Ending the Nightmares

I recently started reading When Things Fall Apart, Heart Advice for Difficult Times by Pema Chödrön. In one chapter she recounts a story of her best friend who began having nightmares in which she was being chased by monsters – running away from something scary and unfamiliar. Pema asked her if she’d ever turned around to look at them, to see them, to face them. She said no and Pema suggested in the next nightmare to turn around and run towards them rather than away. Her friend did just that and the nightmares ended.

The fascinating part of this story for me is that one even has the ability to control themselves within a dream. I always believed dreams were part of our subconscious and we simply had no influence on them. Yes, I know you can eat certain foods or do activities near bed time that could affect your dreams, but I didn’t know you could decide to perform a specific action and then actually do it.

Beyond that, it reminded me of the nightmares I had as a child. I don’t remember the number of years I had them but in addition to bad dreams, I experienced night terrors that included sleep walking. I don’t remember much about them, which I’ve heard is normal. I’ve been told most of the time when they happen, the person doesn’t even know they woke up the night before.

My mom told me in one instance I moved a chair or stool to the refrigerator to get a pair of scissors from the top. After I got them, I found a book and shredded it. Another story she told me was that I began to walk down the stairs in our house. A few steps down, I turned around and said to her “Mommy, this could be dangerous,” and then I continued going down. I’ve been told numerous times by friends and my father that I would often get up during the night and talk to the stove.

The only detail I actually remember about the experiences is that when I would sleepwalk, the room seemed as though it was infinitely large. It was solid white all around, pristine white floors and walls, and no matter how long or far I walked, I could never reach the wall.

When I read the passage in Chödrön’s book about her friend’s nightmares ending once she changed the narrative, it reminded me of when my nightmares and night terrors ended. It wasn’t exactly the same but it did involve making a conscious, concrete change. My mom had taken me to a therapist – I don’t know for how long or what her specialty was, or even how old I was. The one detail I vividly remember is her asking me if I had any toy monsters at home and if so, to bring her one.

My dad used to commission things out of metal and he had a large castle. We’d play with it, driving Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars through it, give residence to our dolls and animal figurines. I must have told him about my appointment, or my mom did, because I remember him giving me a tiny toy monster to take to the doctor. When I took it to her, she said something about making the monsters go away. Then she opened a drawer in the table beside her and pulled out a small metal box, about the size of a cash box. She lifted the lid, put the monster inside and locked the box. She then put the box back inside the drawer, slid the drawer shut and locked it. I’ve not had a nightmare since then.

I’ve been working with a mentor for almost a year now and she tells me repeatedly if I change the narrative, I can change the story, change my thought patterns, change my life. Ultimately, we all want to be happy but often times, our old habits are the very thing standing in our way. We’re self-sabotaging and have no idea we’re doing it. We aren’t aware because it’s what we’ve always done, and we’ve never been taught how to change it, that we have the power to change it.

She’s also told me that if I can accept pain, frustration, or any other emotion, the discomfort of it will soon disappear. I’ve tried this on a couple of occasions, most recently when symptoms of carpal tunnel flared in my right arm.

I played the flute for six years, all throughout middle and high school. I have worked a job involving a cash register or computer since I was 16. All of this repetitive motion led to having carpal tunnel. It was at its worse when I was in the last few months of my first pregnancy. There wasn’t much I could do at the time and my doctor said once the baby was born it would go away. And it did.

When the numbness and tingling began about a month ago and persisted for two weeks with no relief, I remembered my mentor's words - “accept it as it is." During my meditation session the next morning, I invited and welcomed the numbness, tingling and pain. Since that day, the symptoms have mostly resolved. Is it coincidence and they would have begun to resolve anyway? Perhaps. But there really is no way to know. What I do know is that I welcomed all of those things instead of wishing them away and they’ve gone. There are moments during the day where I experience mild symptoms but they are not persistent as they had been. This lesson also became valuable when my therapist said to focus on emotional acceptance.

I’ve asked my mentor on many occasions if she’s confident I have what it takes to change. She has complete, unwavering faith in me and when I am not able to trust myself and my own abilities, I remind myself that she believes in me. She’s no fool and would not be working with me and giving me her time and resources if she didn’t truly believe the return on her investment would be worth it.

As a small child, I’d go to bed every night wondering if I’d have another bad dream. I’d wake up wondering if my siblings woke up with me and sat and laughed at me again, as they often did. I’d wonder if they’d ever end. What I didn’t know to even think of at the time was what I could do to change it. Thankfully, there are people who do know we have the power within us to flip the script and who are willing to share how it can be done.

If I was less than ten years of age and unaware that, not only did I have the ability and power to change my life, but was able to do it, then surely now at 41 I can do the same. I can combat my negative thought patterns. I can make a conscious decision to do better, to do different, to do more, to do what is good for me, so that I can live the happy life that I deserve.

