3 tips that have saved me and might save you too!
It’s taken me nearly 2 weeks to write about this — not because I didn’t want to — but because I didn’t feel ready to.
For Harry Potter fans, coronavirus has felt like Voldemort to my mind. Writing about the virus that I wish didn’t have to be named has taken me lots of mental and emotional processing time. And perhaps you can relate. It went from being insidious to pandemic within weeks.
Suddenly my daughter’s school was canceled “indefinitely.” My heart lept into my throat when I read the school district’s email. I was moving into my new therapy office that day. I brought Clorox wipes with me and cautiously wrapped the wipe around the door handle as I walked into my new space. I saw one client and then got a notice from my supervisor that the county mandated us to start seeing clients via telehealth.
Suddenly the seriousness of the matter hit home — literally.
Hint, it starts with this thing we call “purpose”…
Do you live every day to the fullest?
I’ve spent years plucking away jobs, activities, and people that suck the marrow out of my life. Why? I’ve seen one too many people I love wither away into a sea of despair — spending their lives doing what they thought they should do rather than doing what they love.
After devoting their whole “working lives” to their jobs, both my parents (Baby Boomers), and grandparents (the Silent Generation) retired into a state of purposelessness, despondency, and depression. Sometimes by watching those we love spin into a state of discontent, we learn what not to do.
To learn to live an empowered life
I used to yearn for friendly gazes from people, even strangers.
My highly sensitive, empathic self would shrink when my eyes were met with a glare or a snarl from a stranger. I would give my power away, unconsciously merging with an unknown soul, and join them in their space of suffering.
But recently, this all changed…at a traffic light.
It almost killed me too
I, like you, have been fighting my negative emotions all of my life.
Somewhere along the mucky maze of societal conditioning and dysfunctional family patterns, I started to doubt most of my feelings, especially the so-called bad ones.
My self-doubt led me down the bleak road of emotional repression. However, as I repressed what I deemed the icky, I also began to repress what I deemed good. For my emotional brain, it became too challenging to veer off the emotionless road of repression into the colorful field of expression. It was easier to just treat all of my emotions with the same doubt and mistrust. Maybe you’ve been there too?
One perception shift at a time.
My body hurts, and yet, I’m smiling the deeper-than-lips smile of inner contentment.
Contentment was something that I felt sparingly in my early life. I was raised to think emotional pain and inner and outer discord were typical baseline experiences.
I suffered from Celiac disease for years (because I guess I thought chronic stomachaches were the norm). Then I found yoga and meditation, and I was somehow able to tolerate my physical and emotional discomfort with a newfound connected, yet detached, awareness.
If you’re addicted to your feelings of inadequacy — then you’re not alone.
For years, I’ve seen only the gaping holes in my life. I’ve looked around me and often ignored the love and the connection that is reaching out to me.
I’ve focused on the empty moments: the texts that aren’t returned by friends, lovers, or family members. I’ve focused on the gruffness of the cashiers that suddenly turn my open heart sour. I’ve focused on the quiet nights when I’ve gotten no phone calls. I’ve focused on the debt and the lack of funds in my bank account.
I’ve been addicted to seeing what I don’t have, instead of seeing what I do have.
And why the writer in me wants to tell it all
Everything that has happened to me is a story.
I’ve always felt this incredible desire to share my stories in hopes that they might bleed into the fabric of your story and perhaps transform you because that’s what stories do — they transform.
But I can’t tell it all to you.
I really want to. Trust me, I do. I have some juicy stories that will make you feel all sorts of crazy. I have some heartwarming tales that will melt your soul up. I have some hot and steamy sagas that will light you up, inside and out.
But I can’t tell it all to you.
When self-sabotage is a comfortable discomfort.
I wrote an article about an emotionally triggering event. It went viral.
I should have been ecstatic — over the moon, really. Instead, I was left with mixed feelings.
The earnings I made from that article paid for my rent and then some.
Instead of writing more to “earn more,” I wrote less and shockingly watched my reader stats and followers go up daily.
Let me unpack my mixed feelings one layer at a time.
Curious? Read on.
Writing is like lovemaking.
It requires foreplay.
It needs to flirt with thoughts and notes and voice memos throughout the day.
It needs to be needed — constantly.
Sometimes it wants to play rough and make you work for it.
Sometimes it wants to make love to you with soft kisses and gentle caresses all night long.
Sometimes it wants to tease you until you cum unexpectedly with a piece that is utter perfection.
Do the holidays make you overwhelmed too?
I can think of 10 million other places I’d rather be than a holiday party. One of them is a cave with a friendly, cuddly (probably smelly — because since when do caves have showers?) lion. Smelly, cuddly lion sounds a lot more fun than a roomful of people asking me the same question on repeat while donning ugly sweaters.
The holidays suck. Any HSP would agree with me, right?
Soul Writer. Single Mama. Life ponderer. Nature Lover. Therapist. Introvert. HSP & Empath. Life is my playground and each day a blank canvas.