past of proof you are going to be okay and you know what you are doing. Although our current experience is unprecedented, our experience with navigating fear is not. You’ve got this.

When Heart and Head Team Together...a Story of Serendipity

Facebook memories have a nice way of keeping track of things I’ve forgotten, as well as helping me remember how time sure does fly. I was reminded recently I’ve been in my current home for 8 years. I thought it had been 5! I then found this piece I wrote about buying my house on faith when all of my “reality checks” said not to. A true story of serendipity and what happens when you listen to your heart, your intuition, when you need guidance the most. 

I stared at the lined paper with numbers scratch written all over it. The numbers at the bottom stuck out like they were written in fluorescent permanent marker. Negative. One big negative. My hope sunk.

On paper my income would not cover my monthly expenses. I could not afford to buy the house I was living in and yet I promised my children I would. And more importantly, they believed me.  I had moved into the house with my children and my husband only four months prior and it had been nonstop chaos since.  Due to an error on the house owner’s paperwork, the house we were scheduled to buy was no longer available to us unless we bought it through a short sale. If you know anything about a short sale, they are anything but short.

Fortunately we were able to move into the house and wait out the process while living there. Unfortunately, three months into living in the home, my husband and I decided to separate. This was not part of the plan.

In an emotional moment of our new reality, one of my children cried “I don’t want to move again.” It was as if their words were aimed directly at my heart. I responded without hesitation, “You won’t move. I will buy you this house.” And I meant it. 

The moving process had been stressful. The arguing between my husband and I continuous. I moved them into the house the very first week of school. I knew more change would be too much. I was determined that it would happen and I would make it work.

I was full of faith. Until I looked at the numbers on the piece of paper which implied- I was seriously mistaken. 

I melted into a mild depression. I could not understand why my heart felt so strongly I could buy the house, but my head looked at my heart like it lived in a universe far away from reality. What was I thinking? At the end of the day the answers were in black and white. I was not going to be able to make it work.

Not only did I not have the down payment required to keep my monthly cost lower, I did not have the income to manage the monthly expenses of life itself. The disappointment I felt in myself and my situation was heart wrenching. The stress of my impending legal separation, finagling how I would survive financially and the massive amount of grief I felt as it seemed my entire life was falling apart was a lot to endure.

And yet, the answer to stay couldn’t have felt more right. I distinctly remember looking out my bedroom window one evening at the beautiful view from my house on the hill and thinking…”I’ve come here to heal.” I didn’t even know what that meant.

It turns out, it meant I would spend many months ahead ruminating over my choices. Wondering if I was truly making the best decisions for my family. Letting my heart speak to my head and compassionately tell it we would be okay. And then dissolving into myself in fear wondering if I was in fact, losing my mind.

I spent the next 9 months not knowing what was going to happen next. My husband moved out and bought a home. I paid my rent each month and prayed the following month would be the same. I had no real idea if the short sale would even go through and if I would even be able to afford it. The numbers on the paper were not budging.

I inherited some stock from my grandmother when she passed. I planned on cashing it in for the down payment, but it would still be nowhere enough. I cashed in savings bonds from the year of my birth. I scraped any savings I had. It looked like I may have just had enough. Maybe I could really do this.

And then it was official. The short sale was approved. I would be able to buy the house if I could come up with the money. What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. The day I went to cash out my stock the numbers had jumped up and I suddenly had more than enough for the down payment. The numbers on the paper changed overnight. I would not only have enough to buy the house and keep my mortgage somewhat manageable, I would have enough to help with some the starter bills that came with it. 

Because my husband and I were legally separated and he had bought his own home, the financial split was clean and had no legal issues to contend with. It’s almost like my buying the house was meant to be…

My leap of faith had paid off in ways I could not have predicted.

For the next year I buckled down and found ways to afford the house on my own that I wasn’t sure my husband and I could afford together. I felt strong, empowered, and continued to practice trusting myself and what felt right. 

The following year I resigned from my secure and stable paying school counseling job to work for myself. I still wanted to help people but I also wanted to write. I started a private practice for counseling and also officially ended my marriage. Two years later I had two books published in the same year, a self help book and a children’s book. I have a successful private practice working the hours I want to work and my bills continue to be paid. I am in awe nearly every month when I sit down to pay them and I realize what I felt was true, is. 

There is something to be said about using your head. To map out the possibilities, to make a plan, to see what could happen in black and white. But the truth is, we just don’t know. Our mind is unable to see the future and the outcome of our decisions. Yet our heart seems to have eyes that pierce through the unknowns, the darkness and focus on the dim light of clarity that is just out of reach.

Trust based living is not always easy. It requires practice of sitting with the fear and listening to it instead of pushing it away. It asks for check ins and disaster planning and poses fearful questions that are unable to be answered right away. It involves understanding yourself just enough to know that you are reliable and can be counted on even when things look bleak. 