Listen to the Wind Chime

The last time I remember setting a concrete, real resolution at the beginning of a new year was back in middle school when I vowed to stop drinking Mountain Dew. I was drinking 6 to 8 cans a day, and almost always had one in my hand. Honestly, I never thought it tasted much better than anything else, and I wasn't much of a soda drinker otherwise. I'm not sure why I began drinking it - maybe because my brothers always had it - but for years, I drank several a day. 

Then one year I just decided to not drink it anymore. I think since then I've had one or two. I didn't do it because I was having trouble sleeping. I didn't do it because of the inability to concentrate at school or work. I didn't do it for weight issues. I just did it because something inside me said it was a good decision.

Several years ago, without a real promise or effort, I stopped drink soda altogether. I've had it sparingly since that time but am now mostly a coffee, tea and water girl. Seven months ago, when I began taking medicine for my depression, my doctor stressed the importance of not drinking alcohol while taking it. Sure, it's probably not going to matter much if I drink a glass of wine or have a beer once in a while. But because medicines of this sort are so much trial and error, I took her warning seriously and the last beer I had was the day we buried my dad on June 27. My medications have changed since that time and her warnings seem to have subsided, but something inside me, again, said this was a habit I needed to remove from my life.

For the past couple of years, in place of a resolution I've chosen a focus. To me, a focus does not hold the same amount of weight because the language is different. For example, rather than saying I want to lose this number of pounds, you can say I want to eat healthier, and then you change your eating habits. Instead of a strict gym commitment, you could vow to get more physical activity - walk, bike, hike, etc. By making the terms looser and more broad, it's almost impossible to fail.

A couple years ago, I wanted to spend more time reading. I'd always loved reading as a kid and hadn't done much of it for leisure after I got married and had kids of my own. I found a book, read it and my love for reading was reignited. I didn't own many books at that point and knew if I was going to achieve my goal of reading more, I needed to get more books. I got more books and I read more. I didn't need to spend a lot of money, or even a certain amount of time each day reading. I didn't need to read a book a week, three a month or fifty in a year. I just wanted to read more, and I succeeded.

2020 was a year none of us could have anticipated, especially when making a new resolution or setting a new focus. A lot of what we planned got canceled and we had to adapt to a new way of doing everything. We were hit with a lot of inconvenience, but I think if we all dig deep, we can admit that we also learned something.

I began meditating in late May, about a month after my father died. I'd always liked the idea of meditation but never took time to learn how to do it. A friend advised trying it, first for only 3 minutes, and see what happens. I wasn't committed to making it work so if it didn't I wasn't going to be upset. If it became something I was able to incorporate as a daily practice, that was also fine, and it wasn't going to hurt anything either way. I think the resistance to try before came from a few things. First, I'd never known anyone who meditated. I'd always associated it with other cultures and religions. Second, I wasn't sure when or how to start. I imagined it would be awkward - and in the beginning it was. Finally, I had a misconception that I needed to sit in a specific place, position myself in a specific way and be in complete silence. As a mom of three, complete silence does not exist!

I've missed a day here and there, but since that first three-minute session, I've meditated almost daily. It's become something I enjoy and look forward to. I am not always sure of the impact of small changes and new habits, especially when they don't give tangible results, but on more than one occasion I've been able to say "that's meditation at work". One day last week I opted for 20 more minutes of sleep in place of my morning session before my work day. My focus and attention the entire day was completely scattered. I was off task more than I was on and I couldn't sit still.

Most days I meditate sitting on the floor or upright on a chair or sofa, and though I'm often alone, I can tell you it's NEVER silent. I'm a person who doesn't always buy into 'never' and 'always' because I think those are two things that frequently have exceptions. But in this case it's true. I can hear the coffee pot brewing, the hum of the heater, sometimes rain or thunder outside, and other times the meowing of one of our cats. 

The closest I've been able to get to complete silence is my time in meditation. And when the sounds of everything else subsides, I can hear the unique song of one of my wind chimes. If the weather is calm it moves slowly and softly. If it's stormy or windy, the sound is louder and more aggressive. Either way, it takes the rest of the world to quiet. Only then can I hear it and it is one my favorite sounds.

The soft melody I hear reminds me often of that tiny voice inside of each of us. Some call it a conscience. Maybe it's our instinct or our gut. Whatever you call it, it's always present, and like the wind chime, sometimes it's whispering to us and other times it's shouting. Often times it takes shutting off the rest of the world for us to really hear it. Like when I knew I needed to stop drinking Mountain Dew, soda and alcohol. My inner wind chime was singing to me. Even when we can't hear anything, it's still there. These quiet, almost silent times, are when I'm able to hear the true melody of the voice within myself and get honest and real about where my energy needs to be directed.

When I considered what to focus on this year, I had to begin by asking myself what I learned from last year. In addition to learning how to meditate on a very basic and beginner level, I took away two valuable lessons that will remain significant for the rest of my life.

