Hi Hello, Here it goes!

Swinging back to the beastly nature of anxiety, it can plague us subconsciously. We can wake up anxious with no set reason for the awkward sensation. We can be tasked to being productive members of society all the while crawling out of our skin due to a possible outcome, regardless of its slim probability of coming to fruition. Anxiety can topic hop, meaning it can shift from one concern to another. Just because the situation seemingly driving the nervousness has passed does not mean the anxiety lays itself to rest.

Anxiety chains us to the future without room for the present.

No wonder children’s mental health books color anxiety to be an icky-looking monster. We all wish it were as easy as drawing it out and crumpling it up, never to be seen again.
Our logical minds reiterate worrying will not change the outcome.

We have little to no control on how our experiences play out. Sure, we can plan for roughly 10-30 different outcomes, however most of the actual outcomes are unrelated to our thoughtful blueprints. Perhaps that’s the beef we have with being human. We were left out of the metaphorical contract of who gets the power. Good grief, we are kind of obsessed with it after all.
Imagine a world where power was appropriately delegated to fit in our narratives.

Those who worked hard would reap benefits.
Those who dreamed big would achieve big goals.
Money would be no issue.
Weather would be controlled by properly trained meteorologist wizards.
Sound a bit like a fairy tale?

We lack control and we resent that about reality. I cannot blame us, building resiliency is no easy feat to the onslaught of experiences outside of our power or control. This resentment projects itself into the form of anxiety, a narrative that dictates if we hyper focus on the outcome hard enough or long enough, maybe, just maybe, it’ll give us the sensation of power.

I’m sorry folks. No Hogwarts for us in this reality.
So, instead…

Meet yourself where you are. Validate the underlying purpose of your anxiety. When I say validate, I mean outwardly identify how your anxiety is trying to serve you. In many cases, this anxiety is trying to serve as a cloak of protection away from circumstances that could cause pain. We typically have experienced a version of pain before, and we would do almost anything to secure our well-being. Even if it means sabotaging the well-being of our mindset.
Ask yourself if your thought process is geared toward problem solving or rumination. Are you reacting or responding to your environment?  Are you triggered by something that is haunting you from the past?

Anxiety generates in the form of energy within our bodies. Ask yourself how you can release this energy through safe outlets. Whether it be through running, walking, gardening, painting, scribbling, etc. It is within your power to find an outlet that works for you. 
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I see you, my anxious friends.
I am proud of how you lean on your resilience. 

The term “anxiety” can bring up a vast array of mental images. Perhaps a vision of a cartoon character with bulging eyes darting from side to side with beads of sweat cascading from their oversized forehead. Or maybe you resonate with the term within your own experiences which can jog your memory to the time you were perched atop of the doctors table, the sterile paper crinkling beneath your sweaty palms. Once the doctor entered the room, you are convinced they can hear the pounding of your racing heart.

Anxiety is a beast. This is how I paint it in a narrative light within the therapy room.

This uncomfortable emotion has no limits to circumstances it can weasel itself into. Google “phobias” and there is an endless list chalk full of anxiety-provoking situations that many have probably not thought of up until this moment. I can almost guarantee you every single human existing has come face to face with anxiety before, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Not to geek out on you, but anxiety is a predominate reason to why we exist today. If it were not for the sensation of nervousness, our ancestors would have probably tried to pet the Saber Tooth tiger instead of run from it and would definitely not have deflected the mammoth’s massive trunks trying to pound them as they attempted to salvage a sustainable meal. Anxiety is tied to something called our parasympathetic nervous system. Lightly put, this integral system is responsible not only for the functions of digestion or the ability to slow our heart rates down after a burst of adrenaline, but it’s the pause button to our ingrained “fight or flight” response.

Now, the hardwiring for humans is systemically flawed when we consider the biofeedback components of the “fight or flight” response. Sure, it served us well hundreds of years ago, but it doesn’t do much to benefit us present day. If anything, this primitive hardwiring, more or less, keeps some of us stuck in an anxious reel despite our logical minds screaming “hey, cut it out!”.