But the alternative, to walk through life staying in one place that feels unsatisfying, unfulfilling and downright disempowering just because it’s “easy”, is not living. It’s existing. And at least for me, existing sounds terrifying. 

The numbers may not add up. The black and white may look bleak. Your head may be questioning your heart’s credibility, but that does not mean its time to end the dream. You have no concrete proof that either your head or your heart is right. But you do have proof that standing still gets you more of exactly where you are. 

You don’t really know what is going to happen if you take the next step. But you do know what will happen if you don’t.

The choice is yours. It always has been. 

Fuck You...and Thank You

While out having a beer with a friend earlier this week I was venting about my work and how tiring it can be. I explained how it feels like my clients hand me a plate of shit each week and my job is to take that shit and rearrange it, dress it up, make it look pretty and hand it back to them as a delicacy to appreciate instead of one they abhor. 

I know I’m doing my job well when I serve them a slice and it hits a chord of truth. “Fuck You, Lynn” are my very favorite words. Words of recognition they are on the path to healing. Words that confirm the resistance is ready to be seen. And once seen, we have the opportunity to move through it to return to a state of flow.

I feel fortunate to have the skills to be able to sift through the shit and find beauty. It seems to be one I was born with, but one that also requires maintenance, practice, and continuing education. To see serendipity, one must be open to flow. Let go of the grip of control and trust in the process of life. 

On my best days, I feel like a goddess. My vision is so clear and so full of beauty I could soar across the world sprinkling hope bombs with the power of my faith. On the tough days, I roll through my own pile of shit seeing nothing but shit and despising my chosen path.

This past week I rolled through the shit. One unexpected and highly uncomfortable event after another fell into my lap forcing me to pause and look at my reactions. I watched myself lose my ability to think clearly. I watched my fear swing into full gear and go into a protective mode that appears to be that of an 11 year old girl who lost faith in anyone’s ability to take care of her. I watched myself harden and crawl into myself so no one could get to me. 

I stopped meditating. I stopped journaling. I stopped sleeping. I started blaming. I started shaming. I did all the things I’ve done for years when I stop trusting. I attempt to take back control when I feel out of control. Survival mode at its best.

My tactics feel almost automatic. I don’t feel like I have control over them. This is when people say “I lost my mind.” “I’ve gone crazy.” “I don’t know who I am.” The voice of disconnection from oneself is well known.

It is the voice of the protective ego who swoops in under the guise as safety patrol. It promises to keep us safe while simultaneously fighting off the potential of trust by taking over and trying to do it all alone. 

I hear it loud and clear.

“I don’t trust anyone.” “Fuck all of this.” “I hate my life.” “Stay away from me.” “I am not safe.”

Ahhh yes. I know these voices well. And please get out of my way so I can navigate all of this with every fear I’ve ever known leading the way. It has notoriously worked exceptionally well. (insert sarcasm font)

The difference for me this go around is that I have been slowing down to watch my emotional reactions for many months now. Listening to the voices and narratives in my head and observing them before reacting to them. Sometimes. Other times I react and then go back and clean up the debris and shrapnel I’ve left in my path. 

It makes me feel volatile and unpredictable but I know this is the process to change. The process to real trust. Because trust, is a practice. Even for those of us who teach it. 

One thing I know for sure, when we are ready for growth, we are given many opportunities to elevate and move in a direction that is better than our current vision can see. Which means, our plate of shit can get an extra serving we weren’t quite expecting. Then we have a choice. Are you going to throw the shit against the wall and curse at it or are you going to look at the opportunity in front of you and be open to allowing the gift to reveal itself while not knowing what it is. 

I personally do both. 

I start by throwing the shit (aka feeling my feelings). Sometimes that looks like floods of tears. Sometimes its seething anger. Sometimes its recoiling from life. And sometimes that’s all in one hour. I grip for control. Its what I was trained to do. 

I give my fear a voice. 

And then I pause. I listen. I go for a walk. I vent to a friend. I write down my fears and then write down the truth. I look at my history and see how all the things I told myself would never get better, did. Always. In some way. 

I open myself back up to faith. But not without having a temper tantrum first. 

That is my current process. I hope at some point it will change. I’d like for it to move more smoothly and with less upheaval, but I won’t know that until it happens. 

The process of trust means allowing myself to feel. To surrender to myself. To experience all the yuck to let it move through me. To lean in to the resistance of feeling out of control. And once I do this, I begin to slooowly relax my grip. I begin to hear my intuitive voice remind me I am safe. I begin to feel the calm that comes after the storm. 

