Category: Personal Growth

The Child Inside Me

There is a child inside me

She lurks in the corners of my soul as I navigate my life

She has been waiting for her chance to come out and play

.

I worked so hard for so much of my life

to raise my kids

to keep myself safe

.

I tried so hard to fit in

Hoping to be seen – to be heard

My inner child has been very patient

.

My kids are now grown and have their own lives

I’ve no one to care for but the dogs

No one to tell me what I can, can’t, or should do

.

The child is now free to play

She’s with me when I garden

She helps me tell my story through my blog

She’s there when I create the art that brings me so much joy

.

And she’s there to tell me it’s okay

when I start to feel weepy over old memories

or the state of the world

Breaking Free: A Journey to Independence

At 14, all I wanted was to be married to the boy across the street. He was going to save me from life with my bipolar mother.

At 17, we were married. Life was sure to change for the better. This was the answer.

At 18, I was angry. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and I was restricted to either work or home. I had one friend he approved of.

At 19, we separated so he could find himself. He was 22 by then and had been with me five years already. He wanted to explore other relationships. Three months later, we were back together – not by my choice – I had been enjoying my new freedom. But he had seen the error of this ways. Mother intervened, and parental pressure won out again.

At 20, I was pregnant. Having a child would fix our marriage – I was sure of it.

At 21, I was fantasizing his sudden death so I could be free of him and grow into the strong, independent woman I was meant to be.

Not long after, I found myself single parenting our 15-month-old twin daughters. No, he didn’t die. But I grew some courage and stood up for myself. He was finally willing to let go for good.

It wasn’t easy, but we all made it through the emotional and financial struggles…as much as one can when living moment by moment.

Today my daughters are grown with babies of their own. I am happily single, in a home I own, doing the things I could only dream of way back then. There were many detours along the way, but I got here.

Dreams do come true.

Celebrating Life’s Simple Pleasures: Things I Love

Lately I’ve been posting a lot about my personal growth coming out of trauma. I thought it was time for a change of pace. Today’s post is quite simply a list of things I love.

Cool mornings in Summer

Puppy Snuggles

Strong Coffee

A warm chocolate chip cookie

A garden full of flowers

My beautiful daughters

Hours alone in my art studio

A good WhoDunit

Movie popcorn

Truffle fries

A good wine shared with friends

Summer trips with my daughters and grandchildren

Bunco

Halloween

Staring at the stars

Toes in my sand

The sounds of the ocean

A just-cleaned house

Laughing til I cry

A good sneeze

The smell of warm banana bread

Traveling Europe

Saturday morning free writing

A clean car

Buying art supplies

Exploring new painting techniques

Pepperoni pizza

A good burger

Butterflies

Sitting around a fire pit with friends

Thank you for reading. What things do you love?

Changing My Name: a Path to Healing

Shedding my name was a big step in letting go of my past. Every time I heard that name aimed at me, it was like fingernails on a chalkboard. It’s a fine name for someone else, just not me.

It was my first name that needed to go. The name I had been called in the house full of anger. The name I carried with me all through school, where I was afraid to make friends – didn’t know how to. It was the name I was called during my first marriage. The marriage that had been a desperate attempt to gain freedom, but in fact was even more constrictive.

I eventually fled the marriage, moved out of state, and changed my name. It seemed the perfect timing – no one knew me. I began using my middle name – a nod to my mostly un-present, but desperately missed father. I was in my early twenties, and single parenting 15-month-old twins. I needed something big to help me shift into my new life. This was it. Nothing official, I simply began sharing it as my preferred name. My health insurance was in the name I preferred. I traveled under the name I preferred. Nobody cared.

Fast forward about forty years. Travel policies had tightened and I was once again forced to acknowledge my first name. A trip to Portugal in 2022 became frustrating when I had to constantly correct the tour guides, after I had dutifully listed my middle name in the “Preferred Name” box on the forms.

That’s it, I thought. No more. So I made it official. I now am legally addressed by what had been my middle name, my first name now residing in the middle position and shortened to a single letter. No one’s going to call me that again…except…when I have the unfortunate need to communicate with my ex. But that doesn’t happen often.

I bought a piece of art off the courthouse wall the day I received the order. It hangs in my living room as a reminder of the gift I gave myself. The ink drawing of frogs perched on lily pads in a pond was created by a woman in a recovery program. I thought it fitting: the artist was working on her trauma, and her art was a symbol of me working on mine. I’m so thankful it was there on the courthouse wall that day. It’s a favorite piece in my collection.

