Posted on Apr 13, 2019
Attended my fifth Colin James concert a couple of weeks ago (including the acoustic guitar duets with Chris Northey way back when in a small venue that allowed me to sit in the third row—nearly close enough to make eye contact); and he never fails to impress. So I was a bit puzzled by my melancholy mood the following day as it felt different from the usual post-excited, exertion crash that comes with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome territory.
Listening to his 1990s upbeat big-band-sound CDs only
generated a bittersweet sensation. As I mulled this over, my brain began to
make connections. There was the nostalgia of reconnecting with a college buddy
which of course brought a bit of reminiscing from our young adulthood. What we
would have told our younger selves! In that cosmic quirk of old friends picking
up a long-lost conversation as if no time had passed, it was like travelling
through a worm hole that holds past, present, and future concurrently. Like
there was some energetic thread tenuously holding it all together. But I
digress.
My ah-ha moment came when my brain associated this event
with the last time I attended a Colin James performance. I even commented on it
to my concert companion. A little more than two years ago, I was struggling in
my unraveling marriage and told myself ‘hang in there’ until the Colin James concert
in March. And somehow I did.
Unbeknownst to me, the Universe was conspiring to help me
make huge changes in my life and preparing a path for me. Arrangements began
falling into place, and by June there was a solid plan to implement when the
time was right.
As I reflect upon my situation two years ago to now, it
occurred to me that Colin James supported me in ways of which he is completely unaware.
His music and his lyrics not only energize me, they also comfort and encourage
me. Last night he played one of my favourites: Freedom. And I was able to sing along with renewed gusto. The only
way the concert could have topped its thrilling magic was if he had played Walkin’ Blues –whose meaning is of
course inexorably linked to Freedom
on my life journey.
Freedom: liberation from incarceration. So much more than
being freed from a physical prison. I felt held captive in a 20-year marriage
with manacles so imperceptible it took a powerful magnifying glass to find them
in order to release myself. Even stronger were the mental shackles: some of my
own making, others conditioned in my upbringing. A network of core beliefs and ingrained
negative thought patterns that became self-reinforcing, as they usually do, in
the long run.
Colin James helped me think outside the proverbial box of my core beliefs. Come to think of it, he also helped me to emote on a much deeper, more thoughtful, level by connecting me with the intense roots of the Blues, powerful both communally and individually. Most important, he helped me choose freedom. Freedom to find myself. Freedom to be myself. Freedom to live congruently with the beliefs I kept and new ones that I embraced.
I owe Colin James a debt of gratitude which I could never express, let alone repay. I thank him for being the musician, as well as the person, of integrity that he is. He plays a significant role on my healing journey toward integration and expression of Self. As I try to put this experience into words, it’s more of an ephemeral feeling than solid thought. And I think that’s the beauty of music and shared experience: meant to be lived in the moment and savoured upon reflection.
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Posted on Mar 16, 2019
Friday’s session with my trauma therapist ended on a
bittersweet note. It was a celebration of not only my therapy journey but also
the role he played. I could not have gotten this far without his gentle
guidance. In return, he felt honoured to join me on my journey and to bear
witness to my recovery and growth. As a therapist, I have also been privileged
to bear witness to my clients’ success and be the recipient of their deep
appreciation.
These conversations usually mark a transition from an ending to a beginning: the ending of counselling therapy overlapping with the beginning of the next phase of a person’s courageous journey of self-discovery and growth. What made Friday’s conversation different was the likelihood of a final good-bye.
You see, my therapist has been fighting cancer for a while now. And what seemed like effective treatment has taken a turn for the worse. Hence the bittersweet moment: a celebration of my success and the therapeutic alliance we formed coupled with a permanent ending—not just the usual “ext interview.”
Part of the ending process for therapy includes the reassurance that they can always re-access therapy if/when needed. I am glad that I am doing really well compared to when my therapy journey started and was steering toward the “exit” process anyway. Simply put, it is always hard to say such a weighted good-bye with the hint of finality—especially to someone who has had such a significant impact on your life.
In an interesting cosmic twist, my therapist’s legacy will endure
in my counselling room as I continue to pass on to my clients what I learned under
his guidance: to manage my anxiety, to dive deep, to come up for air, and to
not only persevere but thrive. His influence has been present in many a session
already. Now it will be with more poignancy.
As a trusted friend said to me, at least you had a chance to
say good-bye. Which is very true, and for that I am extremely grateful. How
many times to we say a final good-bye without knowing it? How often do we wish
we could have said good-bye, but didn’t have the option or opportunity?