First, I learned that I am not alone. No one is alone. I've struggled for decades with suicidal ideation and depression, and I know people who've dealt with both, and some who've taken their own lives. What I learned this year though is that everyone is struggling and while not all struggles are the same, the feelings and the methods we can use to overcome these challenges are similar. 

I've always considered the blessing of my having depression is that I'll be more empathetic toward someone else who is dealing with it. I'll understand the signs, the situations and circumstances that can heighten those feelings, and I'll be able to share coping mechanisms. If I didn't understand my own struggle and didn't have this fight, I wouldn't have those capabilities.

The next thing I learned is what it is really like to be loved and how people treat you when they honestly love you. I wish it hadn't taken me 41 years to learn what love really looks like. Love isn't always getting a yes and being coddled. Love isn't only enjoying the high points of life together. Love is honest and patient and kind. I know I sound like I'm doing a reading at a wedding, but these are truly the characteristics of real love. 

I've gained a lot of friends this year and they've shown me what love is. They're ready to talk on my bad days as much as on my good days. They're happy to listen when I have a problem, but then they expect me to find a solution. They hold me accountable to myself and support me no matter what. It isn't a one way transaction and it doesn't mean we talk every day. They've taught me the value of being as honest and as kind to myself as I am to others. They've taught me the importance of learning to love myself the way I love others - without limits or conditions - even and especially on my worst days.

With these lessons, I could have sat down and participated in the 12 days of Thanksgiving and expressed endless gratitude for a number of things I gained last year. I could have set a resolution to be more strict in my daily gratitude practice. I could work toward increasing my mediation time. I could have done anything. But I don't want to set a resolution I'm likely to fail at. I don't want to do something because I'm obligated to by voicing a new commitment. For me, that takes away the sincerity and excitement. 

Once again I've chosen a focus, and for 2021 it's to be more loving to myself. I am very kind and loving to other people, but I've never spent enough time being kind to or loving myself. Love is shown in a variety of ways so the only way I can fail is to make no changes at all. This isn't something that requires a specific or ritualistic action. It isn't something that needs to cost any money or a lot of time. Self-care and love is as simple as taking time to read something I enjoy. Spending a few extra minutes in the shower because the water is relaxing. Taking a few minutes to "get ready" even if there is nowhere to go. I can put on my clothes and fix my hair simply because it makes me feel better. I can stop making negative comments to myself when I fail and instead accept my humanness. I can stop apologizing for saying no to others because it means saying yes to myself. The list of small things I can do each day is endless. If I have a bad day and the best I can do is get all of the must-dos done, that's okay. Instead of beating myself up for the things I didn't do, I can put be proud of myself for the things I did do.

I think loving others is a critical part of happiness, and it's something we're taught to do from a very young age. I wish I'd been taught with the same intensity about the importance of self-love. But it's been quiet enough for me to hear the wind chime from within and it's time to move forward and it's time to love myself.

 

We're All Becoming Butterflies

I’ve heard or seen someone say, almost every day since March, that 2020 has been a rough year. We all know that by now, and it certainly has given us challenges that no one could have anticipated. Our routines ended suddenly and we were all forced to adapt. We had to learn to do school differently, work differently, shop differently, socialize differently, live differently.

What made these unexpected obstacles even more difficult is that life outside of the pandemic did not slow down. All of the normal hardships of life continued to be thrown our way and, like everything else, we had to learn to cope and work through them differently.

So, yes, in many ways, 2020 has been a difficult year. But it’s also been a year to grow, to learn, and to discover. Some people began a new hobby or developed a new talent. Others used their extra time to catch up on projects they’d been putting off. Some people binged shows and movies on Netflix while others added books to their shelves. Whether you’ve done these or something different, I think at the end of the year we’ll all be able to say we’ve grown in some way.

For me, 2020 will be the year I lost my dad. It always will be, pandemic or not. He had cancer before the virus emerged and he would have died anyway. I fell into a pit of depression when he passed away and I honestly wasn’t sure I would survive. That probably sounds dramatic but it’s true. Every day since I was about 12, I’ve dealt with depression. It’s not a seasonal or situational depression, though sometimes it is worse than other times; it’s a diagnosed, clinical depression. It is a mental illness that I cannot escape.

It’s been a part of my life for so long that I’m not even sure who I would be, or am, without it. I don’t know what it’s like to live without constantly wondering if I’m enough. I don’t know how it feels to only cry when you have a reason to cry. I don’t know what it’s like to get a full night of sleep and not feel exhausted the next day. I don’t know what it’s like to wake up, declare it’s going to be a great day and have a great day. I don’t know any of these things because everything I know, everything I’ve done every single day for the last 3 decades, has been laced with depression.

When my father passed, depression didn’t take a step back and say, “You know what? She’s got enough to deal with without me. I’ll take a break.” It doesn’t work like that. I was so overcome with grief and overwhelmed with emotion and exhausted that I wanted my life to end. I truly did. And had we not all been sentenced to our homes and quarantined, I may have attempted to end it.