And then I begin my practices again. I step outside of myself and see my experience from a higher perspective. I look in from the outside and ask what is really going on. I see how once again, I am being asked to practice what I’ve been taught to strengthen my own muscle of trust and understanding so I can pass on to others. 

First take care of me, so I can support you. 

Well played Life, well played. Fuck You…and Thank You. 

As with all uncomfortable events, we are given small tastes of joy to make sure we see we are seen and supported. The universe slips in love notes so we know we are not alone. 

This morning mine came in the form of my daughter playing the son Walking on Sunshine saying we needed this, which lead to a spontaneous dance party in our living room with the three of us. It was the lightest I have felt all week. 

Followed by my son expressing how he loves to watch me sit on the couch and write because he can feel it is when I am the most happy. “Expressing your feelings in a way that works for you, but translates to rest of the world. Can you believe we were on food stamps five and a half years ago, Mom? I’m so proud of you. You are are my role model in life on how to take risks to follow your heart.”

With every dark day there is a beam of light somewhere shining through. And I will never stop being grateful for mine. 

What is your process to practice trust?

Are You Hardwired to Not Trust?

Have you ever wondered why it is so challenging to trust yourself, others and life itself?

I have. Often. 

After a successful year of pushing through my discomfort in 2018 and saying yes to life, I was feeling pretty confident that I had learned to “trust the process” and deemed 2019 the year I would live Serendipitously…fully trusting the flow of life. 

As all New Year’s intentions go I was full of hope that I was gonna rock the hell out of the year. Less fearful of my experiences and more engaged and hopeful in the present moment, knowing there was nothing to worry about. 

I know how to do it. I even wrote a book on how to clear the clutter to connect to our intuition and ourselves. I just had to use it. And I did. Inconsistently. One day I would be fully in and the next two fully out. I would start to feel good and then something would happen and I would stop. Sound familiar?

I spent a fair amount of time beating myself up for being inconsistent and getting into the state of worry again. Then I would bounce. I’d be back in and feeling good until the next event occurred which threw me off. 

I spent more time frustrated with myself and my inconsistent pattern and why it was so difficult for me to commit to this process of trust. I didn’t understand why I was so scattered and easily shaken.

My intuitive nudge was to start looking at the deeper root to what seemed like surface level fears. I would listen to my clients talk about the everyday stressors and listen for the fears underneath. Was it a fear of rejection, not being good enough, being alone or abandoned? Was it fear of physical safety or harm? Of conflict? Of not being in control?  They all seemed to boil down to one or two of these root fears.

It was eye opening and the more I would listen to others, the more I would see how our root fears seemed to be guiding our repetitive patterns. What I didn’t see was where those root fears came from. I just knew they were pervasive and kept playing out. 

I was confident I knew my own too. I had classic fear of abandonment due to my mother’s unstable emotional pattern and leaving this life (and me) by choice when I was a teenager. I saw my fears of conflict and my easy withdrawal from relationships to protect myself. What I didn’t see until a series of unexpected and serendipitous events this past summer, was the truth- my fears went much deeper and far more masked than I consciously knew. 

If you follow me on social media you may have seen how one incredible and mouth dropping experience after another brought me back to my earliest childhood trauma to re-experience the pain and uncover the real root of my fears. Loss of control. Lack of control. No control. The complete opposite of trust, which allows us to let go of control and feel at ease. 

I saw how for most of my life I had been scrambling and grasping for control and the idea of losing it terrified me and sent me spiraling. After having that experience I had to take a break from learning. That only lasted a couple of weeks. I seemingly could not stop myself from understanding what I had been missing for the majority of my life. 

One day scrolling through Instagram I discovered The Holistic Psychologist. If you have not seen her work, it is a must. I have not seen any work like it and it is truly a game changer. After devouring one post after another and using her recommendations I discovered the book, The Body Keeps the Score. I sobbed reading through the first two chapters. I was reading about trauma and its impact on brain chemistry and the body. I was reading about myself.

I had lead myself to believe I was over my trauma until last year. I had processed and over processed it and Life said, “sweetheart, you’ve done beautiful work, but now you’re ready to see a deeper truth.”

And smack in my face came one opportunity after another to dive even deeper into myself and see how I was chemically hardwired to not trust. My infancy experiences alone made it difficult for me to safely attach due to my emotionally disconnected mother and events where she put my brother and I in danger due to her own psychosis. One subsequent trauma after another built on that pattern and kept me in a steady state of high alert.

The more I learned the more I understood my anxiety was a chemical response to my perpetual feeling of threat and lack of safety. Playing out over and over again in my mind, real or not. It was a painful discovery, but also one that gave me a hope I didn’t know I was missing. I could change this pattern in myself. And I am. 