We could get into the age-old debate of “nature vs nurture” at this point of the tangent. However, for the sake of your attention span, anxiety is an emotional experience that impacts a large portion of humans gracing the Earth today. In fact, Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illnesses in the USA today, impacting roughly 40 million adults. When is Anxiety qualified to fit within a DSM diagnosis? Broadly, when Anxiety symptoms interfere with one’s ability to function for at least 6 months. 

I’ll leave you on this cliffhanger.

Give you time to marinate in these anxiety fun facts.

Tickle that maladapted “fight or flight” response for a bit.
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Stay tuned to the wrap around that will capture ways of attending to those anxious woes. 

As May swirls all around me, I am reminded of the nature of this profession. May brings with it awareness, but it seems this increased focus on the topic of Mental Health predictably vanishes with the shift into June. Yet, here I am, left with the ever-revolving tumultuous nature of our society’s mental-wellness. As if the party was had, and I’m left with the rubble of a good time.
All metaphors aside, I grapple with the fulfillment of my job at times.

The unpredictability of the cacophony of challenges wears on me.
The grief of loss that rages within me unrelated to the therapy room complicates the task of compartmentalizing other’s woes from my own.

Serving as a therapist and bearing witness to other’s pain is a cumbersome task without the obstacles of my own human experiences. When my life challenges color my world grey, it takes an extra hoist of willpower to cultivate safe spaces and mask the quiet sadness that lay just behind my eyes.

I never know what I will encounter in my workday. Sometimes, this can be exciting, especially to a newly minted therapist. However, this past year has dulled the novelty of varying narratives. The day could bring humble wins toward the pursuit of healing, or it can generate internal battles, thoughts of self-harm, feelings of worthlessness, or experiences of injustice. All desperate for someone somewhere to validate their truths and to recognize their voices. I’ve come to find out, the pursuit of growth and healing is one of the most cumbersome and exhausting journeys we can take.

I have found comfort in the longer-lit days when I depart from my office at 7pm with the sun still gracing my horizon. This makes the darkness of the second-hand trauma and empathy burnout seem less daunting. It’s challenging to remember the good when your days are surrounded by narratives full of pain, overwhelm, and loneliness just to name a few.  

People are suffering.

Take a walk in my shoes, and you'd bear witness to overwhelming uncertainty, uneasiness, grief, trauma, depression, anxiety, and conflict woven into every facet of the workday. For hours, my cozy office holds space for brokenness, monstrosities, hopelessness, and cumbrous obstacles. At times, overextending myself due to the sheer demand of those craving a safe space. A place to process. To catch their breath.
I sit in a room with peoples’ horribly heavy “Stuff” day after day. Giving 110% of myself, encumbered by exuding empathy and unconditional positive regard, despite what is wreaking havoc within my own heart.

Your girl is exhausted.

There are some highlights. Don’t get me wrong.
Us therapists live for the giggles, the silly stories, and the moments of triumph.
Pride fills our whole bodies when a client shares a moment of success, of empowerment, or of shifts in experience that allow for light and freedom.

I love my job.
But my job is hard.

Please forgive me if I seem hollow. If there is a distant or distracted look in my eyes. Sometimes it takes a hot minute for me to be able to press the pause button on processing what swirled around in the therapy room. Please know, I so badly want to hold space for those I hold near, however my soul is dragging her feet. She craves a safe place to land herself, for she has borne witness to so much.

 I am a therapist.
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But I am so much more than that. 

 People find themselves perched on the comfy grey couch in my office for numerous reasons. Whether therapy be their idea or their families, it can take time for clients to relax into the ebb and flow of the therapeutic process the tranquil space invites. Despite the comfort the therapy room embodies, the internal storm battering the humans before me is a whole other ballgame.
Thematically, I’ve noticed a narrative that many perspectives, including my own, have been adopting. Let’s title this internal storyline as “I’m too much”.  

 From the outside, it is relatively simple to identify the unhelpful thought patterns that ensue with this particular narrative. However, internally, it’s difficult to decipher up from down. We align our experiences with accents of being a burden, being too messy to be enough, and overall not having what it takes to reach our ideal fulfillment quota.

This has me thinking.
How much is too much? How do we form the narratives that we are “too much” or “not enough”? Who do we see ourselves as? Goldilocks?