So in an effort to honour the legacy and the final journey we all must make, transitioning from this life to the next, may the words of this Irish blessing go with him.
May you see God’s light on the path ahead
when the road you walk is dark.
May you always hear,
even in your hour of sorrow,
the gentle singing of the lark.
When times are hard may hardness
never turn your heart to stone,
May you always remember
when the shadows fall—
You do not walk alone.
I also wish you all a Happy St Patrick’s Day this weekend. May you wholeheartedly celebrate the love of life, family, and friends! Sláinte!
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!
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Posted on Oct 13, 2018
Once again I am combining two months into one blog. Somehow, when this happens, I feel guilty—and that I have to explain myself. I’m not sure of what I’m guilty: Being lazy? Failing? Deep-seated beliefs rumble below the surface. Beliefs I have been fighting for a long time—but most ardently since being diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Myalgic Encephalomyelitis nearly 7 years ago.
It occurred to me today that I have never blogged about living with an invisible illness. Well, that’s not true. I have written about anxiety and depression. Those are also invisible illnesses. But we have this strange habit of separating mental and physical illnesses. Which is technically impossible for two reasons: 1) mental illness has a biological location—the brain; and 2) we cannot have a mental illness without a physical body. There is no such thing as separating the mind from the body. Emotions and cognitions all happen within the body—a physical location. So why do we separate them? And even more oddly, why do we classify one as “acceptable” or “within reason” and the other as “all in their head?” That is rather absurd.
However, my “physical” invisible illness is one that usually doesn’t get recognition in any field—and is often wrongly classified as “mental;” and therefore the human’s fault. So we’re back to the crazy notion that mental illness is not physical—and mental illness is judged to be of the person’s own making. I also don’t know how a person can experience debilitating symptoms without any causation (or be self-inflicted). Why would the brain (aka mental breakdown) mess with one’s body in that way? That makes no sense. I just finished watching the documentary on Netflix called “Unrest” by Jennifer Brea. I was horrified by how some patients are treated—taken away from loving homes and institutionalized without any further family contact! I also felt extremely lucky that my illness is not as severe as others experience it. I am not bed ridden. I haven’t lost my ability to communicate (brain misfiring aside). I am not in a semi-coma. And experts say this is self-inflicted???
I don’t know of any human being on this planet that would make themselves sick of their own volition. Yes, our choices often lead to sickness—but that’s not what we set out to do. And no one asks for anxiety or depression. Those are equally debilitating as the auto-immune illness I have. And sometimes I can’t tell them apart. Is this a depressive episode? Or a chronic fatigue crash?
This afternoon I took my dog for a 2km walk through the woods which tuckered me right out. I used to hike 16km in rocky terrain and make my way up and down mountains! At least I have a past life to reflect upon. Some people in the documentary were children and teenagers who hadn’t even lived yet. Their world consisted of their bedrooms and what they could experience from their beds. I can’t imagine being bedridden. However, every morning, getting out of bed is a struggle. So I could relate to the documentary—ironically as a chronic fatigue crash had me lying on the couch. Once the film was finished, all I wanted to do was rest. My dog had other ideas.
Tonight, I know a bath would be good for me post-massage; but the exertion required for “drawing a bath” discourages me from doing something good for my aching body—and prevent more soreness tomorrow. That’s when it dawned on me maybe I should write about this. It feels like too much work to fill a bathtub with water. Yes, you read that correctly. How can something so simple be far too much work—far more effort than it’s worth? Story of my life: assessing the cost-benefit ratio before pursuing any activity. So, instead of the exertion of bathing, I decided to write about my crash; when really all I want to do is read in bed.
This particular eddy of my thoughts is actually part of a bigger swirling mass in my brain within the theme of suffering well. This is not new to me, but has been resurfacing lately…
…Well, I had to abandon ship last night. My brain refused to keep up. And this morning it was a challenge to get out of bed—prompting me to ponder what it would be like to “give in” to the sluggishness and just stay in bed. It is a push-pull dynamic: grateful I have the energy to push myself out of bed, but always with the anticipation (the pull) of a rest. And never without with the overhanging thought I could/should be doing more. I have innumerable projects I want to pursue to completion, but insufficient mental and physical resources for follow through. And then I punish myself from deep within—those haunting beliefs that I am lazy or failing if I can’t produce/accomplish/achieve. Oddly enough, I asked myself this morning what it would be like to “indulge” in remaining in bed for a day; knowing full well my fellow CFS/ME sufferers who are bedridden often pay for indulging in any form of activity with a crash. So do I—but not as dramatically as seen in the documentary. Push-Pull.