Mental health practices have long taught us to hide our symptoms, to avoid them, mask them or numb them out. Shaming us through our internal experiences instead of listening to them. Hearing what they have to say. As a mental health therapist, I have listened for the fears. As an energy therapist, I have learned how they are meant to teach us. As a human, I am learning to use that experience and knowledge to support my own ability to thrive and heal the patterns I once believed were a curse to endure.

There are no curses, only limited beliefs.

I am learning how this is the key to self compassion, to self love. To slow down and become more conscious of the stories we play out over and over again. The fears we feed by default and the intuitive voices that get hushed along the way. 

I know first hand the power of reconnecting to ourselves and our intuition. I see how awareness  of the beauty of life and its serendipities can shake us out of a dark and hopeless state. My intention is to keep digging in and learning and passing on to you what I discover. I want to share with you everything I have learned to be helpful and healing and powerful in this beautiful journey of life. 

Do you too believed you are hardwired to not trust? What have your experiences with trust been?

Faith is a Verb, Not a Noun

I turned 44 this year on the 4th of January. I knew it was a sign for an auspicious year ahead. Coming off my amazing Year of Yes at 43, I made the goal of 44 to truly Live Serendipitously…in the flow of my life. I had visions of riding the waves with ease. I would float through the challenges that may arise weightless and balanced.

I am seriously fucking adorable when I’m in my little happy place…eyes twinkling with dreamy knowing of my peaceful days ahead. I knew how to weather all storms. I was sure of it.

As the year begins to come to a close, I am in awe as I look back. Not of myself. Not of my skill. Not of my strength. Of the sheer boldness of the universe delivering to me what will go down as one of the most transformative years of my life. 

Sounds dramatic, I know. But it is. 

My outside life looks almost exactly the same as it did a year ago. Same house, same job, same fabulous children and content cat. My kids are taller, I work from home more, my relationships are stronger and more stable. Other than that it all looks the same.

But not one thing about me- inner me- has been left unchanged this year.

Since I was a small child I lived with crushing anxiety. The kind that wakes you up at night gasping for air. The kind that makes the dimmest of lights in the middle of the night feel like just enough oxygen to fight the terror of dark to get you through till morning. I assumed that anxiety was the curse I must live with until my death bed. 

I spent most of my life pretending my fears did not control me. I spent the last 10 years looking for ways to fight them into submission. I spent the last one recognizing that all they’ve ever wanted is just to be loved.

I know that Trust is the antidote to Fear. And I wanted to learn how to create that elixir in my veins and stop looking for it outside of me. 

When you are ready, life has a way of providing you what you’ve asked for. Sometimes it comes with pretty bows and shiny packaging. Sometimes it comes with mud and filth that stains your feet the deeper you walk through it.

For me it comes with both. 

To live serendipitously, with curiosity and gratitude, you must practice faith. Not once a month, or week or even a day. Sometimes you must practice several times a day…moment to moment. Hour to hour. Faith as a verb, not a noun. This is life by design.

To practice faith we are required to feel our feelings, to laugh with the jokes, to cry with grief, to be angry with injustice…and to lean into the beauty of every fucking emotion. To be able to feel is the gift of this life.

With every feeling we allow to surface we become connected to our true selves. Our divinity. The one that SEES life as it is. That knows the depth of what we are capable of. That LIVES in that capability. 

It’s not about being happy. It’s about being honest with ourselves, and truthful to the ones we love. It’s about learning to be present, and aware and content- just enough- in the moments that make up life.

I call bullshit on the quick fixes to health and happiness. They don’t exist. Joy is a practice. Gratitude is a practice. Living in LOVE is also a practice…until it becomes more of our natural state. And it is. We are getting there. 

Until then, it requires effort and consistency and faith in yourself and the life that supports you. It means owning your shit and not passing it on those you love. It means getting really clear on what you want to experience in this life that is specifically made for you. 

I know all of these sound like fluffy, hopeful words, and they are. But behind them lies a year of work and effort and ridiculously amazing gifts from the universe- who said to me- you are so ready Lynn. And I am.

And I know- whatever shows up in your life is because you are ready too. 

I Didn't Know How to Let Love In...Until Now

“You open your heart knowing there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible.” ~Bob Marley

A few months ago I was visited by my mother in a dream; my deceased mother who took her own life thirty years ago. In my dream, I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom thinking about my teenage daughter, who is around the same age I was when my mother died. I felt like my daughter was in distress, and I wanted to help her.

As I sat and pondered, I looked up and saw a blanket coming towards me. I knew it was my mother trying to comfort me, but I could not see her. I only felt her. I was confused and uncomfortable with her presence and why she was there.

She then became visible in her ethereal form; beautiful and healthy as I once remembered her long ago. A victim of mental illness, she had fought her own demons for years before making the decision to end her life.

Her exit from this world shaped the path of mine. I had not dreamt of her in many, many years.

