5 Ways to Cope With Transition

Cherry tree blossoming. Photo by Carla Kucinski.

A friend of mine recently reached out to me after having a hard day at work. We met for an impromptu dinner to vent and decompress from what was a difficult day for her. Sitting across from each other, I listened intently as she recounted the details of the day. The theme throughout her story was fear, worry, stress and a feeling of instability. My friend was in the throes of transition. She was still just a few months into this new role and trying to adjust to all the new duties that came with it while simultaneously trying to cope with other transitions in her personal life. It is not an easy place to be in.

We have all experienced phases of transition in our lives, whether it’s adjusting to a new role at work, the end of a relationship, or a health diagnosis we weren’t expecting. Even when it’s a positive phase in our life such as buying a home, becoming a parent or going back to college, the transition into this new phase of our life can be met with anxiety, frustration, fear, and even grief or loss.

Why transition can be difficult

Transition can be extremely uncomfortable. Often, what causes that uncomfortableness is the space between where you are and where you want to be. The tension between these two can make us feel stuck, leading to feelings such as frustration, sadness, anger and self-doubt. We can also experience helplessness and hopelessness. And almost always, some type of loss is experienced.

I remember the night before I had planned to hand-in my resignation at a former job, I bawled my eyes out. Even though I knew in my heart and my gut that this was the best decision for me, I felt a deep sadness about this major change in my life that went beyond missing the people I work with. I wasn’t just leaving a career that I enjoyed for 15+ years, but also everything that I knew and that felt familiar. It felt like stepping into a great unknown. Why? Because I was losing my sense of security. I was 37 years old, entering graduate school to become a mental health counselor and embarking on a brand-new career. I was TERRIFIED.

When we experience major transitions in our life, sometimes the tension can come from changes to our identity as a result of the transition. I know I have experienced many transitions where I found myself asking: Who am I? Who do I want to be? When I left my job to go back to school, so many of my identities shifted. I was now a student and no longer a boss. I went from being an equal financial provider in my family to minimally contributing financially. Like my friend in her new role at work, I was in a period of change and growth.

I got through these growing pains by being mindful of what I was feeling and thinking, by practicing compassion toward myself, and by learning patience with not only myself but the process of unfurling into this new phase of my life. These practices are strongly rooted in mindfulness. I’ve broken down some of these tips below and elaborated on how you can integrate these skills into your life.

Bowl of raspberries resting on blank page of journal.
Photo by Carla Kucinski.

Tips For Coping With Transition

Recognize that you’re going through a hard time. There is so much relief that can come just from validating our own experience and having compassion for the difficult time we are having in the moment. Name it to tame it. When we acknowledge what we are experiencing, it can take away some of the power of whatever difficult emotions we are feeling. It’s almost like slowly releasing some of the air from a balloon. We can feel some sense of relief, even if only for a little while.

Transition is a part of life. Accept that we all encounter transitions in our life and that each transition comes with its challenges. It’s universal. We all go through it. You are not alone in it. Recognizing this can help us feel less isolated in times of suffering and may even provide some comfort in knowing that we all experience this.

Practice self-compassion. Ask yourself what you need? Is there a word or mantra you can say to yourself in difficult times that speaks to you? A phrase or affirmation that brings you comfort or hope? One affirmation I heard recently that I just LOVE is “the path will open.” It captures hope and strengthens trust that a new door or path will open to something different. Or maybe instead of a phrase it’s an action you need to take such as moving through a few of your favorite yoga poses, making yourself some tea or writing in your journal.

Reach out to a trusted friend. Connection is key in times of distress. Talking with a trusted friend about your experience can help you feel loved and validated. Being heard and understood can be deeply healing and help us feel less isolated and more connected to others and ourselves.

Recognize the wins. Sometimes when we are in the throes of transition, and therefore in deep suffering, we can lose sight of how far we’ve come. Now, I’m not suggesting you minimize your pain or be all Pollyanna, pretending that everything is wonderful. But it’s important to recognize the strides to help give us a kernel of hope. So maybe you’re adjusting to the end of a relationship and feelings of grief. But as you reflect on who you were in the relationship and who you are now, you realize that you have a lot less stress in your life because of the toxicity in the relationship and that your social circle has expanded and deepened because you’ve reached out to friends for support. Or maybe you’re in a new role at work that causes self-doubt, but when you pause to look at the gains this past week, you realize “I really nailed that presentation” or “I had a breakthrough with a client” or “it was a stressful day, but I got through it by reaching out to a friend.”