I learned in the documentary that CFS/ME claims lives every year via suicide—the depression consuming their compromised life into appearing meaningless, hopeless, pointless. And it certainly feels that way at times. The struggle is real even if unseen. I feel it every day that I cannot live up to cultural expectations: to earn sufficient money for my daily expenses let alone a future retirement; to attend social functions; to participate in activities that others enjoy easily. I have to plan, starting with assessing the cost-benefit ratio. Asking myself how much effort is required and will the payout be worth the exertion—either mentally or physically—as well as anticipating what the fallout will be if I decline an invitation or an opportunity, and how much time I need to budget for recovery (reducing my capacity to earn money, build connections, etc.).
Jennifer Brea described it has having a battery always at 10%. As you can imagine, that requires frequent recharging for minimal output. We all know what it is like when our electronics’ batteries drain faster than our usage—we get frustrated when our technology can’t keep up with the demand. Imagine what it’s like having a body that can’t recharge to sustain usage.
So, we are left with a predicament. How to manage a perpetual low battery while maintaining enough quality of life to counter the depression that is lurking in the corners, ready to pounce and consume us? This is where the work of holocaust survivor, Viktor Frankl, comes in: the idea of suffering well. Pain is unavoidable, but what about suffering? Viktor states: “We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us.” (Frankl, p. 77). If I could capture the “moral of the story” from Jennifer Brea’s documentary, it would be these words of Frankl’s. She is bravely learning what life expects of her as well as teaching the despairing fellow-sufferers to grasp onto that same hope/lifeline.
Frankl borrows from German philosopher, Nietzsche, who is known for a few quotable phrases such as “Was mich nicht umbringt macht mich stӓrker.” (That which does not kill me, makes me stronger.); and “He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.” (Frankl, p. 82, 104) Frankl expands upon these concepts by saying, “[hu]man’s main concern is not to gain pleasure or to avoid pain but rather to see a meaning in his life” (Frankl, p. 113)–affirming my belief that the Western world is very misguided in their impossible pursuit of happiness. Frankl goes on to say,
“There are situations in which one is cut off from the opportunity to do one’s work or to enjoy one’s life; but what never can be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains this meaning literally to the end. In other words, life’s meaning is an unconditional one, for it even includes the potential meaning of unavoidable suffering. (Frankl, p. 114).
Frankl’s concept is reiterated in an emotional regulation workbook: “While we can’t always control the pain in our lives, we can control the amount of suffering we have in response to that pain.” (McKay, Wood, Brantley, p. 9) And at the very beginning of suffering well is the radical acceptance of pain and suffering: it just is. No one escapes it or is exempt from it. So if I can’t avoid it, how can I make the most of it? This is the challenge life presents us. A lifelong work in progress—only ending in death. And some, understandingly, do choose a premature death for very complicated biological, mental, emotional, and social reasons.
So where am I going with all this? I suppose it is my attempt at following the examples of Frankl and Brea: to learn for myself and encourage my despairing fellow-sufferers. Your life, whatever it looks like, counts and matters. It is up to us to choose how to live it/play the cards we are dealt—choose what to do with the Gift of Life—unique to each and every living being.
And so I ask: What makes your life meaningful in all its glory and its limitations?
References:
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl (2006 edition)
The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook by McKay, Wood, & Brantley (2007)
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Posted on May 14, 2018
I meant to write a blog entry for April; but somehow the month got away from me. Maybe it had something to do with adopting a 7-month-old puppy from a rescue 3 hours from where I live. I have never had a puppy before: albeit a more mature one. In the past, I have adopted 2-year-old dogs. Ones that are house trained and have basic obedience training. However, both adult dogs adopted previously had to attend obedience classes. In reality, they are training the humans more than the canines. And over time, it really does feel like the dogs train their humans to a certain degree. Maybe it’s joint effort or negotiating a compromise.
Beyond reciprocal training, dogs are great teachers. I have learned so many life lessons from being a “pet parent.” They are also invaluable companions offering comfort and solace in times of need. Not to mention exercise trainers and lovers of structure and routine as well as playmates. No such thing as all work and no play in the canine world!