From an early age I was her confidante. She shared her fears with me, as well as her insecurities and her deep depression. I took on the role as her caretaker and emotional support. She was desperate to be loved, and I was desperate to help her feel it. I felt I had to. If I didn’t, I might lose her.

She opened her arms to hug me in my dream, and I instinctively pulled away. This was not our relationship, and I didn’t trust it. It was not her job to comfort me. I was the one who comforted her. It didn’t feel safe.

She waited in silence with her arms wide open as I resisted. I was curious, but cautious. I slowly leaned in and felt her embrace…and then, I let go.

I let her hug me. I released my fear, leaned in even closer, and let my body go limp as I wept in her arms.

I have never experienced anything like it. A feeling of complete surrender and letting go into the care of someone else where I did not have to be strong. I did not have to fix anything. I did not have to make anything okay. I let myself be embraced by a love so powerful and comforting…just for me.

When I woke up, I felt an enormous wave of peace and contentment. Scribbling down insights and details at 4am so I wouldn’t forget.

I spent the next day enamored with the aha moments that followed. I saw the patterns that began early on that I couldn’t quite grasp. The fear of attachment and commitment. The danger I felt getting close to people. How giving love was a survival tactic to get my basic needs met and how receiving love felt dangerous and unknown.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fully experience being loved by others, I didn’t know how. I saw the push and pull in my relationships. I wanted to get close to people, but it felt risky. The closer they would become the more I would internally retreat in protection.

I had a strong desire to be connected to others, but the resistance that came with it was fierce. So much fear.

I married in my mid-twenties feeling I had a strong connection with my husband and I would comfortably ask for what I needed. Yet the more attached I became, the more my anxiety around loss intensified.

I feared arguments would lead to the end of the relationship. I was convinced that if I didn’t shape myself to meet his expectations I would no longer be welcome in his life. I felt the pressure to assess his needs while ignoring my own, which eventually lead to long-term resentment and the disconnect of our relationship.

Instead of telling my husband, I withdrew enough to deem the relationship no longer working. I was too scared to ask for what I wanted, assuming rejection and defeat. My biggest fear was that he would leave. Instead of waiting for the inevitable end, I chose to leave him before he left me, ...which lead to another debilitating fear—that I would hurt him.

I always felt I had to be tough, the one who took the hits. Because my childhood experiences with an emotionally unavailable parent positioned me as the caregiver, I believed that was my role in relationships. I did not think I had earned the right to support my own emotional needs.

And due to the fact that I’d failed to save my mother when she was in the most pain, an unwarranted, yet longstanding guilt created a fear of hurting others. I would rather put their needs over my own and “suck it up” so they didn’t have to experience what I had become an expert at—enduring pain.

After spending significant amounts of time with myself, comforting the wounds of loss from my twenty-plus year relationship, and getting to know who I was independently, I began to nurture my vulnerable heart. I realized my lack of love and compassion for myself was keeping me in a cycle of dysfunctional and unhealthy attachments.

As my heart strengthened and healed, I was introduced to new friendships with those who were willing to be open and vulnerable, and slowly began to do the same.

I noticed the more comfortable I became in my own skin, the easier it became to expose my true self. Yet, this didn’t elevate my trust in relationships, their intentions, or long they would last. I continued to keep those I loved at arms length in fear that they could be gone at any time.

Although I practiced trust, and even teach ways to move through fear in my career as a psychotherapist, it did not make trusting relationships any easier for me. I trusted myself and my own decisions, but when it came to interpersonal relationships I continued to fear connection and loss of love.

As I began to allow in healthier connections, my real challenges began to unravel. I wanted more intimate relationships equally as much as I feared them.

I started to notice how quickly I wanted to bail if things felt uncomfortable. I felt the inner sirens blare in alert when any kind of threat or disagreement began to brew.

My desire to run is almost instantaneous, like a reflex. I keep my shield up as I find the quickest way off the battlefield to protect my heart. It is a true challenge to not react based on fears that I developed long ago, despite the fact that my life is completely different, as am I.

This self-awareness combined with a consistent practice to respect my fears, has allowed me to make the changes I know are necessary. I now choose to change my patterns by doing the opposite of what I normally do. If I want to run, I stay put. If I want to shut down my emotions, I give myself the space to feel them so they move through me and dissipate.

If I want to pick a fight because I’m scared and want out, I practice sitting with it—or even better, I calmly verbalize my needs. I practice the pause to make sure I am not sabotaging something that is “normal” and will pass with space and calming of my internal wiring. I allow myself time to listen to what my fear is saying to me and question if it is real or imagined.

I’m learning to say how I feel out loud instead of hiding my irrational thoughts. The more I express them and work through them, the more I am realizing they’re just the way I’ve protected myself, but I don’t need them anymore. They are outdated, but still need the comfort of being heard and not dismissed.