Of course, changing my name didn’t erase my past. It didn’t make me magically stop thinking about it. But not hearing that name every day has given me space to heal. Distance. There was a level of resentment I felt when called by my given name.

I still have memories that make me sad at times. But it’s easier these days to recognize when I’m going down an unhealthy rabbit hole. I remind myself that I’m a different person than I was back then. I have better options now, because of the life I’ve created for myself. Sure, I still carry grief that bubbles up from time to time – don’t we all? And I occasionally go back to therapy for a tune-up. That’s how healing works. But I feel I’m “over the hump.” And the name change was a big part of making that happen.

The decision to change a name is a big one, and isn’t for everyone. In case you’re considering it, you should know: The courthouse step is surprisingly easy. The name changing on every official document in your life is the hard part. I’m still working on it.

What big thing have you done for yourself that caused a shift in your life? Did it do the trick? Was it everything you hoped for?

Rediscovering Joy Through Art: My Healing Journey

I have recently restarted my painting practice, and what a life-changer! I sat in anxiety and fear for years – art studio gathering dust – paintings in storage.

I had been dealing with some depression…disconnectedness. It crept in slowly…as it can…and had gone on for so long, I forgot what it was like to be joyful. I accepted it as my new normal. But I missed my old self. Eventually, through some divine interventions, I was able to break through the fog. It took several intentional changes in my lifestyle and weaning off a neurologic prescription to get there, but eventually, I began to feel better again.

Then one day I started moving forward. First, I reorganized my studio, making friends with the space again. Next, I began playing. Just dabbling. Soon after, an Art Healing Workshop appeared on my social feed, and I signed up for that. A full week of self-reflection through art gave me the boost I needed. I signed up for the monthly membership, where I get to have regular working sessions with others across the country.

Last weekend, I did my first live art show in probably ten years, and it felt wonderful! I was excited to get some of my new work out into the world and dip my toes into the live show experience. I came away, elated! People commented on the deep textures and bright colors I use in my floral paintings. They enjoyed their whimsical feel. I loved hearing what people had to say. I felt validated!

I am sure this is where I’m meant to be, at this moment. I believe I wasn’t ready until now. Now, I can fully appreciate my gift without self-judgment. It’s such a freeing experience to have given in to the thing that brings me so much joy!

A key part of this story is that I’ve forgiven myself for keeping my joy at bay for so long. I had things I needed to go through in order to get here…in order to appreciate the magic of this part of me.

Are you embracing the things that bring you joy today?

Have you ever had a breakthrough that suddenly brought you back into your joy?

For information about Leah Guzman’s Art Therapy program: LeahGuzmanStudio.com

To see more of my art: MelEricksonFineArt.com

Letting Go: A Path to Physical and Emotional Healing

I recently had an epiphany. Let me explain. A few months ago, I was diagnosed with a chronic condition that affects my digestion in extreme ways. Since then, I’ve tried all manner of supplements and laxatives, as well as a low fiber diet to try to get to a place of comfort.

Then, on a Thursday evening a few weeks ago, I was chatting with my friend, Mary, and she asked about my health. I shared with her that I had been feeling defeated earlier in the day, because all the adjustments I’d made had had little impact. My Gastrointestinal doctor’s advice was simply: “MiraLAX, and two kiwi a day.” In my moment of defeat, I said out loud to myself, What else can I do? I don’t know what to do. I started to tear up. But then my mind cataloged all the daily routines I’d been doing for months, and I realized I had been skipping my daily affirmations.

You see, I’ve long been a believer in the mind/body connection. I also believe we attract into our lives circumstances and things that align with the vibrations (energy) we send out into the world. For years, I’ve followed the likes of Louise Hay, Abraham-Hicks, and Mike Dooley. I fully believe Dooley’s catch phrase, “Thoughts become things.”

I’ve already achieved so much for myself through positive thoughts and intentionality, but sometimes I get busy and overwhelmed. I forget my power. Metaphysics has many more uses than just manifesting good parking spots. But I’m human. I need the Universe to give me a swift kick in the butt now and then.