Perhaps this internal plotline is tied to the generational trauma of experiencing shame for our humanness. If we really sit with our historical timeline, our humanness is something we’ve picked at meticulously. The Egyptians spent too much time preserving their dead, men shamed for expressing emotions, and women have been laboriously lectured about being too much for wanting more equality.

Phrases such as “smile for me”, “men don’t cry”, and “get over it” keep us stuck in the quicksand of “you are too human”.

 The list of these targeted qualities of individual authenticity is endless.  

What if I were to tell you that you had the choice of re-writing this suffocating narrative? What if after all this time devoted to outrunning the labels of burden, you were actually most aligned with the bowl of porridge that was “just right”?

Because you are just right.

Feeling deeply and authentically comes with the territory of humanness. If it weren’t for our experiences of emotion, we would hardly make it out of infanthood. Emotionality is the mother-tongue of our collective whole. Universally, our nonverbals convey similar messages. Smiles communicate needs being met and connection. Furrowed brows communicate unmet needs and misunderstandings. Tears communicate pain. If it weren’t for our abilities to feel deeply, we would cease to exist.

There is no such thing as being too human. Your feelings are just as valid as a songbird’s melody. Your experiences are as real as the changing of seasons, and the flowing patterns of fauna that rely on the seasonal shifts. The generations that were silenced by the insecurities of those in power have subconsciously passed down their survival techniques, and I give them my thanks. Our ancestors did the best they could with the tools they had. However, their survival tools do not serve us anymore, and for that I am grateful.

This month highlights the necessity to approach mental health as we do physical health. It is intimidating that the brain is the one organ we still see as a mystery. Humans don’t like unknowns. It brings out the survivalist in us. Yet, here I am, wanting to shed kindness and compassion on the unknown complexities of our thoughtful perplexities, verses cowering in fear which leads to undermining the very core of what makes us human. Sure, our autonomy creates the outer exterior of being a person, however it’s really the inner experiences of our minds that color what it means to be human.

I challenge you to dip deep into your courage and embrace the uniqueness of you. Just as Zebras don’t feel shame for their individual pattern of stripes, we can break out of our generational patterns of shame tied to our own individuality. Lead by example, and those who matter will fall in step with you. It takes guts to be a leader in advocacy. Feel deeply, my friends. Validate your experiences. Cry, laugh, and connect authentically.
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You are, and never will be a burden to those who matter. 

Cheers to May.

Where the warmth of the sun begins to whisper the promises of the approaching summer haze. When most of our nation’s students stressfully sit for those dreaded final exams and parents scramble to finalize their children’s summer schedules. When we bear witness to Mental Health Awareness Month. Break out your green, y’all.

While the bulk of my profession centers around mental health awareness, I appreciate any excuse to increase the focal point on emotional well-being. In all honesty, it is one of the most neglected forms of health. Our current societal systems keep us stuck in the neglectful chokeholds our mentality suffers from. “Sick days” are dedicated to the times your nose leaks and your fevers spike. Most bosses smirk at the thought of someone claiming one of their precious personal days for something other than physically life concerning.

“Self care! Self care!” our world proclaims.

To be matter of fact, that is all quite lame.

Self-care goes far beyond bubble baths, chocolate, and long walks at dusk.
Self-nurturement is sitting with it. All of it. The emotional experiences that are the consequence of being human. Constructing invisible boundaries that keep our emotionality safe and our mentality secure. Learning how to say no without the influence of guilt. Carving out time dedicated soulfully to what lights our fulfillment on fire. Hitting the pause button when tragedy strikes defined by our own realities and holding space for the discomfort of the sorrow that wreaks havoc on our shattered hearts.  

Self-care is perhaps one of the bravest and most uncomfortable forms of self-love we can sit with. This notion mimics the alterations of many Disney storylines. Something difficult to sit with has transformed into something heartwarming and fluffy. I won’t ruin it for you but go take a peek at the original Pinocchio or Cinderella stories. There is little to no “sparkle” within the narratives. It seems society took a look at the truth of self-care and did it’s best to shift away from the hard stuff. Instead, they added more bubbles, more exercises, and more “frills” until the discomfort was drowned out by the pretty.