The more I’ve changed my response to allowing love in, the more loving relationships and friendships I attract. With people who talk through difficulties and don’t threaten to leave. People who know my tears are normal and don’t criticize my skittish reactions to life. People who somehow inspire me to believe, maybe I really am enough.

I believe my mother’s message to me in my dream was really rather simple. My fears have been under the guise that love can be taken away, but my mother’s embrace showed me that love does not die. It changes forms. That each experience in my life has been a lesson of love; whether an opportunity to feel more love for myself or compassionate love towards others, knowing their own fears of loss of love are the same.

Every time one door has closed in my life, another has opened. Each person who has showered me with love and left has made space for more love to come in. And this is true for all of us.

Most of us are carrying around insecurities in relationships due to our experiences growing up. We’re scared of being hurt or rejected, and it’s tempting to close down—to shut love out so it can’t be taken away. But we need to trust that opening our hearts is worth the risk, and that even if someone leaves us, we can fill the hole in our heart with our own self-love and compassion.

The night after my dream, my independent, headstrong adolescent daughter asked me to lie down with her at bedtime. This is a rarity, as she has grown to not need me in her self-sufficient ways. I melted with the chance to put my arm around her as she released tears of pent up stress and fears of change. I recognized her sadness, I have felt the same.

My dream had come full circle. I am the mother I always wanted; the unconditional love and support I craved. And I am here to teach my daughter, that she, too, is not alone and love will never leave her.

Although I know my own work of self-love and acceptance will continue, I see now the rewards of opening my heart won’t cease. To let love in we must practice not shutting it out. In the end, it’s all we really want, and we can have it, if we open up to it.

Original post published on Tiny Buddha

When was the last time you asked for what you wanted?

I was sitting and working at a cafe over the weekend and a couple sat down at the table next to me. I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. Their voices overpowered my thoughts and focus.  They had not spoken in four months and the man reached out to the woman to get together and explain his disappearance from her life.

He explained how after their first meeting they both dove into the relationship head first. He wanted to get to know her and she wanted to tell him who she was. He also had recently started talk therapy at the time and was learning a whole lot more about himself than he expected.

He had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and he did not know what that meant. He wanted to understand himself and he saw how the relationship with her was taking away from that. She told him everything about herself…deep secrets he was sure she told no one else. He wanted to let her in, but he also wanted to know what he, himself was dealing with. 

It was clear to me he is a sensitive human, an empath for sure. Taking on the emotions of others and not being able to decipher his own is a common trait rarely identified or discussed in mental health arenas. This is often diagnosed as a disorder of some kind and a dysfunction. The heightened sense of your environment is not a disorder, it is a reality.

I listened to him continue explaining himself. How he didn’t call her back and then let it go. How he wanted to create space for himself, but didn’t know how to ask for it. 

Yet the relationship followed him. He knew he enjoyed his time with her but he was unsure how to maintain balance for both of them in the relationship.

“When I start to feel overwhelmed, I begin to shut down. I have my shit…I’m different. And if I start talking about myself, I feel like a drag. I had to learn to buckle down and see myself and how to manage my emotions. Everyone does.”

I was in awe listening to the conversation and questioning why I was there, privy to all this. I was enamored with the beautiful love story and became sucked in.

“I was on a date a few weeks ago, and you know I can make the most out of anything. But I was there and thinking in the back of my mind the whole time- I wish I was on a date with you.”

(Insert swoon)

He continued, “The separation between us was necessary. We were feeding off each other’s negative shit. But you guard yourself better than I do. We were having arguments with people from our past, but with each other. They were not even about us. 

I wasn’t upset with you, but I was treating you like you were the one who hurt me. And you just wanted to make it okay for me. You wanted to take care of it. It’s not your responsibility to make sure I’m okay.”

Damn, he nailed it. And he expressed it beautifully, boldly and with honesty. This is the kind of communication that amazing relationships are built on. The kind where fear of vulnerability takes a backseat to fear of not having what you really want. 

I felt honored to be the awkward eavesdropper and soaking in the connection between them. I knew it was teaching me too.

What this man described is the biggest wedge between us. The lack of honesty, of straightforward communication, of owning our shit- and then doing something different. 

He was feeling insecure to start the conversation but he was courageous enough to continue it. It is not always easy asking for what we want or the way we want it. There are still old voices that hold us back saying we can’t or we shouldn’t or we’re not worth it.

What if you challenged those voices? What would your life look like? What if this whole time you could have what you wanted and more?

I left the cafe feeling much lighter than when I arrived. Their exchange touched me, serendipitously, and reminded me of the areas I continue to work on in my own life. I know I needed the reminder. How about you?