I have only had my new love, Abbie, for a couple weeks; and she has already fulfilled all of the above. In fact, 3 important lessons happened within the first day! Amazing how organizing for a new pet can teach one about taking ownership for oneself. It all started with choosing how to spell her name: Abbie or Abby. I was strangely conflicted, wanting the input of others on how I spelled the name of my dog. I limited myself to consulting my sister–whom, by the way, chose Abby. Instead, I paid attention to what was going on for me–and the fact that I was leaning towards Abbie. I had to own my preference and not rely on common consent. I suspect it is rooted in my fear of judgment and criticism; but I didn’t dig that deeply. I focused on making my own decision. And I chose Abbie.
Which brings me to my next ownership lesson. It was a bit of an impromptu/impulse decision. Not my forté. I tend to over-think things and second guess myself–and yes, obsess about even basic decisions. I had to curb those tendencies and go with my gut given that I can talk myself in or out of almost anything. It was neither easy nor hard to do: more of a decision to make a decision–and follow through. And trusting serendipity.
The third lesson happened on the 3-hour drive there and back (total 6 hours). This was me pursuing something I wanted for me and my future. It also forced me to look back as I passed through familiar territory from my young adulthood; as my journey took me to where I lived for a year after high school and is also along the route I travelled numerous times to and from college in Saskatchewan. It gave me an interesting perspective of how far I have come in life as well as coming full circle. I have reclaimed my former independent streak but with the benefit of decades of life experience. It was almost a symbolic gesture of reclaiming my power. In an ironic twist, I never had a sense of personal power to accompany my independent spirit. I am a study of contrasts.
So without even trying, Abbie has taught me a lot already. As an added bonus, she is really quick and learns commands and boundaries almost effortlessly. Well, for the most part. There are a few kinks to work out yet. Equally important, her energy and exuberance for life are infectious. She pushes me beyond my comfort zones (physically and psychologically). As I gain confidence, so does she. We are a well-matched team. A dream come true. Her loving nature and openness also creates a sense of safety. She definitely isn’t like either of my previous rescues as she doesn’t have behaviour issues to untrain. She is a unique experience and one I gladly embrace.
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Posted on Mar 20, 2018
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
~ Haruki Murakami
It’s been a stormy couple of weeks…with a lot to process. The purpose of processing? To learn the lessons presented by the various challenges. I’ve discovered that I function on auto-pilot much of the time; especially when it comes to interacting with people. And then my brain analyzes those interactions on a continual playback loop, like a mental video on repeat. Takes a bit of effort to stop that playbook loop at times. Particularly if it’s a confusing situation or involves a power imbalance. This time I had to slow the loop right down rather than force an abrupt stop.
I don’t respond well when intimidated—even less so when it is intentional intimidation—such as when someone is condescending and supercilious. We all know those scenarios when someone tries to put us in our place or make us feel at a disadvantage. My latest experience with a “power broker” prompted much analysis. No matter what I tried to stop the obsessive thinking, my loop kept playing until I figured out the lesson: I need to honour my gut instinct and intuition. What I “sense” is as important as what I taste, see, smell, touch, and hear. Like most sensitive people and empaths, I grew up with the messages that I was reading into things, being over-sensitive/-reactive, needing to give the benefit of the doubt. In sum, to second guess and not trust mySelf; which leads to putting myself in harm’s way, be taken advantage of, take one on the chin.
I have learned to minimize and doubt what I sense or intuit without even thinking about it. I may get defensive without understanding why; and thus react reflexively because I haven’t process the incoming “sensed” data. Conversations can become confusing and veer off in unexpected directions. Leaving me distressed and uncomfortable. To add to the misery, even that sensation gets minimized automatically. And then the constant playback loop starts because I screwed up somehow and need to figure it out to protect myself from potential future interaction failures.
So. While I am confused and obsessing, I have to defy my auto-pilot—fumbling for the override switch while in crisis mode. It is one thing to be mindful and present when in a calm state (such as part of daily routine), or in slightly elevated states (like waiting in line or for an appointment); but it is quite another thing to be mindful when under duress—as the brain and body has a finely-tuned coping response that is engaged subconsciously. I am still learning how to override the “stress auto-pilot.” Basically, it is a version of “freeze mode”—or playing dead. I don’t tend to fight or flee when stressed. I shut down. I turn inward. I assume I am doing (or being) something wrong.