How Owning Your Voice Can Increase Self-worth

During my last semester of grad school, I took a substance abuse class in which we were assigned to give up something for an entire semester. The purpose was to help us better understand addiction and experience what it is like to break unhelpful habits and patterns in our lives. Some of my classmates gave up things like sugar, Netflix or social media. I chose to abstain from a behavior: not using my voice.

Sun shining on patch of clover and grass.
Photo by Carla Kucinski.

Growing up I was extremely shy, quiet and introverted. I was the kind of kid who would hide under the dinner table at family gatherings or cry during performances that my pre-school made us participate in. And while I have outgrown my shyness, I have embraced my quiet, gentle nature and introversion as a proud INFJ. But what I began to uncover through this abstinence project (and my own therapy) was that I had developed a pattern of not sharing my thoughts or emotions or advocating for myself whenever I faced confrontation.

I had spent most of my adult life holding this tension between staying quiet and using my voice. For me, this happened most frequently with authority figures or some type of hierarchical relationship. My automatic response would be to shut down and withdraw. While in that state, my chest and stomach would tighten, and I would internalize all the emotions I wasn’t releasing, which kept me locked in painful emotions and sensations.

My response was rooted in trauma and a negative core belief of “I’m not good enough” and “my voice doesn’t matter.” Patterns of past unhealthy romantic relationships and traumatic events within those relationships formed and reinforced these beliefs and chipped away at my self-worth. I tried to adapt to these situations by shutting down and retreating. This is a common trauma response. We also see this occur in nature when animals “play dead” or freeze in the presence of a predator. Just like humans, they do this as a form of physical and emotional protection.

Whatever we practice gets stronger

“Whatever we practice gets stronger,” says mindfulness expert Tara Brach. While this process of using my voice was uncomfortable, scary and anxiety-producing at times, I felt more comfortable and grounded the more I practiced. I felt less stuck.

Through this growing process, my clients also inspired me. While I was wading through my abstinence project, I was also simultaneously counseling survivors of sexual, physical and emotional abuse at my internship site. A huge part of my work with clients was helping them find or rediscover their voice and supporting them through that process of practicing safe and empowering ways to use it. I felt like I was in a parallel process with my clients of finding and owning my own voice, too. Witnessing the risks they were taking and the positive changes they were creating in their lives inspired my own journey. Embracing my own voice also made me an even stronger advocate for my clients.

There’s a quote about how “staying the same is almost riskier and more uncomfortable than taking the risk.” While staying silent appeared to keep me seemingly safe and comfortable, it was more uncomfortable for me to stay in that place because I knew that I had more to offer, but most importantly, I deserved more. The more I began to use my voice, the less power my negative belief of “I’m not enough” had over me. I spoke up more in class, at staff meetings, with my loved ones, with my doctors. I started to write a new story: My voice matters. I matter. You and your voice matter, too.

Reflection Exercise

Think about this: There is no one else like you. You are uniquely you, which is pretty amazing when you really stop to think about it. We all have a purpose on this planet and possess something valuable to offer. Your voice, your story, your thoughts, your feelings, they are all worthy and deserving of being shared, received, honored and listened to.

What holds you back from sharing your thoughts and feelings and advocating for yourself? Who told you or made you feel like your voice doesn’t matter? What’s one step you can take today toward owning your voice and advocating for your needs?

How EMDR Helped Me Heal

“What’s the worst part about the incident?”

I sat across from my new therapist, contemplating the answer to her question as my mind flipped through flashes of images from that day.

Wind.

Drizzling rain on the windshield.

Singing in the car to P!nk.

A thud.

Glass shattering.

Silence.

Standing on the side of the road.

Tears.

Calling my husband.

It only took a few seconds before I landed on the image that makes my chest tighten and takes away my breath.

“When I saw the tree falling onto my car,” I answered. “I thought I was going to die.”

“And when you think of that incident, on a scale from 0-10, with 10 being the most disturbing, how disturbing is the event when you think about it?” my therapist asked.

“10,” I said without hesitation. I took a deep breath and exhaled.

This was my first of six sessions of Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing or EMDR, an evidence-based form of therapy that helps individuals process and heal from traumatic or disturbing experiences. EMDR is too complex to explain all of its attributes and treatment methods fully in one post. If you’re interested in learning more, I suggest exploring the links at the end of this post and checking back on this blog for my future posts on the topic. But for the purpose of this story, I’m going to focus on the brain and how memories are stored.

How trauma gets stored in the brain

woman with tears in her eyes
Photo by Luis Galvez on Unsplash

Our brain is a powerful organ built with an information processing system for healing and survival. As explained by EMDR’s founder, Francine Shapiro, in her book “Getting Past Your Past,” this mechanism allows us to “make connections to what is useful, and let go of the rest.” This process occurs mostly during REM (rapid eye movement). Have you ever gone to bed upset about something, perhaps grappling over a decision you want to make, and then wake up the next morning with clarity about what to do or feeling less bad about it? It’s because your brain processed it during REM sleep; the brain worked out a solution or what Shapiro describes as an adaptive resolution.