As an example, a few months ago, I used positive affirmations to help me remediate the chronic fibromyalgia flare-up I’d been experiencing for over a year. I had gotten a couple nudges from the Universe that led me to search for my copy of Louise Hay and Mona Lisa Schulz’s book, ALL IS WELL. I looked up several of my symptoms in the reference at the back and learned which negative thoughts I was likely carrying around with me that might contribute to my symptoms. I wrote down the recommended positive affirmations and got busy.

No, I didn’t say the affirmations a couple times and suddenly I was healed. It doesn’t work that way. But the repetition of affirmations daily can help silence the negative messages that run wild in our brains. Think of it as meditating or praying. In this situation, the affirmations improved my mindset, and I was able to think through possible causes for my discomfort. Through a series of unexpected events, I was led to hire a company to remediate mold found in my home. I also began acupuncture therapy. I believe those two things got me over the hump and onto recovery.

Now, back to Thursday evening. As I rambled on to my friend, complaining over my lack of progress, I paused, and said, “But I am feeling a little better now. I haven’t been doing my affirmations every day. I haven’t done any in a while. So I got my book out and looked up a bunch of conditions related to stomach, colon, and digestion.” I paused again, the wheels turning, then said, “You know what?”

“What?”

“Every one of the affirmations for these conditions had to do with letting go of the past!”

That’s when it hit me! Right there, in Mary’s living room, I had my epiphany! I said:

“I need to let go of my memoir!”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes. For over a year now I’ve been sharing my trauma stories with my writer friends every week on that Zoom call I told you about. I need to let that go!”

This was HUGE! I have identified with this project for so many years, feeling determined it was important work that the world needed. I had conned myself into believing my motivation for publishing was primarily to help others. If I could survive my trauma and come out thriving (was I though?), surely my audience would be inspired to keep going! And there was that Creative Writing Professor who told me I should pursue publication after I submitted my class project: a collection of my teenage journal entries and poetry, strung together with a little prose.

Suddenly, I saw things differently. I hadn’t been honest with myself. Sure, it might be possible that someone would buy my memoir, read it, and think, “Wow. If she could survive that, surely I can survive this.” But there are so many memoirs out there today telling similar stories. Do we really need another? Revisiting those stories repeatedly had been damaging to my psyche. It was time for me to let go of my past and put my energy into creating something new and positive for my future.

I cannot fully express the level of relief I felt once I made that connection! It was almost instantaneous! I felt lighter, happier…relieved! This was several weeks ago, and I am still riding the wave. I look forward to working on something new. Will letting go of my memoir really help my digestive system heal? Time will tell.

Today’s affirmation from ALL IS WELL:

“As I release the past, the new and fresh and vital enter. I allow life to flow through me.”

Does the think Universe (God, Allah, Spirit) sends you messages?

Do you “get” the message the first time around or do you need a few nudges? I’m curious to know!

Fitting In vs. Belonging: My Personal Journey

Lately I’ve been working on my memoir – still and forever, if I’m honest – and things have come up, as they do. One topic that’s been rattling around in my head is the idea of fitting in vs. belonging.

Throughout my childhood and as a young adult, I put substantial effort into fitting in. I would do, say, or even wear certain things, hoping for the acceptance I desired. I craved positive attention and was willing to hide parts of myself to get it. I didn’t know the difference between fitting in and belonging.

Brené Brown says, “True belonging doesn’t require us to change who we are. It requires us to BE who we are.”

My insecurities were born in my early family life. I learned to moderate myself at a very young age. I never felt I belonged in our household of five. I experienced trauma as a child stemming from my mother’s erratic behavior and the absence of my father. I was the youngest of three girls, raised by an emotionally toxic mother, whose behavior had estranged my father. I don’t excuse him for leaving us all to deal with Mother on our own, but I do see how living with my mother must have pushed him away.

With an age gap of six and nine years between my sisters and me – me being the youngest – it felt like I had three mothers. I was told what to do, when to do it, how to do it. I learned to keep my mouth shut and not try to express an opinion, lest I be chastised or ridiculed. I was emotionally squashed. I grew up afraid to open my mouth at home, at school, in any social situation. Even now, in my sixties, and after many years in and out of therapy, I still struggle.

As a young woman, I was thin and pretty. I had no problem attracting men. And there were a lot of them – some flings, some relationships. But none of those encounters led to true happiness. I was always modifying myself in hopes of gaining acceptance and love, but then would wake up one day and realize I’d latched onto someone who wasn’t intellectually stimulating or willing to grow or let me grow. I equated sex with love. But that’s a whole other story not for this post.