Hence, I need to keep retraining my brain. Prompting my amygdala to rely on a fourth option instead of fight, flight, or freeze. I have to find that override switch before I encounter perceived threats. So that when my amygdala fires up and engages the engine light of my brain, I am ready to read the incoming data. Data that is nearly imperceptible: the tone of voice, choice of words, eye movement, gestures, energy shifts, a “sense.” If I feel uncomfortable, I need to pay attention. Acknowledge the sensation. Take it seriously, for what it is. If I sense something is off, it is off. Then I can choose what to do next. I don’t have to wait for the conversation to end or attempt to anticipate the next move. I can acknowledge this isn’t working for me and ask myself what to do/say next without being rude, aggressive, or defensive. Sometimes it is as simple as making a mental adjustment without any obvious outward change.
I have such a long way to go in reclaiming my power. I am so conditioned to giving up my power for the greater good, to keep the peace, that I fail to own it before routinely relinquishing it. I need to own who I am and my complete sensory intake. Once I can be mindful of every experience, I can move on to speaking up about what I perceive. Tactfully, of course. That will take much more practice and likely an increase of obsessive playback loops analyzing my every thought and action. But I will get there.
I have many more storms to brave yet. For that’s what life really is all about, isn’t it? Learning how to journey through storms. We certainly can’t avoid them—as much as we waste energy trying to do just that. Life is all about the storms with the odd break in the weather. And my storm detection equipment needs tweaking—not to avoid them, but to prepare more effectively.
I will keep meeting challenges, learning the lessons, and practicing the skills. In the words of Louisa May Alcott,
“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.”
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Posted on Jan 23, 2018
New year. New you. How often do we hear versions of that throughout the month of January? We are actually self-sabotaging our self-improvement efforts when we force New Year’s resolutions upon ourselves. Primarily because it is the wrong time of year for making big change. In reality, spring and fall are the seasons for change. We set ourselves up for success when we consider when we make change as well as what we want to change.
Instead of resolution, I think January is a better time for reflection. With proper reflection, we can make well-thought-out changes when the time is right. And when we are ready to make change, we will have the resolve to follow through.
January is a good time to reflect back on the past year to consider what went well, what didn’t go well, what could use tweaking, and what needs to be left alone. It’s also an opportunity to let go. Let go of what didn’t work and all the associated emotions. Let go of last year’s disappointments. Focus on what could be better this year.
And we really do have to embrace the serenity prayer as it is commonly known:
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
~ Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971)
When we reflect upon the past year and consider what might be ahead, we do have to acknowledge that there are things that cannot be changed, as well as what kind of courage it will take to embrace change.
And often, we are easily overwhelmed by the thought of making change. We see the effort required, and think we don’t have the energy, time, or motivation. Dig deeper and we might see that we do not believe we are worth the effort to make necessary changes. Sometimes we stay stuck because we are stuck in our thinking or have unrealistic expectations of ourselves or others.
A time of reflection is very necessary to follow through on resolutions. When we resolve to do something, we need to know what is truly achievable at this time. We need to build upon small successes to see a big dream come to fruition. It doesn’t happen with one leap, single decision, or overnight. If we are changing habits, we need to be able to address the thinking that started the bad habit in the first place. Note to self: comfort eating. Am I worth the effort of choosing more effective ways of handling emotions or self-soothing? And maybe I’ll start with reducing how much I eat compulsively rather than omitting all comfort food.
I need to know why I am aiming for change in order to ensure success. If I am making change for someone else’s reasons (i.e. latest fitness or food trend), I won’t be motivated to see it through. It’s not realistic for me to work out a gym, but I can take a 20 minute walk every day. What do I enjoy? What can I enhance? What works with who I am as person? How do I want to live the gift of my life?
That really is the question: how do I want to live the gift of my life? I only get once chance. Do I want to spend the gift of my life to meet the expectations of others? Or do I want to live out the gift of my life honouring the very gift itself? What is the gift of…”me”? Only I am responsible for “me”—what do I want that to look like? How do I want to express what makes me “me”?
So, if I can challenge you this new year, take some time for quiet reflection before making any changes in 2018. Be sure you know what you want to change, what you want to change to, and what it will take to change. And during this quiet time of reflection, make sure to also take note of what went well and what you want to carry forward into 2018.
Only you can be you. This isn’t about adhering to a belief system, living up to standards or expectations, achieving resolutions. This is about knowing who you are. The gift of being you. How can you be “you” this year? Take time for quiet reflection to discover who you “naturally” are, what about your life is consistent with who you are, and what isn’t. Sometimes following someone else’s “good” or “right” is in fact harmful to your very Be-ing. Be sure to ask (and answer — with kindness and compassion) the question, “Who am I?” before resolving to make change this year. You might discover your initial resolutions are not what’s most needed for your Be-ing.
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