But sometimes, a traumatic or disturbing event prevents that adaptive solution to form. The event can be so overwhelming (mentally, emotionally, physically) that the body cannot process the experience, and instead, the event gets filed away in the brain unprocessed. You can think of an unprocessed memory as a container holding all the emotions, body sensations, negative beliefs and thoughts about yourself that are tied to that memory.

So, let’s go back to my car accident for a moment and think about what was in my unprocessed memory container of that event?

Emotions: Fear, shock, vulnerability.

Body sensations: Freeze response, whole body tensed, chest tightened, like wind was knocked out of me.

Senses (sight, sound, smell, etc.): The pine tree snapping and falling onto my car; the “whoosh” of the tree when it was falling; glass shattering; smashed windshield; shards of glass; P!nk on the radio; the smell of pine needles; silence.

Negative beliefs and thoughts: I’m going to die.

What happened was so overwhelming to my entire system that the memory was never fully processed, and all of that stuff I just listed got filed away in an isolated part of the brain that didn’t link up to anything adaptive that would have allowed me to integrate the event into all of my other life experiences. Instead, the memory remained unprocessed, and as a result, I stayed stuck. Every time I drove or got in the car with anyone, the past felt like the present. A constant loop of “I’m going to die” played in my head. Sometimes I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack. Other times I felt like at any moment my whole body would freeze up in the middle of driving. I was reliving my accident over and over again—and not just in my waking life. It also showed up in my dreams, where I frequently experienced nightmares about car accidents.

What further prevented this memory from being processed is how I responded immediately after the accident happened. Shocked and numbed, I went into autopilot and made phone calls: first to my doctor’s office that I wouldn’t make my appointment that afternoon; second to AAA to tow my car; third to 911 to let them know about the pine tree lying across I-40; fourth to my husband; fifth to my auto insurance to file my claim. And when my husband arrived on the scene, I had him drive me to my friend’s dinner party which I had committed to that evening and he highly discouraged me from going to. “I’m not going to let this ruin my whole evening,” I proclaimed. I pushed it all away.

This traumatic experience also occurred on the heals of a number of other traumatic events that proceeded it, which added to the weight of my symptoms. I would learn through EMDR—both as a clinician in my training and as a patient in therapy—that there was a thread connecting all of them together.

collection of pine tree branches
Photo by David Pisnoy on Unsplash

Turning point

My symptoms persisted for more than two years, ultimately leading to a diagnosis of PTSD. I tried everything to cope with the symptoms—meditation, mindfulness, medication, grounding exercises, counseling, yoga. It took the edge off a little, and helped me in other areas of my life, but I never felt true relief. I felt stuck and unable to believe that I would ever find safety or joy again behind the wheel. I gave up and just tried to co-exist with these symptoms. Spoiler alert: That didn’t work either.

The turning point for me finally happened in October 2019 when I was triggered by a video in my EMDR training course, which featured a woman talking to her therapist about being physically hit by a car. I was fine up until the part in her story where she talked about the smashed windshield and identified “I’m going to die” as the first thought she experienced. Watching it, I felt like someone stabbed a knife in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I left the room and walked into the hallway ith no awareness of where I was going. I could hear my friend’s voice calling my name behind me, but I felt like I was in a tunnel and she was on the far opposite end from me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was experiencing a flashback and panic attack. I was back in the driver’s seat, reliving my accident. With the help of my friend and one of the trainers from our course, I stabilized in a few minutes using some grounding techniques we learned in class. I had never experienced anything like this before and it scared me. The next day I made an appointment with an EMDR therapist.

sun shining through pine trees by a lake
Photo by Carla Kucinski.

EMDR helped me take back my life. Now, when I drive, I catch myself all the time in moments where I am relaxed behind the wheel. My PTSD symptoms are gone. I still have a little bit of hypervigilance, but as my therapist explained, that’s normal, and not something that I would want to completely go away because it keeps me safe. I no longer feel like a prisoner to these symptoms and this experience. And that negative belief of “I’m going to die” that constantly looped in my head while I drove, it’s no longer there. It’s been replaced by the more adaptive belief: I survived. When I say these words out loud or to myself, I feel a sense of peace in my body and a smile forms on my face. I never imagined this could be possible.   

Suggested Resources

If you’re interested in learning how EMDR techniques may help you in your own healing, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me through phone or email or schedule a free 10-minute phone consultation with me.