This year will always be one that brings up sad memories for me. But it will also be the year I started to make a breakthrough. In March I was invited to become a part of an online community and I met some incredible people. People I’ve learned to trust. People I’ve laughed and cried with. People who have inspired me and given me hope. People who have helped me realize that I am more powerful than my depression, and stronger and smarter than the lies it wants me to believe.

I started working with a mentor who urged me to start therapy. She told me find out who my insurance covers and start making phone calls. When I texted her the first day with the list of names and phone numbers I’d called, she said, “Good. Call more tomorrow.” And this went on until I had an appointment scheduled. I don’t remember the last time someone encouraged me to do something because it was good for me, and then followed up with me to be sure it got done.

I’ve never had individual therapy, and the small amount of group therapy I’ve had in the past wasn’t effective. I was fortunate, after making dozens of phone calls and only getting in touch with a handful of real people, to find a therapist who is a great fit for me. She’s got a good sense of humor, is a fan of puns, uses analogies to illustrate a point, and likes karaoke. If she wasn’t my therapist, we might be friends!

Aside from the fun stuff though, she challenges me. To expect more of and do more for myself. To reconsider ideas, open my mind and heart, and see new perspectives. To step outside my comfort zone, despite all of my whining and objections. I sincerely believe she wants happiness for me, because I deserve better and am capable of making it happen. I remember making an appointment with her and she said I had to take suicide attempts off the table. Thoughts are going to come through and she can’t stop those. She also can’t prevent the attempts; only I can do that. But if I was going to work with her, I needed to be in a place where I was ready to work and not just take the “easy” way out. She made it clear that if I wasn’t ready to work, she wasn’t the therapist for me.

The work with my mentor didn’t stop at finding a therapist. We did daily check-ins for a while, and then we moved to weekly check-ins. She’s given me exercises to do daily, like prayer, breath work, gratitude lists, self-affirmations, and journaling. She’s given me writing exercises that force me to look inward and examine where I’m holding myself back. She’s helped me recognize and admit that self-sabotage, pride, and ego are some of my biggest weaknesses.

She’s given me book recommendations, and turned me on to meditation and gives me different techniques to try. She has never discounted the severity of my depression, but she wants me to realize that I can take away its power if I work hard enough. She knows the work isn’t fun or easy, and she knows I don’t like some of it. She reminds me I won’t win this war in a day but also believes I can and will win if I continue to do the work. She assures me she is not going to abandon me and reminds me that I’m not fighting alone. But most of all, she believes in me.

I don’t know who or where I’ll be when 2020 ends and 2021 begins. But I do know that the cocoon I’ve been trapped in, that’s been so tightly wrapped around me for so long, will be a little looser. I will have grown. I will have learned. I will be a little bit closer to becoming the butterfly that I’m destined to be. And I believe that all of us – whether we’ve learned how to crochet a blanket, become a master chef or reawakened a childhood passion – have grown this year. Every single one of us has done something that we never imagined we could do. We are ALL becoming butterflies!

 

 

 

How am I Powerful?

Five weeks ago, my mentor assigned me the task of writing down, three times a day, three things I am grateful for and three positive statements about myself. I dreaded this assignment. It's easy to think of several things I'm grateful for but thinking beyond food, water, shelter and a job every day requires thinking a bit deeper. A lot of them have been things we often take for granted - a good bed to sleep in, three meals a day, plus snacks if we want, fast and reliable internet service, etc. Other times I've written included things that required a shift in thinking. For example, instead of feeling overwhelmed by the seemingly endless piles of laundry, I can be grateful we have clothes to wear every day. We have the resources to wash and dry our clothes. We have the ability to buy new clothes when we need them. 

I think my favorite one so far has been my neck. Yes, my neck. It's just a neck. But when you're 5'2'' sun visors in the car don't work. Instead, you have the seat as far forward and as high up as you can make it, the visor flipped down, your posture is straighter than ever and you stretch your neck as far as possible to get some relief from the sun. Without a neck, this wouldn't be possible and instead you'd be a hazard on the road. I know they make sunglasses but adult ones are too big for me and the pairs made for children are too small. I have the same issue with hats. I don't fit!

The other part of this exercise - which I anticipated ending after a week - has been more difficult. Prior to suggesting I write three positive statements about myself, she told me I wasn't going to like the assignment. She was 100 percent correct. I don't like it at all and wasn't sure I'd be able to do it even once. I don't like myself much. I think I am likable at times, but my overall opinion of myself is quite poor. She told me to take the negative things I think about myself and write the opposite. I can't use things I already believe, like I'm funny, good at math and punctual. I have to rewire my brain by turning the destructive thoughts into something that will move me in a positive direction.