But here’s the thing.
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Self-care isn’t supposed to be pretty and wrapped up in a perfect bow. It’s meant to be messy, uncomfortable, and downright awful at times. Sorry to burst all the pretty bubbles.
We raise awareness for mental health to cultivate realistic conversations about what it takes to truthfully care for ourselves when life gets hairy. Fairytales are great escapes, but that’s all they are good for. Life will get hard and messy, and we will have to rise up and sit with the hard stuff. This is how we show ourselves the love and compassion each and every one of us deserve.

Sit with it folks.

All of it.

It’s not there to break you. Resist the urge to run from the discomfort. Bubble baths cannot dissolve our need for emotional processing. Chocolate cannot satiate the hunger for authenticity or connection. Walks at dusk cannot erase the pain from loss our hearts long to explore and make meaning from.
This is how we truly heal. 

*This is a vulnerability-laced post. Reader's discretion is advised*


Life’s playbook fails to mention how to carry on when the weight of sorrow bares down on our shoulders. We proclaim to the heavens “Self-care! Self-care!”, but how do we pay mind to the heartbreak that can take hold when the breath is knocked from our lungs by news we could never prepare for?

Where is the “sick leave” for when tears stream from our eyes without a stop in sight? Where is the panic button when the best “self-care” would be to halt the pressure of the responsibilities it takes to live an adult life?

Tragedy strikes at inopportune times.
It robs us of the air in our lungs. Stays busy constricting our throats, robbing us of every nook and cranny in our minds. Functioning all the sudden seems laborious. Time slows down but races toward the moments of heart-shattering truth we are forced to face.

How do I serve as a helpful therapist when I am struggling to breathe?

How do I pay mind to my loved one’s experiences when the sorrow I feel in the pit of my stomach threatens to encumber me at any moment?

How do I make room for the tears and the wails and the screams of unfairness that I exhaust myself trying to wrestle down every second of every hour of everyday until the tragedy delivers its final blows?

Where’s the room for all these things in a world that fails to supply panic buttons for grief and unplanned tragedy?

Saying goodbye to a very best friend is soul-shattering.
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Today I hurt. Sorrowfully and deeply.
Today, I will start where I am.
I will use what I have.
I will do what I can.  
 

A side effect of the work I partake in includes the delight of gaining glimpses into the perspectives of others. Therapy fosters a space that allows for a therapist to join with someone on their journey, even if only for a moment. Some days, I feel like I have the secret keys to a time traveling machine, serving as an empathetic perception traveler, weaving in and out of varying realities that grace my office. It’s a neat and often humbling opportunity.

Some of the perspectives I find myself uniquely fond of are the realities of those on the Autism Spectrum. These are notoriously the most misunderstood perceptions out there. I often normalize the challenges for parents in connecting with their Autistic loved ones. Metaphorically, I have found the particular “key” to use when stepping into the perspective of those on the spectrum have a password that must first be cracked before gaining access to the key.

This is where I jump in.

Instead of demanding the password, I embrace unconditional positive regard and simply insert myself as an observer. I outwardly recognize the privilege that I have identifying as neurotypical and the honor it is to be invited into their reality. Here, the pressure is alleviated to “mask” and the authentic human that sits before me begins to peek through their defenses that are vital to their internal safety.

As this incredible soul begins to peer around their “masks”, I begin to listen for the soft notes of their tempo, their language, the distinctive notes that color their experiences. Quiet and hesitant at first, I gleefully and humbly listen, cherishing the moments I join with these clients. I hold space for the pain, the loneliness, and the long-held grief that is a side effect of being misunderstood. I empathetically jump into the topics that keep their soul alit despite the mountains of challenges. I immerse myself in the music of their perceptions.

Then, ever so magically, I begin to access the password to connection and fostering nonjudgmental spaces. I take these passwords, put it through my therapeutic translator, and later communicate the messages and the experiences my client’s struggled to convey with the world whose tempo just does not make sense. Try as they might, the ability to settle into the neurotypical world escapes them. Now, the tables have turned and suddenly these resilient individuals are now the teachers instead of the students. The empowerment of this unlocking still dazzles my soul when I bare witness to it.

There is so much to learn from a perspective that differs from our own.
Different is just different. Not bad. Not broken. Just different.

