Your words have power. Choose them wisely.
Gaslighting, Codependency, and Narcissism ring a bell?How about these:
10 Ways to Tell if You’re Being Gaslighted.
What to Do if You’re Dating a Narcissist.
How to Break the Cycle of Codependency for Good.
These titles are similar to the uncountable articles I see on a weekly basis by writers who have no mental health training whatsoever. Many of these terms (aside from gaslighting, which I’ll talk about later) are used when a therapist is diagnosing a client or as a specific part of treatment (i.e. codependency is a commonly used term in addiction treatment). These are words that any good therapist would never casually drop to a client in a therapy session — unless it was part of the client’s everyday lingo or they had a therapeutic intent for doing so, like offering psychoeducation on what narcissism or codependency is as it relates to the client’s mental health. A therapist would also never (well, they should never) diagnose someone that is not their client (i.e. saying the client’s spouse sounds like a narcissist would be an absolute no, no!).
Do you live as if your life depends on it?
Just like you, I often wish there was a shortcut to living the good life; but alas, there’s not.
All this talk about mindfulness makes it sounds like it’s a new buzzword; a new chic meditation style that can bring us instant enlightenment.
I wish mindfulness was the easy path to inner bliss, but it isn’t.
If you’re discouraged about reading on, just hear me out — at least for another paragraph or two?
Screw a college degree. Find a kid who knows nothing but the moment and study them up.
The year that old dude (well, he was old to me) wrote that bestseller about learning all you needed to know in kindergarten, I was overstuffing my brain with college wisdom.
I rolled my eyes at Robert Fulgham’s simple truths while sacrificing many, many precious trees to fill notecard upon notecard with endless biology facts. I filled many paper cups with vending machine coffee while yawning my way through Dickens and Tolstoy. I turned a blind eye at free-spirited children’s laughter and squeals in the park I ran laps in until my legs gave out.
I was a cutter. My body was my bullseye until his death transformed me.
I’ve always been a thoughtful, cautious person. Ever since I could remember I’ve taken great care with my actions. My family used to jokingly call me the alien child because I wasn’t carefree and careless at times like everyone else in my household.
Then when puberty hit and my hormones raged, I started to be more reckless with my life. I still wonder why no one told me about hormones and the moodiness that accompanied them like a haunting old flame? I think a semblance of awareness of the changes happening to my brain and body would have saved me loads of pain and inner-struggle, and perhaps even transformed my life.
Somewhere along the line, I realized I had to love her.
For years I tried to heal her. But instead of healing her, I suppressed her. I choked her. I suffocated every last morsel of her darkness into a New Age love and the light-filled abyss.
I would write affirmations 50 and then 100 times over.
I love myself. I am worthy. I’m confident. I am valuable. I am enough.
Why my traumatic wake-up call was enough for us all.
A rude awakening taught me to savor everything. And I mean everything. It happened 19 years ago, leaving a watermark over my life. Leaving an imprint on my family. Branding my mind and heart with the words, BE HERE NOW.
I’m sharing this with you to save you some time, and maybe even some suffering.
Living a fulfilled life has nothing at all to do with income. Here’s why.
For years I ran what outsiders perceived as a successful holistic business. By many standards it was successful. My workshops, classes and private sessions were always booked. I left my office every day feeling satiated. My heart was full. I was living a life I had dreamed about for so long, one where I got to share my gifts with the world through yoga, reiki, and intuitive coaching. But financially, I was always just getting by.
By society’s standards, just getting by isn’t enough.
Because a good man is hard to find.
“A good man is hard to find.”
I remember my mom saying these words to me when I wanted to start dating. The words pressed pause in my psyche and made me question my heart. Was the guy who asked me out not good? Was my mom giving me this warning for a reason? Did she not trust my judgment? Or, were good men really as rare as my mom said they were?
Being a writer used to feel like a curse, until one traumatic event transformed it into a blessing.
Years ago I tried to give up writing when I realized all of my good work came from heartache and loss. I grew tired of squeezing my bleeding heart onto the page. I got caught up in the quick fix movement, you know, that self-help world where every author has found the key to some semblance of contentment.
I just wanted to be happy like everyone else.
Get emotionally naked.
Six years ago, I chose to leave a man who wouldn’t talk. When things got emotional, he would work and work and work. I didn’t pester him to talk. I thought if I let him be, he would emerge with words and we would feel connected once again.
But he never emerged.
Soul Writer. Single Mama. Life ponderer. Nature Lover. Therapist. Introvert. HSP & Empath. Life is my playground and each day a blank canvas.