Coming up with the bad thoughts was easy and flipping them upside down wasn't difficult either. The hard part, which I'm told will happen over time, is believing these things. I've written things like my feelings are important, I matter, I deserve happiness, I'm not a burden, and I am enough. 

At my last therapy session, I shared that I'd been doing this and that I felt uncertain about whether or not they were true rather than not believing them at all. She asked me for examples of things I'd written about myself. I told her one of them was "I am powerful," and she asked me if there was any part of that statement that I DID believe. 

I told her that for as many years as I've been fighting depression and as heavy as it feels some days, I've always been able to get out of bed, get to school or work, bathe myself and eat, and take care of my kids. I know there are people who are not able to do these things because just getting out of bed is exhausting, and anything beyond that seems impossible. I've been fortunate that I've never been in that place, so in that respect maybe I am powerful.This also gave me a new perspective that as hard as some days are, I certainly could have worse days.

I'm on day 32 of this assignment have almost 100 positive statements about myself. In all honesty, I am still unsure about the truthfulness of each one. But if I can ask myself the same question my therapist asked about each one, and find one piece of every statement that I believe, perhaps one day I will fully believe all of them, and know without a doubt that I am powerful.

Disconnected Thoughts

My mom has often told me she doesn’t like social media, more specifically Facebook, because of the constant bickering between your “friends” and family. While I don’t disagree that a lot of this goes on, I remind her that she doesn’t have to engage in any exchange that she believes will cause her to get upset, angry, sad or otherwise; she has a choice to not engage. It’s also her choice to not have social media but having a social media account doesn’t mean you HAVE to argue.

I learned a long time ago if you post anything that can be disagreed with, be prepared for dissension. Often times, people argue about sensitive topics such as religion or politics. But I’ve been involved in arguments, actual heated arguments, over things as superficial as ice cream. I’ve never understood why some people find it difficult to see an opinion different than their own and just move on without engaging. What is the point of arguing? We’re allowed to have different opinions and we should be able to have them while still maintaining a level of respect for the other person.

I’ve found that if you are trying to convince the person to see your point of view and change their mind to align with your belief, it’s a waste of everyone’s time. People hold certain beliefs for a number a reasons. They could have been raised or influenced by their parents to hold that point of view. They could be uneducated about the other side. They could also feel passionately and have a personal reason for feeling the way they feel. Either way, trying to convince someone to change their belief simply because you disagree with it is not productive.

At any rate, it isn’t the presence of or participation in social media that creates disputes. It’s not reading or hearing an opinion different than your own that causes disagreements. It’s the act of engagement and the immersion of ourselves in the discussion that leads to arguments. Yes, we can all learn a lot if we take the time to listen to the other side and can gain a new perspective if we understand why someone may hold a different belief. But we don’t have to engage in these thoughts if it’s going to trap us in a seemingly endless cycle of no progression.

I’ve been using an app called Headspace every day for my mediation, and I recently completed a 30-day course that focuses on self-esteem. While the meditation portion is the same with each course, the different themes offer their own lessons. They open with a minute or so speaking about the theme of the course, begin the meditation time, and then end with repeating the key lesson and takeaway.

The self-esteem course isn’t designed to give you a brand new liking for yourself at the end of the course. That would be so nice! It’s designed to help you consider what is causing you to have negative thoughts or a poor image of yourself. Then it teaches you how to reframe those ideas to improve your thinking in order to shift your perception of yourself.

The problem is, in my case, I’ve gotten so used to beating myself up over small mistakes and speaking negatively to and about myself, that I am convinced these things are true. I believe I’m not worthy. I believe I’m a burden and a waste of time and space. I believe my voice, opinions and feelings are not important. I believe my happiness should not be a priority or a consideration.

That sounds dreadful and it is. But the good news is this – all of those are thoughts. That doesn’t mean their truths. If you examine the word “belief” or “believe,” right in the middle is the word LIE. And that’s what I’ve spent my life telling myself. Lies.

In some cases, I don’t have a full belief that these things are true, but I am uncertain about them. Do I matter? Is my existence valuable? Do I deserve to be happy? Am I a good mom? Sometimes I feel like the answer is yes but just as often, I feel like the answer is no.

The way I perceive and feel about myself really has nothing to do with social media. But what parallels is this – when I tell my mom she doesn’t have to engage with a discussion that will ultimately lead to an argument, she can move right past it and not let it ruin her day, I should be telling myself the same thing about what’s going on internally.

Instead of posting nasty or negative things on social media, I try to post something that is funny or inspiring. I try to use it as a tool to keep in touch with friends and family. I use it to be supportive of others. That is a CHOICE, and by treating it in this way, it doesn’t ruin my day. I see things every day I don’t agree with but I move on. I don’t engage.

What is going on my head is the complete opposite. I am engaging in the nastiness, the negativity and the destructive thoughts and ideas. I’m giving in to the lies rather than simply recognizing them and moving on. I’ve learned through mentors, therapists, mediation and people who have studied the brain for years that our brain is able to be manipulated. It isn’t solid like a rock; it’s more like Play-Doh, at least in the way we can use it.