Those on the Autism Spectrum are unabatedly aware of this. While I will not try and speak for anyone, it is typically the tempo of the neurotypical world that colors “different” with negativity. Those with Autism are plagued with the monstrous task of learning to function to the notes of a reality that is far too unfitting and unyielding. They are told from a very young age their “different” is wrong, is sad, is something to be pitied and looked down upon. Where in the world is the empowerment in that?

Something that I listen to often is the silenced plea to have others let those with Autism lead the tempo from time to time. To join in their worlds. To empathically recognize they may never “get it” but their humble recognition of a reality that is different than theirs can still have some good parts. That joy, love, and enjoyment is still very much a reality, it just looks and feels different within the tempo they experience life in.

Embrace the many tempos that individual perceptions dance to. Lean into the melodies and recognize that different is just different. Novelty and differences can lead to connection, if only we bare witness to the soft notes that accompany them.

Pause.

Listen.
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 Embrace the melodies that are different than your own.
Then, prepare for the onslaught of connection to those whose tempos can finally find a place in this world. 

An unspoken expectation hidden within the imaginary parenting guide is that nagging comes with the territory. Children are notorious for their selective listening skills, and these only become more discerning as they travel into their teenage years.  

Parents nag kiddos. The sky is blue. Each are unarguable.  

“Pick up your towel!”
“Put your shoes away!”
“If I trip over this Xbox cord one more time…”

The issue here in lies the lack of boundaries between these annoyance-tinged reminders and the ways we encourage healthy relationships with food and bodies. The encouragement to nourish their bodies and look after their eating and exercise patterns begin to mimic the grumbling nature of our broken record requests.

“You’ve already had a slice of pizza today, are you really going to eat another?”
“You need to get outside more, or you’re going to regret it!”

I say this while exuding compassion…

Cut it out!
Here is your wake-up call, folks. Attempting to guilt youngsters into engaging in something does not get anyone anywhere healthy. All this guilt and passive aggressive complaining does is foster a negative self-image, defeating self-talk, and lackluster motivation at best. Instead, model the choices and behaviors you crave to witness in your children. If you want them to embrace a healthy eating habit and relationship with food, be the role model! Become aware of your own narrative attached to the way you view your body and your food choices. Take the shame out of the equation and there will likely be a different result. If you want your children to be more active, get active with them!

I want to validate the exhaustion and depleted motivation that comes with being a parent. It’s not easy to wear all of the hats you have to wear to identify as a responsible adult. However, your kiddos are watching and listening to your every move. The narrative that plays out in your mind can get passed down to your kiddos relatively quickly, whether you like it or not. Children are sneaky in this way.

Remember that healing you talked about engaging in? Healing those old wounds, you swore you’d never pass down? Hop to it friends.
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Be the change you crave to see in your children. Bare witness to your narrative and rest assured they are listening. 

I am totally and completely aware of “fads” that occur within the culture of our youth. Whether it be viral Tik-Tok videos, popular YouTube streamers, flipping bottles so they land right side up, you name it. The perk of working with a lot of youngsters is that they happily introduce me to all sorts of fads, so I can sound “not like a millennial”, whatever that means.  

A recent point of popularity that’s captured my attention is the proclivity to describe oneself as “annoying”. As apart of my therapeutic treatment plan, I assess and encourage exploration of one’s internal narrative, exploring the person they experience themselves to be. It is also easily the most uncomfortable dialogue for a kiddo to sit with. The most common deflection of this exploration is “oh, I’m annoying”.

Since when did it become conventional for our youth to paint themselves in such a defeating light? To identify most closely with “annoying”, is like asking yourself to run a marathon without shoes. It’s uncomfortable, sometimes painful, and all too awkward. I find myself looking around for the culprit of this popular point of identification.

 Is it within the parent’s culture to communicate the message “you’re annoying, stop behaving like a child”? To be fair, it’s quite the fad for parents to post pictures of their children rocking fashionable clothes, obtaining certain achievements, and overall, not embracing the silliness children are meant to embody all over Facebook and Instagram. Rarely do we see posts about quirky interactions between youngsters, emotionally unregulated outbursts, or the “oopsies” that notoriously plague the art of growing up. The obnoxious part about this fad is that it could rob kiddos from the privilege of being, well, youngsters.