As an adult, I became an overachiever in my career, addicted to the attention I received for being smart, efficient, or professional. The positive feedback I received fooled me into believing I belonged. But I was only barely surviving, courtesy of a separate persona I developed that masked my true self. I would pull it on like an overcoat when I left the house and then come home at the end of the day, exhausted. I was an introvert, living an extroverted existence, five days a week. I had a constant need to prove myself worthy. Imposter syndrome, anyone?

Socially, I would try again and again to connect with people and take it personally when I realized they weren’t interested. It was discouraging to try so hard to be accepted only to be disappointed when I didn’t come away with the prize.  

Eventually, I took time to think about what may be going wrong for me. And I remembered some people who have tried to connect with me over the years when I wasn’t interested. So, was my experience Karma or just human nature? I’m going with human nature. And sometimes it’s just timing. We’re not aligned in what we’re looking for today, but maybe later, as we all learn about ourselves and life, we’ll cross paths again and both want to connect.

While painful, revisiting these disappointing memories has been good for me. It has helped me work through some feelings and connect some dots. Sometimes we need to accept that this thing we think we want is just not a good fit. I believe anything that leaves you feeling empty isn’t worth your time and energy.

These days, I’m in a more objective place, where I’m willing to show my uniqueness to people I meet and not have the expectation that they be drawn to that. I remind myself before going into a new social setting that I will either be accepted or not, but either way, I’ll be okay. I’m a good person. I know that to be true.

I’m comforted knowing I have a small circle of close friends, whom I treasure, and who treasure me. Every one of them picked me, in spite of myself. And I picked them. I don’t feel the need to hide any part of me when I’m with them. These are the types of friendships where time and distance make no difference. Getting together feels easy and light, no matter how long it’s been. And that, my friends, is my definition of belonging.

What is your definition of belonging? What discoveries have you made about yourself as you interact with others and connect (or not) with others?

One Day at a Time

I’m so tired of seeing “COVID” this and “COVID” that in my social feeds. I get it. Stay inside. Wear a mask when you absolutely have to go out. It’s depressing. And there are so many people out there trying to “help” (AKA get their 15 minutes in the spotlight). I’m really over it all. Don’t get me wrong. I feel horrible about what’s going on and I am so grateful for the people who are risking their lives every day to keep people (like me) safe. 

There actually is some good content coming out by some people who are finding creativity in their confinement. Some of it is sad; some heartwarming. I love that entertainers/musicians and those sorts are streaming free concerts/plays/other content to cheer us up in this stressful new life we’re in. But the volume of it is overwhelming.

It is a surreal time in this world we’re sharing. (Thank you, Captain Obvious!) These kinds of situations are supposed to happen in movie plots, not real life. What’s next, Universe? Zombies? Oi.

But this is real life. This is our real life now. And I’m trying to do my part by…not doing. I’m here, in my house, with my dogs. Thank goodness for streaming apps. But it’s still hard. After three solid weeks at home, I’ve found myself skipping over most of the COVID-themed content in my social feeds. Is it wrong that I am desensitized? I prefer to think of it as emotional self-preservation. The worst of it is reading about people who aren’t taking this seriously and are putting more lives in danger. Get real, people.

I’m not going to talk about politics: who did what / who should have done what. I’m focusing my energy on the here and now. This is where we are. Now what? It’s heartwarming to see how so many businesses and individuals are stepping up to help wherever they can. Sewing masks and retooling equipment to manufacture much-needed PPE for our medical professionals. I have faith that we will come out of this a stronger nation because of these pockets of love and generosity.

I understand this experience is different for each of us. We each must navigate through our own lense of truth and sensibility. We all have our tolerance levels and personal methods for coping with stress. Some of us need to shout about how we got here. Some of us need to desensitize with meditation, exercise, streaming, wine…whatever works.

I am an IT consultant, and my current situation is that I’m sitting at my computer all day every day while I wait “on the bench” for a new project. The client I was working for had to redirect their budget to support…you got it, COVID 19. So here I am.

Currently I’m working on some small internal projects and self-training through whatever means possible so that I may be more of a value-add on my next project assignment. In the meantime, though, it’s a bit stressful, and I’m having a hard time staying focused. Will I really get a new project or will I soon be added to the count of n million Americans filing for unemployment benefits?