If I choose to not engage in those thoughts that are harmful and take the time to reframe them into something positive, I can change what I believe about myself. I can change my perception. I can improve my self-esteem. Knowing this is even possible provides a glimmer of hope.

Is it going to happen overnight? Nope. Is it going to happen after 30 days of listening to a lady with a soft voice and an accent telling me to not engage? Nope. I have no idea how long it’s going to take. But if I can learn to trust in the process and just commit to trying and reframing the thoughts, it will happen. I wasn’t born with feelings of worthlessness. I wasn’t born with a fear of constantly disappointing people. Those thoughts developed over time and I allowed them to overpower me. I allowed them to become louder than the other voice inside me. The voice that says I am important, I am valuable, I am worthy. And I’m going to have to fight to take the power back. Fight long and fight hard.

Sometimes giving advice to others is easy but sometimes we need to apply the same lessons and advice to our own lives. More often than not, I think we already know this but resist it for whatever reason. When those thoughts start to pour in, I need to remind myself what I tell my mom – don’t engage.

It’s easy to log off social media, but there is no logging off from our brains. But if we can rewire and reconstruct the way we work and use the brain, we can find great benefits and ultimately live a smarter, healthier, more enjoyable life.

Who Am I?

One of my favorite parts of writing book reviews is the many books I’m introduced to along the way. While my favorite genre is thriller, I have had the opportunity to explore other categories and have read several books that I may never picked up. Some of the earliest books I reviewed were romance, both contemporary and historical, and I quickly fell in love with that genre. I even found a series about vampires that I enjoyed, and I now have other fantasy books on my to-be-read list.

For me, while the plot of each story determines if I pick up or skip over a book, I find as I read that the characters really make the story. The lead is usually someone relatable to the reader in some way. Being drawn to the protagonist, or hero of the story, is desirable because he or she is usually a person who is good yet flawed. We all want to be good and all of us are flawed. Their story is usually one that brings us a variety of feelings – happiness, love, compassion, whatever. We root for them and want them to succeed, and when they do, we celebrate as we would alongside a friend. We’ve spent hours with this person and have gotten to know intimate details of their life. Reading their story also often means we see them through a significant event or time and creates a strong connection to them.

I don’t like to admit it but in many cases, I find myself liking the antagonist, or the villain, as much as or more than the protagonist. They aren’t meant to be likeable but I think if we examine them closely, we might find a bit of ourselves in them, just as we do with the good guy, and maybe our opinion of them softens. One of my favorite antagonists, who I’ve come to describe as “fantastically disgusting,” is Skyler Marks from Rosemarie Aquilina’s novel Feel No Evil. NO ONE SHOULD LIKE THIS GUY!!! He does despicable things, he is manipulative as hell and he truly is evil. But there is some piece of him that I just cannot help but love.

As a writer, I’ve learned through reading that a unique story is not enough to make a good book. You need good characters. Creating a character similar to ourselves or someone we know or once knew might seem like an easy task, but it isn’t. The surface layer might be easy but peeling back that top layer and seeing what lies beneath has to be just as intriguing, if not more so. I guess you could say it’s similar to the phrase “it is what’s on the inside that counts.”

While characters are subjective, and each reader is going to like one type more than another, if the lead isn’t likeable by a wide audience, the book won’t work. I’ve worked hard on my first novel to make sure my lead is relatable and believable. No one is ALL good and no one is ALL bad. Finding that balance, as well as which piece of them will do best to drive the story forward, is a skill that doesn’t become perfected in one draft; it takes many.

My lead character is Dana, a woman in her mid-20s who leaves a long-term, abusive relationship without a word to anyone. After feeling stuck for years, she finally builds up enough strength to go. She has no real direction or destination; she’ll be there when she gets there and begin a new life. I know a lot of women, and some men, who can relate to her situation. The story is not uncommon, and unfortunately, it seems like getting out of these situations is uncommon. Is there anything particularly unique about Dana? Nope. But that is exactly what makes her relatable – her story is sad and, to some, it’s real. Even if it isn’t our story, it’s that of someone we know or love. It’s that of a friend or a relative or a co-worker. As Dana’s creator, I hope that her story inspires hope and provides strength. It was hard to write some parts of her story and I hope it’s hard to read. Not because I want people to feel pain, but because I want people to care for her. Her story is one that needs to be shared without shame because it is not her fault.

Her abuser, Kevin, is also not a one-of-a-kind. He’s a man with an ego and biceps who wants to be in control. He knows a better man is somewhere deep inside of him, and it’s evident when he and Dana are not alone and he’s a prince. Her family and friends love him. But behind closed doors, the hurt from his past takes over and he’s a monster. His story also needs to be shared because if we aren’t Kevin, we know someone who is. And often times, the abuser is quick and easy to blame. But the truth is, someone hurt them. Their behavior, while in their control, may not always be easy to tame. Their temper may flare and it’s the result of trauma. Does anyone REALLY want to be this way? Let’s hope not! And my hope for readers is they’ll learn something from Kevin, to either help themselves or others.