Or perhaps the culprit is the culture of our education system. The ever-increasing plight to stuff our youth into a metaphorical box of complacency and average test scores. If you have never heard about the Common Core Standards, consider yourself lucky, or perhaps naïve to the strict nature of our education culture. It’s chalk full of “shoulds” and ineffective curricula that has cost America billions. Teachers have been placed under insurmountable pressure to embrace this ineffective model of teaching, which has left them utterly exhausted and burnt out. This is when I begin to hear sounds of impatience with our kiddos in the classroom, which fuels an internal dialogue of “I’m annoying if I have unmet needs or am confused”. Questions are not encouraged in our classrooms anymore. Only stringent cooperation.

So, let’s see here. We’ve got trend-seeking parents, conformity-fueled education systems, and youth hyper-focused on their social media portrayal. Where in the World is there room for childhood? For the messiness that is meant to inspire growth-oriented humans? For the generation of uniqueness and the encouragement to embrace all that comes with growing into well-adjusted and functioning adults? I certainly don’t see much wiggle room.

It’s a therapeutic point I strive to foster as a clinician that I generate a space dedicated for room to explore what it means to be the client. The child. The human. I am passionate on cultivating a safe and inviting space for the messiness of self-exploration and identification. It is extremely vital to a kiddo’s development to be given grace for the oopsies, validation for the hardships of being a little person existing in an expansive World, and room to figure out how they want to be known, not only to others but themselves. We must meet our children where they are at first and foremost. Set the trendsetting drive aside for the time being and recognize childhood is hard. Realistic expectations have evolved into idealistic expectations, and  it’s no wonder mental health deterioration is currently plaguing our youth.

Friendly reminder that “annoying” is an adjective attached to behavior, not the essence of a person.
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Sure, humans have a capacity to illustrate annoying behaviors from time to time. However, leaning on and adopting the trait of annoyance is like waving the white flag of defeat. Dig deep, my beautifully imperfect humans, as you are far more worthy than “annoying” allows you to take credit for. Challenge the blanket terms our World’s culture pressures us into accepting as our truth. We are meant to recognize and embrace our complexity, not the all-or-nothing “fads” tied throughout idealistic expectations. 

What did that little yellow thing represent though?

It represented the freedom that accompanies innocence. I think that’s the bulk of it. Innocence supports a feeling of safety, a veil of solitude away from the big bad wolves out there. I long for the consistency and security that those whom I admired fervently gave. All of the sudden, my “big girl” goals are achieved, and I’m left looking around, craving for my next moves to be rolled out gracefully before me. I did the education thing, and my equestrian show partner dedicated eleven years to the competition limelight. I married the love of my life, and we’re dedicated to nurturing our financial blueprints so we can grow and blossom in the ways we crave.

There’s a sense of loneliness when we witness the closing of chapters for ourselves and others. Whether it be tearfully sending our children off to boot camp as they embark on their own dreams, or kissing grandparents farewell, with a pinky promise to see them on the other side. Promising your aging show horse a comfortable retirement, longing for one more ride, one more dance in the show pen, just one more…

How much heavy can a heart withstand? How do we carry on and “fight the good fight” when our souls are bored of the burdens and exhausted from the heartache? You see, I identify as a therapist, yet I securely know that some answers are not mine to hold. I sit with clients, normalizing the bravery that is admitting “I don’t know” at times of immense vulnerability. When we don’t know the next steps or the next “to-do” to accomplish a sense of peace or fulfillment, it’s a challenge not to panic from the sense of loneliness.  Boredom that accompanies the sensation of wandering aimlessly through our routines can creep in and fester.

Here’s what I rely on and am leaning quite heavily on as I carry out my responsibilities with a heavy heart and a tired soul. I know there are three things guaranteed in this reality: the beginning of life, the ending of life, and change that happens in between. I’m thankful this heaviness holds the promise to be temporary. I’m reminding myself to focus on my foot being place in front of the other. Pushing myself, knowing the only way through this heartache is forward. I am fixating my gaze on the glimmers surrounding me: my loving rock of a husband, my tenacious family, my compassionate work crew, my quirky kitty and her fascination with the movement of water.

Drip Drip Drip

Life carries on to her own tempo. Invest in her promise of reaching new terrains, new opportunities, and novel chances to embrace what makes you feel alive and whole.