I know how fortunate I am. I am still being paid my full salary. I am not having to put my life at risk delivering food to people (like me) just to keep a roof over my family’s head. I’m not on the front lines caring for infected patients who are not able to see their families in person…and I don’t have to worry that I may become infected and bring it home to my family. 

I’m actually in good shape, considering. That fact is at once comforting and disheartening. For me, there is guilt that comes with safety. But also gratefulness. Some days I’m up, others I’m down, and still others I swing wildly between the two states. 

I am also an artist, so I have that to keep me distracted. Except I’m not making art. And I’ve got a great space set up in my home for yoga and meditation. But I’m not doing that. For now I’m stuck in a funk. But I know I’ll come out okay in the end. Sometimes I need to sit in a funk for a bit. For whatever reason, that’s my process. But I’m getting up every day and showing up…for whatever happens. I try to get some fresh air every day, but even if the only thing I can do is put one foot in front of the other, I am moving forward…one day at a time.

Resources:

Online course at Coursera from Yale on the Science of Well-Being (10 week free course).

BetterHelp is the largest online counseling platform worldwide. 

Questions to my readers:

How are you coping in this crisis? What works best for you? Do you find that one thing works for you consistently or do you use multiple tools or activities to stay calm and productive?

Self-Judgement and Shame

If you’re a perfectionist OCD control-freak people-pleaser…can I get a “Hell yes!”

I work on myself. I try to make myself a better person. And I beat myself up in the process.

Here’s my latest story:

It happened yesterday. I had volunteered for a “feed the people” event. It was for a local organization supporting patients and family members of patients who are visiting Nashville for medical services. The task was to prepare lunch for guests at the facility.

We were to prepare a taco bar. There were lots of moving parts…cooking the meat, chopping onions, slicing tomatoes…you know how it goes. There were three volunteers at the start with more arriving soon.

My friend (I’ll call her Sue) was coordinating the event on behalf of her volunteer organization. When we arrived, Sue was busy collecting lost volunteers so I jumped in and started making things happen…as I do. I set up a few work areas for cooking and chopping. Several more volunteers had arrived and we all sort of fell into a rhythm and things moved along nicely. It felt good. Food was served, the kitchen was cleaned, and we all went home. I spent the rest of my day running errands and feeling fulfilled for having supported people in need.

And then it happened. As I navigated my evening, little bits of shame began seeping in. There were scenes replaying in my mind over and over again where I wondered at first – then decided – that I had been more pushy than helpful in a few situations throughout the day.

I mean, there’s more than one way to slice an avocado, right? I thought I was helping because the volunteer seemed to be struggling. Sue was there as well and was moving in the direction of helping her but I jumped in and showed the volunteer my way – because it’s best way. How self-important am I?

Shortly after the avocado incident I noticed the volunteer had disappeared. I never saw her again. Was it me? Had I caused that? In retrospect I felt I should have hung back and let Sue handle it, but in the moment I was just digging in and doing. I hadn’t noticed Sue was moving in to help the volunteer until I was already in motion, and once I’m in motion…

Then there was the ladle incident. It could have been harmless or it could have been another time I stepped on Sue’s toes.

These thoughts have been bouncing around in my head since my return home last night, even seeping in during one of my bathroom visits in the middle of the night. What’s up with that?

I’ve always considered my take-charge personality a positive trait. It’s served me well in my career. I get things done. The problem is, I don’t know how or when to turn it off. When I’m in the moment, I’m just pushing forward. I’m not always aware of everything going on around me. I’m just doing.

I’m also not good at turning off my self-judgement and the shame that comes with it when my brain replays the event. I may not have been aware of things happening in the moment, but once it was all over my brain got right to work showing me all the ways I had been unaware and potentially inconsiderate. What people must be thinking of me!

At some point in the shaming process I had to stop myself. Had I really done anything wrong? Am I really so narcissistic as to believe a volunteer might have left the event because of me? Or had she not been feeling it from the start? She had come in late and was just sitting, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. Someone gave her avocados. And when she appeared awkward with them I decided to help rather than let her suffer. But – honestly – she would have gotten through it on her own – or someone else could have helped her. But I felt the need to insert myself into the situation.

I know that I tend to take over in situations where somebody needs help or no one seems to be in charge. I feel impatience when there are things to be done and they’re not being done as quickly or proficiently as I feel they should be. I know the best ways to do everything!