As I’ve gotten to know these characters, I’ve realized I have a bit of both of them in myself. Like Dana, I’m sure I’ve got a reserve of strength inside me that is waiting to be let loose. Like Kevin, though, I often have a hard time controlling my temper and managing it appropriately.

* * *

What I’ve also learned is important, and maybe even more challenging, is crafting a good cast of secondary characters. While they may not get as much page time as the lead character, we need them there for support. Some of my favorite characters among all the books I’ve read are in this group. They aren’t the feature or the front man, but their presence is critical. Characters are no different than us – we need a core group of people who help pick us up when we fall, call us out on our bullshit and are there for the triumphs and victories too.

How boring would a book be if we had only one character, or only two, or maybe just three? It might be more like reading a text exchange or eavesdropping on a phone conversation rather than watching a chapter of their lives unfold. It would change the experience entirely. Not to say if a book was done this way it couldn’t be or wouldn’t be any good. But none of us do life alone, and characters don’t either.

Rachel Dacus’s The Renaissance Club and Katherine Hastings’s Immortal Hearts series have phenomenal secondary characters! George from The Renaissance Club is likeable because he’s kind, intelligent and distinguished but he’s also a bit of a mystery to readers, which leaves us wanting more of him. And then there is Matt from the Immortal Hearts series who is beyond loveable. He’s funny, loves to have a good time and his fashion is always on point. While neither is the main character, the roles they play add an unforgettable dynamic to their respective stories.

As I move forward with my book, I find I like each of my characters for different reasons, but my favorite is Ross Drake. He and his brother Arthur meet Dana shortly after she moves and settles in a new town. Ross is 6 years older than Arthur, and though they are best friends as adults, their relationship wasn’t always amiable. Their father left when they were 14 and 8 years old, and because Ross was the oldest, he became the man of the house. He continued going to school during the day and worked evening and weekends to be sure Arthur and their mom had everything they needed.

Stepping into this role meant missing out on the later part of his childhood but the early lessons in responsibility and sacrifice greatly shaped the man he became. A man who is honest, dependable, and loyal.

Ross is my favorite for many reasons and, yes, I chose the name Ross because I love Friends. But that isn’t why he’s my favorite. I wrote him to be a good guy. One who loves hard, fully and without condition. He’s loyal, he’s hardworking and he’s kind. In many ways, I might be more like him than any other character in my book. I love hard in relationships. I want to help and be of service any time I can. I like to think that I am kind and loyal, and I’ve always been a hard worker.

These sound like fantastic traits but, for me, it also means I’m not good at setting boundaries. I trust until I’m given a reason not to and even then I have a tough time letting go and accepting that a relationship might be over. I focus so much on trying to please everyone else and make sure the people around me are happy and have everything they need. I don’t feel like I’m making a sacrifice but I leave myself behind and tell myself if someone has to do without or be unhappy, it should be me. I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.

Ross has the qualities and skills of any good leader – he’s educated, doesn’t act impulsively and he follows through. But he’s okay not being the center of attention, much like myself. I’m a person who likes to be at the party but I’d rather not be the guest of honor. I want to socialize a little and have fun and then go home. I don’t need to be the first to arrive or the last to leave. Being content is enough for Ross, and it’s enough for me.

Part of why I feel this way about myself is that I don’t believe I deserve any extra attention. I’m not that special or unique. I’m not “extra” in any way. I’m just a simple person. Unlike Ross, I tend to act impulsively sometimes, especially if I’m upset. I react instead of take time to think and often end up regretting and becoming apologetic for how I responded.

I also have a habit of overthinking which usually means I take myself on a long, self-destructive mental journey that ends up in a place I don’t like or want to be in. Ross’s patience and acceptance of any and everything that comes his way is a part of him that I envy. I’d love to take more time to relax, enjoy the moment I’m in, and carry around less worry.

* * *

I have finished one draft of this book, currently titled Fighting for Dana, and have edited almost the first dozen chapters, which is about a third of the entire manuscript. I want Dana to find happiness again because she deserves it. I want Kevin to find happiness and peace too. I think with a little tenderness and compassion he can be really loveable. And finally, I want for Ross to be able to find his place among readers without losing himself in the process. If I have the tools, as a creator, to help him do that, maybe I can learn a little something that will help me to live every day being the best version of myself.

Therapy is My Jam

When I started therapy four months ago, I really wasn't sure what to expect from it. I was well overdue to start treatment but was resistant to making an appointment. I have a hard time talking to strangers and an even more difficult time addressing my feelings. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to someone I didn't know about the thoughts and emotions that had consumed my life. 