Why Parenting Is Not About You

When I was a child I dreamt of becoming a powerful attorney living in a high rise apartment in New York City. I wanted to use my relentless arguing skills and my strong sense of protection for the greater good. I did not see marriage in my future, nor could I possibly imagine having children. No interest.

When I did choose to get married, I wondered if I would ever follow the typical path of starting a family. It was hard to see giving up my independence and passion to do so. It wasn’t until I held a premature baby in my hands that I had the flash of desire to care for something so small and seemingly helpless. That was the moment everything changed.

When I became pregnant with my first child my friends had a hard time imagining me as a mom. I felt the same. Two weeks before I gave birth to my daughter, I cried to a friend that I might have made a mistake and wasn’t sure I could do it. Having tragically lost my own mother while a teenager scarred me deeply and I felt like my ability to mother may have died with her. My confidence in my abilities was non existent.

This is the part of the story where I want to tell you that the first time I looked in her eyes, I knew she was what I was waiting for. But that is not even close to true. I felt even more frightened when I met her and even more concerned I had no idea what I was doing. The fact that she was relying on me to pretend like I did was even more scary. I suddenly felt the weight of responsibility that terrified me.

What if I screwed it up? What if I hurt her with my lack of knowledge? What if she didn’t like me or worse, what if I didn’t like her? A lifetime of attachment fears fed my mind and I felt trapped. It intensified when I realized there was no turning back.

Despite my fear, I took the job seriously. I read as many books as I could on how to feed properly, what temperature to not scald the child in a bath, natural remedies for common ailments and what an irresponsible mom I was for letting my child with sleep me so I too, could sleep.

I listened to advice. I took it all in and practiced patience, openness, techniques to get my kid to listen, techniques to get my kid to talk. How to get her to use a toilet and how to get her to clean up after herself. I wanted desperately to do everything right. No one told me that having a child was the equivalent of taking my heart out of my body and holding it out for the all the world to potentially hurt it. The risks felt so huge and the fear so big.

The only thing I could not seem to learn from a book was how to fully love my child—courageously. That, it turned out, was all on me and has been the biggest challenge of all.

After 16 years now of watching my daughter grow and 13 years of watching my son, as well as a lifetime career of working with kids, parents and friends, I’ve learned a few things worth sharing.

1- It’s not about Me.

As egocentric humans we tend think EVERYTHING is about us. The choices our kids make. The paths they venture down. Their successes and failures. None of it is about us. None.

My job as a parent is to guide, to inspire, to create an environment I hope they will thrive in, and then, let them live in it.

The more I make it about me, the more I teach them to lose their confidence, independence and ability to trust themselves.

Does this mean I don’t make it about me? Not a chance. I often make it about me because that’s what we do. It’s what we’ve been taught and its a tough one to unlearn.

On the days they thrive, I pat myself on the back. But on the days I am challenged, I have to again check in with myself to see it’s my insecurities and fears that make it about me even when it’s not.

2- I am not in control.

I never have been. The illusion of control I have held is strong. On my most insecure days I am certain I am in control of their minds, their choices, and their guilt. Nope.

They always make the choice how they will respond. They will either buy into my tactics or they won’t. I have absolutely no control over either despite my best efforts.

They began making their own choices the minute they ventured from the womb. Whether to eat or not eat, to sleep or not sleep, to listen or to ignore. It’s all been their choice.

I control their environment, their belongings in my home, and their comfort in it. I control my words and my expressions. My behaviors and what I model for them.

I control how often I tell them I love and accept them as much as I control my eye rolls. After that, I’ve got nothing.

When I let go of my need to control them, I am rewarded with their trust in me, trust in myself and faith in the process of life. It is the flavor of true freedom.

3- We all came here to love and be loved. All of us.

Our biggest “lesson” in life is to experience love at its fullest capacity. We have the innate desire to be loved and to give it.

That means we have to feel fear if we want to feel faith. We have to feel anger if we want to feel compassion. We have to feel hate if we want to feel love. The extremes are how we experience the full gamut of what life has to offer.

My role is not to shield my kids from this reality, but to use my own experience and wisdom to support them through their own it. They came here to live. My job is to mentor them through it, not to do it for them.

Of course I want to shield them from pain. I want to put them in a bubble and solve all of their problems. And if I did, it would be the biggest disservice to them to not let them truly feel what will make them stronger, wiser, braver and genuinely more compassionate human beings. The same as all of my pains and hardships have done for me.

Protecting them from challenge does not make them happier. It makes them more vulnerable to deeper pains, insecurities and ignorances I can’t protect them from at all.

Loving them courageously means letting them learn to do the same.

Checking in with these truths for myself is what helps me to fully love my children (and my role as their mom) to the best of my ability. And so far, it’s working for us.