I believe my perfectionism and desire to lead springs from a childhood where I felt unheard and discounted. As an adult I overcompensate, hungry for the attention I often receive for going above and beyond. But that’s not always necessary.

After waking this morning with these thoughts tumbling around in my head I decided to meditate. The question I asked myself was, what do I need right now? I’d hoped to find an end to the shame that had now settled into my stomach. Each time I asked, what do I need right now, the answer was, write.

So I decided I’d start with this story. Maybe by writing it I’ll be able to let it go.

In the end I know what I’ll do. What would you do in this situation?

What Is Wrong With Me?!

This story is a bit of a downer, as it describes my attempt to figure out the cause of a host of physical symptoms that began for me several years ago. Could be interesting if you’re going through something similar. Or you might just want to move on to another post if you’re not interested in this type of story. There are also some resources at the bottom that could be helpful if you’ve having a tough time of it.

For the past several years I have experienced panic attacks on a sort-of regular basis. For the first couple years I thought something critical was going wrong inside my body, but none of my doctors could tell me what it was. I went from doctor to doctor, telling my story of dizziness, lightheadedness, nausea, phantom pains in various parts of my body…in various combinations and at frequencies I could never pin down to an event or meal or…anything. I had landed in the ER multiple times over these unpredictable symptoms, and each time nothing was found. I was not only frustrated, I was becoming embarrassed and ashamed. Why was I feeling this way if nothing was physically wrong? And how was I supposed to make it stop if no one could tell me what it was?

The thing that helped me begin to recognize my symptoms for what they really were was a phone call with my cardiologist. I had visited him a couple times over the years in my search for what was wrong with me, always with the same result: learning that I have a strong, healthy heart. That would be great news for most people, but considering how long I’d been searching for a cause of my ongoing discomfort, I looked forward to just about any diagnosis. Just tell me what it is.

On this particular day I was having an exceptionally difficult time with my symptoms and was my at wit’s end. I decided I needed to see my cardiologist right away. So I called to make an appointment and proceeded to state my case with the nurse for why I needed to see the doctor today. She was not having it. I eventually wore her down and she put the doctor on the phone. After hearing me out, the doctor proceeded to suggest to me, very gently and kindly, that maybe the pain I was feeling in my arm and chest that day was…fibromyalgia-related. Oh.

I was, at once, angry, humiliated, and defeated. I have always found my cardiologist to be very kind and compassionate. And his message to me on this day was delivered in the most kind and compassionate manner. But it still stung.

As I pulled myself together in that gas station parking lot, the reality of my situation slowly sunk in. The symptoms I’d been having were – at least partially – something my mind was making up. While I definitely had physical symptoms, my mind was evaluating them and attempting to categorize them, under the filter of my fear response. My anxious mind was so busy working to solve this puzzle that it twisted the reality of my chronic condition into something critical. As my dear friend D says of herself, I can talk myself into a coma. It’s true.

Over time, my emotional state over this not knowing had progressed from anxiety to panic. Of course I had heard of people having panic attacks, but those things happened to other people. Not me. I wasn’t even convinced they were real. I certainly never dreamed they would be something that I, Miss I’ve got Everything Under Control, would ever face. But here I was.

Somehow, in the aftermath of my reality check, the Universe landed me on the doorsteps of a holistic general medical practitioner. These types of practices are difficult to find, even at this time in our world, but I found one that took my insurance and was even located in my area of the city. The catch with this practice was that they required a $300 annual membership for all patients. The claim was that this allowed them to take more time with each patient. I didn’t care the cost. I wanted someone to take a look at the whole picture. I needed to get to the bottom of why I was having these panic attacks. I needed them to stop.

I was assigned to the PA (Physician’s Assistant), and this turned out to be a good thing. She was fairly young, but not so young that her experience would be in question. She was also extremely compassionate. On my first visit, we talked about my problematic symptoms, my blood sugar wellness (I am a Type 2 diabetic) and my thyroid hormone levels (I had had a thyroidectomy a couple years prior). As we talked through all of this, I couldn’t hold back my tears. I was frustrated and tired. I felt I had tried everything. I cried through the entire visit.

As the visit with the PA came to a close, we reviewed her list of recommended supplements, the list of levels she planned to test from all the blood her tech had drawn earlier in the visit, and…she suggested I make an appointment with the psychotherapist who had a office at the back of their building. I was resistant and a little offended at first, but then thought, What I’ve been doing so far isn’t working, so why not? I went home and called to make an appointment.