Prior to making my first appointment, she and I spoke for nearly an hour on the phone. She asked a lot of questions, listened intently and agreed to take me on as a patient. But there was a condition - thinking about or attempting suicide needed to be taken off the table. When I feel the thoughts of worthlessness and hopelessness start to pour in, I had to promise to find a way to overcome them using the tools I've been given before. Anything from taking a moment to pause and breathe to taking a walk by myself to reaching out to a friend. If I wasn't willing to do those things, she wasn't going to see me.

I don't know if this is her way or a normal thing that therapists do, but after talking to her and sharing my history and where I was at the time, I felt comfortable enough with her to make that promise. This agreement, in no way, was a guarantee that those thoughts would not arise again, and it didn't mean she wouldn't help me through them. It just meant that if she was going to invest in me, I needed to be willing to work and not go for the easy way out.

We made an appointment for the following week. My comfort level going in was somewhere in the middle. I knew I'd be able to talk to her but I'd never done one-on-one therapy. The only therapy I'd ever had, in fact, was almost twenty years ago, short term and in a group setting. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. Is it like an interview and I answer questions for an hour? Is it a back-and-forth exchange? Do I just start word vomiting? I had no idea. 

She made it easy and started by asking about basic things - family dynamic as a child and family dynamic now, what close personal relationships I have, special interests, and so on. We discussed a friendship that I'd watch dissolve about six months prior and that was the end of session one. FYI - if you're my friend, she probably knows your name.

As the weeks went on, the topics became more sensitive and tougher to navigate. I was there to get out of this pit of depression I'd found myself in following my dad's death. I was there to learn how to become more assertive and communicate better. I didn't go to figure out why I hated myself, why I had trouble trusting people and relationships, why I never felt good enough or worthy. But this is where we are and how therapy became my jam. What I thought was something that was meant to fix me and help me move forward had somehow become something that got in my way.

I'm not saying I feel trapped by therapy, because I don't. I love my therapist, even more so after she told me she likes when I'm oppositional! I just didn't expect to find myself in a place, after four months, where it feels like I've made little to no progress. 

I've come out of almost every session completely exhausted and most times we've only touched on one or two subjects. I understand the reason for taking it slow and not trying to conquer it all at once. But week after week of having no real idea of whether or not it's working is frustrating. I'm a person who likes to see immediate, tangible results. I have used the comparison that maybe the progress I see myself making is like watching my own child grow - I don't notice it because I see it all the time. In a time when we aren't isolated from others, I'd be able to ask others if they've noticed anything. But the only regular human connection I have outside of my family that I live with is on Zoom. Yes, you can form real relationships on virtual platforms and some of my dearest friends have come via Zoom since quarantine began in March and through social media. But is this really the best way to gauge progress?

I knew going into my first appointment that overcoming nearly four decades of this pattern of thinking wasn't going to be quick or easy. She told me over the phone to expect a minimum of six months to a year of treatment, with sessions being weekly. That seemed like a really long time estimate in May, but at four months in, I'm not sure it's going to be anywhere near enough.

I am also aware and okay with one thing not being the fix-all for a problem. In addition to therapy, I have been working with a mentor. Between the two of them, I'm spending a lot of time doing homework that often includes writing but always involves introspection. I don't enjoy any of it, to be honest. But I know that working outside of therapy sessions is necessary. If I only devoted an hour a week to fixing myself, a self that's been broken for 40 years, I'd be dead before I made any progress at all. 

While this work is not fun or easy, I know when I do it that it is being suggested by someone who cares about me and my wellness. I've spent the majority of my life wondering if anyone would ever come along that truly cared for me. I know they care because they hold me accountable and tell me they're proud of me, but they also extend grace when I mess up. 

I started taking medication about three months ago, and this is the first time I've ever had someone that's properly managed it. Finding the right medication and the right dose is a lot of trial and error, and without someone to monitor it, finding the right fit can take even longer. I started on a low dose and after dealing with a few minor side effects for a week or so, but generally tolerating it well, we gradually increased the dose. It seemed it was improving my overall mood and the dark thoughts faded for a while. But now I'm starting to see myself where I was when I started therapy, and I'm not sure this medication is the right one. Being on a medication for three months only to find I have to start over with something else is discouraging and only adds to my frustration. 

One of the first things my therapist said to me that it was sad that in all of the years I've battled depression, I've never had individual therapy or properly managed medication. She followed that by saying "that means there is a reason to hope. We have another option." Seeing a situation from a different perspective is one of the greatest lessons I've learned from working with a therapist and a mentor. If I can learn to do that in all things, I can beat this battle. I can win this war. I can change these broken patterns.

Perhaps my true frustrations with therapy aren't from therapy at all but from my own skepticism. I don't trust people, even the ones that have never let me down. I don't trust processes, even the ones that are new and untried. I don't trust the possibility of progress taking place when there is nothing to prove to me that it has.