Parenting is the most amazing and brave experience I’ve signed up for thus far. The most challenging, the most scary and occasionally- the most rewarding. The attorney in the high rise I dreamt of would likely not have had the courage to work in this gig. I’m forever grateful she changed her mind.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the Moms who bravely signed up for the same. :)

Say Yes to What Excites You and Make This the Year You Really Live

“I imagine that Yes is the only living thing.” ~E.E. Cummings

During the fall of 2017 I began openly dating, four years after my separation and divorce of a twenty-plus year relationship. It was scary. And I was clear—I didn’t want a commitment, I just wanted the experience and some fun.

My third round of online dating, I finally went out with some younger men who I assumed lined up with my non-commitment goal. It was different and fun, but also not quite what I wanted.

In December of that year, my friend, who was interested in getting to know me more and had been asking me to lunch for months, called me out on my non-commitment. I always had the perfect excuse as to why I couldn’t go. But none of them were as valid as the truth: I was scared.

What if I enjoyed my time with him? What if he liked me and I had to let him down because I wanted nothing to do with a real relationship? My biggest fear is hurting other people, so I didn’t want to even consider that option. Until he said, “Why don’t you stop avoiding and commit to lunch.”

I really dislike being called out, especially when it’s right. So I went.

And you know what happened? What I feared. I enjoyed myself—for four hours. It was filled with great conversation and great company. We closed down the restaurant with our lengthy stay. For someone who listens to people all day long as a professional counselor, I thoroughly enjoyed being listened to and heard. It was wonderful.

And from that moment, my goal for 2018 was born. The Year of Yes.

For the entire year I would commit to saying yes to opportunities that scared me. Ones that made me squirmy and uncomfortable and that promised to teach me something every step of the way.

In 2018, I created podcasts, which I had been avoiding. It scared me to put my work out there and expose myself. As I created them I discovered I loved them. They inspired me to continue doing the work I’m passionate about and still do.

I also opened myself up to doing a number of interviews that completely took me out of my comfort zone. If someone contacted me or an opportunity arose that made my heart beat fast, I said yes without thinking.

When my voice of inspiration popped up and guided me to write and post, I did. When I felt the pull to take financial risks that made me question my stability, I took them. If it felt scary but exciting, I said yes. And didn’t look back.

When the days were sunny and I had a ton of work to do, but a fun option presented itself, I chose the fun. Not an ounce of regret.

I said yes to adventure. I traveled more readily and confidently in 2018 than any other year of my life. I’m an anxious flyer and I jumped on a tiny plane up the coast and large planes across the country. I explored. I stayed open. I was scared, but I did it anyway, and loved it.

I also said yes to a new relationship—sloooowly. Very, very slowly.

In that relationship I noticed things in myself I could not have seen on my own. How quickly I want to bail if I’m uncomfortable. How hard it is for me to receive kindness and love and allow it to be a comfortable part of my life. How much I clam up when I want to run and how easy it is for me to shut down, all while teaching others how to do the complete opposite. Which meant I too, had to practice what I preached.

I learned to communicate like a champ. I shared my feelings when I would normally close them off. I let myself get close to people when I’d rather stay much, much further away.

I chose to say yes. I said yes to myself. I said yes to my life.

And I lived.

I lived in a way I’d been wanting to. I let the yeses guide me to the next step and the next place to grow and enjoy myself. I proved to myself over and over again that the rewards far outweighed the risks of what I thought it would take to be enjoying—truly enjoying—my life.

I reaffirmed what I believed to be true: When I follow my heart, my intuition, my knowing, life has a way of working itself out. Not without some level of discomfort. Not without experiences of pain. Not without changing some tough habits to shake. But all with a value that lasts and creates experiences I’ve desired all along.

I learned that my fear was also my thrill. My shaking and restlessness were also my courage. My pause was my inhale before the exhale to true joy.

We are trained to fear, to hold back and question all the things that can go wrong. We are masterful at saying no to living, to taking chances and being uncomfortable.

We want proof we will be okay. I know I do. And luckily, it already exists.

We have years of being afraid of worst-case scenarios that never played out.

We have memories of taking risks and things turning out even better than we expected.

There may also have been times when things didn’t work out better than expected, or even close. But when we didn’t get what we wanted, we usually got what we needed—we learned, we grew, and we opened ourselves up to new connections and possibilities.

From all our assorted adventures, there were pains that helped us grow stronger and triumphs that helped us feel braver.

We have proof that when we follow what feels right, we’re always on the right path for us.

We have a life that lovingly and courageously wants to be lived.

What would happen if you started saying yes? What would your life look like if you let yourself live? If you pushed through your fears and excuses and let your curiosity and excitement lead the way?

You have all the reasons you can’t. But you also have the reasons you can.

What will you choose?

Original Post on Tiny Buddha