At our first meeting, I could see this was something I needed and opted to do weekly sessions until I was through my crisis. What I learned over the next few weeks was that what I had been experiencing was PTSD. Yes, I said it. PTSD was something I had always associated with veterans. I’ve since learned this is something that affects all sorts of people who have experienced all kinds of traumatic events.

I had a traumatic childhood, and had been in therapy multiple times in the past, but I had never gotten to the point of having panic attacks until my latest traumatic event: a romantic breakup. I’ve gone through more romantic breakups in my life than I choose to share at this time, and typically I get through them and move on and I settle into my normal life pretty quickly.

This latest breakup was different. Short story is, he was an alcoholic, which I should have known going in, but chose not to acknowledge the signs. Fast forward to three years later when I make the decision to move out. He handles it reasonably well, but then eight months later we’re back together, then we split again, then together again. It was a crazy train of my own making. More detail about why/how this was all happening will come out in a later post…maybe. Basically, he wanted us to remain friends, but he’s wasn’t capable of being platonic with me. And I clearly have boundary issues.

Fast forward again. It’s 3 1/2 years after the initial breakup, and he’s sitting across from me in my backyard after helping me with yard work (his platonic offer). As we’re talking, he’s suggesting something we can do together. It feels like a date. I can feel my chest restricting. I look him in the eyes and tell him, I need you to let me go. He looks me in the eyes and says, I don’t want to let you go. 

Shortly after that I received another drunken email telling me what a bad person I am. I blocked his number and refused to see him again, but I spent the next year or so wondering if he was lurking somewhere. I was afraid to drive through his part of town in case we might run into one another. He was phoning and emailing my daughters to try to get information about me.

I thought I had been managing the stress of this, but obviously not. I had blocked his phone number so he could no longer text or call me, but I kept his email open because, as I have shared with my friends, I want to keep my finger on the pulse of the crazy.

Once I figured out I was having panic attacks, I tracked my symptoms back to the beginning. My first episode happened at work, shortly after I began planning my exit from the relationship (the first time). I think that’s pretty telling. Imagine how much more stress I was carrying around 3 1/2 years later dealing with the same cycle of behaviors.

The thing that is the most disturbing for me about my eventual diagnosis is that none of my doctors would say the words panic attack to me. I had to put those words out there myself. I’ve since learned that unaddressed anxiety can build up loads of adrenaline in your body and cause panic attacks. A body needs exercise, or meditation, or…therapy…to move that adrenaline out. And panic attacks, by definition, come out of nowhere, and often cause you to feel like you are going to die. Even now, while I understand – intellectually – what is happening, I still sometimes feel like…maybe this is the time it’s real.

Since my discovery I have used therapy, meditation, EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) Tapping, and even exercise to help me through difficult times. Every person’s needs are different, so there’s no one-size-fits-all solution. These things have helped me.

So what is the moral of this story? Listen to your body. Listen to your inner being. When you feel like something is wrong, sit with yourself and  breathe. I know it can be hard to take that step back when you’re in the midst of feeling like your world is upside down and you don’t know why. But breathe for a minute, and then ask for help. Talk to your doctor and be open to the idea of therapy. There are so many things going on in the world today, it’s difficult at times to have a positive attitude each day. So allow yourself the space to feel bad when you need to. But if feeling bad becomes the norm, reach out. If you don’t find the help you need right away, try someone or something else. I’m still working through the emotional baggage I’ve carried around most of my life as well as the new things that are added as I move along. It’s a lifelong journey. I’m working on it.

Below are some resources to consider.

Love and light to you!

Best Meditation Apps of 2018 – I’ve tried a couple. This article gives you a legit review of several.

BetterHelp.com – Convenient, affordable, private online counseling. Anytime, anywhere.

EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) – Tapping is another great tool. I use it and I can honestly say, it works!

The Mental Illness Happy Hour – Great podcast (in my opinion). It’s an interview show where all sorts of emotional issues are discussed. It’s not therapy in the official sense, but I do find that I feel better hearing stories about what some other folks are dealing with. Sometimes it gives me validation, sometimes it helps me see that my life is not so bad.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – If you’re feeling really bad and can’t reach out to someone you know, please give these folks a call. You’re a beautiful person and we want you here.