Give yourself permission to just be. You don’t have to have everything figured out right now.
We can put so much pressure on ourselves at the start of a new year to set goals, place high expectations on ourselves, do more, be more, think differently, be someone or something else, etc. This can be particularly challenging if you lean toward perfectionist, high-achieving tendencies. Not to mention, we are constantly exposed to external messages all around us that tell us if we’re not setting life-altering goals at the start of the year, then we won’t live our “best year yet!” or create “the new you!” These messages only create additional pressure and false beliefs that we’re not good enough. And it’s just not true.
Maybe now is not the time to set goals. Maybe now what you need is tenderness and gentleness with yourself. Maybe what you need is more rest, more recovery. Maybe it’s time to take the pressure off yourself. You are enough.
This was me in mid-November 2018. I had just received my first PICC line. The whole procedure terrified me because I didn’t know what to expect. I remember lying in my hospital bed, watching The Food Network to help distract myself, and the kind nurses asking me questions about me and my life to further distract me from the thin tube they were snaking up the inside of my arm.
This was my proud, empowering moment in a year filled with so much uncertainty, fear, powerlessness and many, many tears. A year or so before I took this photo, I received my fourth lung disease diagnosis right as I was entering my grad school program for counseling. Several doctors and medications later, I found a doctor who specialized in my disease. A few weeks later, that doctor put me in the hospital for around-the-clock antibiotic IV treatments. It was a really difficult time in my life. Chronic illness turned my world upside down.
I look at this picture sometimes and wonder how I got through the sickest two years of my life. I look at this picture, and I still feel some sadness for what I had to go through–all that my body, mind and spirit endured. All that I had lost.
But I also look at this picture and see the fire that chronic illness lit inside of me. A fire that told me to keep going, keep fighting, keep holding onto hope, faith, strength. Not every day feels this way, but when those moments do happen, I hold them gently and try to find gratitude in the present moment, knowing that this feeling will fade like all feelings do, but that it will return again like an old friend. Everything is temporary.
We live in a world that teaches us to ignore our emotional pain, stuff it down, pretend it isn’t there. My chronic illness has taught me how vital it is to acknowledge, feel and express our pain–and the risks of not doing so. It’s also taught me that pain and suffering can co-exist with hope and healing. But maybe most importantly, it’s taught me to be more gentle with myself, to see rest not as a weakness, but a way to harness my strength.
If you have been diagnosed with a chronic illness or condition and need support, read more about Hope and Healing Through Chronic Illness, an online support group. Our next four-week support group begins January 18, 2020.
Friends, I have some exciting news to share. I was a featured guest recently on A Counselor’s Journey To Private Practice, where I talked about finding purpose and meaning in my career. Hosted by fellow counselor Juan Santos, the podcast helps counselors cultivate curiosity and build success in their private practice journey.
I had a blast talking with Juan about why I became a counselor and what it was like to follow my heart and change professions mid-career. (Spoiler alert: It was terrifying and exciting, but so worth it.)
You can listen to the episode below or click on the link for other ways to listen on multiple platforms.
“In Fearrington, North Carolina, my grandparents had lived by a pond, where geese plodded around with those curved black necks, squeaky honking. My Grandpa Miller explained that during migration, birds flew in V formation. The bird at the front, the tip of the V, had the hardest job facing the greatest amount of wind resistance. The air coming off the leader’s flapping wings lifted the birds flying behind it. Being the leader was grueling, so the birds took turns. When a bird exhausted itself, it trailed to the back, where it wouldn’t have to flap as hard, riding waves of wind that have been broken down by others. It saved its energy so that it could lead again. This was the only way to make the journey, to escape winter and make it to warmer places.”
From “Know My Name” a memoir by Chanel Miller
I have been completely engrossed by Chanel Miller’s Memoir “Know My Name” these past few weeks. Every free moment, I have been picking up the book and settling under blankets in the quiet of my room to return to Chanel’s moving story. I have never read a memoir that captures so well the complexities, the rawness, the upheaval, the pain and the grief of trauma. As I’ve been reading her book, I’ve found myself jotting down sentences and phrases and screenshotting passages that resonate with me, including the beautiful passage above that made me think of the grief process.
Grief and loss can feel like pumping our own wings, especially in the beginning. We flap them so hard, trying to overcome resistance, trying to push through to get past the pain, pretending we’re okay when we’re not, trying to move forward. But what we often need most, and what grief and loss require, is rest and care for ourselves—because grief can be exhausting. It asks a lot from us.
But what we often need most, and what grief and loss require, is rest and care for ourselves—because grief can be exhausting. It asks a lot from us.
2020 has asked a lot from us. The pandemic, racial injustice, natural disasters, the political climate, and so many different types of losses–loved ones, jobs, connection, physical touch, safety, control, normalcy, community… We are all pumping our wings, trying to cope as best we can with this challenging time.
We are all pumping our wings, trying to cope as best we can with this challenging time.
It is common with grief to feel a landslide of emotions. Grief can also affect us mentally, physically and spiritually. Loss creates a new reality and can make us not feel like ourselves. It takes a lot of energy to adjust to so much change, which is why rest is essential.
It’s okay to take breaks, to lean on others, to let them take the lead sometimes, to say no to the things that deplete us, and yes to ourselves. Self-care is critical and necessary. Our hearts are doing a lot of work this year, and it needs our love, care and attention.
So how do we even begin to care for ourselves? Self-care may look like taking first steps such as:
Every day, asking yourself: what is one thing I can do to care for myself today?
Listening to what you need and honoring it instead of resisting it
Allowing yourself to feel and to express your feelings—cry, scream, laugh when you need to
Being gentle with yourself and not taking on too much or expecting too much of yourself
Reaching out to loved ones who listen, love and support you
Engaging in physical activity that you enjoy
Getting adequate sleep and maintaining a consistent sleep schedule
Exploring new activities that may aid in your healing such as an art class, photography, writing, virtual book club, nature hikes, meditation
Joining a support group or starting therapy individually to support your mental health
Let’s talk about shame. Shame is not only an emotion we feel, but also a negative belief we think and physically feel in our bodies. It can feel powerful and all-consuming, even crushing at times. It also is common for those who have experienced trauma to feel shame.
But here’s the thing: You are not failing. You are human.
Experiencing shame does not make you a “bad person.” It makes you human. We all have experiences that shape our lives, how we see ourselves, how we see others and how we see the world. We can’t change the events that happened in our lives. What we can do is learn how to undo the shame that became a by-product of our experiences.
To begin to reduce shame, we can start by naming it for what it is (e.g., “This is shame.”) and increasing compassion for ourselves—in other words, what you say to yourself and how you say it. It matters.
Imagine if someone you care for said “I am such a failure.” What would you say to them? What tone of voice would you use?
How can you speak to yourself with more kindness and tenderness to bring more self-compassion to what you are going through? How can you speak to yourself the way you would to a dear friend?
I am in the process of understanding shame and learning how to let go of it.
