Tag: mental health

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!

Embracing Creativity: Lessons from an Unstable Parent

My mother was creative…and restless. The lifestyle my father’s job as a commercial contractor could afford her was not enough to make her happy. We lived in a sprawling ranch house built by my father, located in California’s San Benancio Valley. My father’s job kept him away through the week. On weekends there was constant arguing.

I believe my mother was bipolar but she was never diagnosed. She was definitely paranoid. In his absence, she would rant about what a bad person my father was, and claim he was trying to have her put away. My guess is he tried to get her to talk to someone, and her paranoia spun its own version of the story.

Mother would swing without warning from fits of depression to bursts of energy where she would enlist my sisters and me to “help” her with these massive projects around the house and the property. She’d be in bed for a week, and suddenly we’re all waxing the parquet wood floors in our sunken living room. Or pouring cement into frames my father built so we could have stairs down to the creek.

Living with Mother was a wild ride. But in her good moods she taught me to sew. She taught me about crafting. Our family portraits were framed in Plaster of Paris frames Mother made herself and embellished with gold leaf. One year we made Christmas trees out of old Readers Digest magazines, folding the top outside corner of each page to the middle binding. The magazines were then stood on end, pages fanned out, front and back covers glued together. The trees were spray painted and glittered, and displayed proudly around the house for the holiday season.

Mother gardened like a maniac, and made jams and jellies from our many fruit trees and berry vines. She made sauces from our tomatoes. There seemed to always be something in the pressure cooker. Homemade concord grape juice concentrate was stored in our deep freeze in the garage.

Mother was broken but I believe her creativeness kept her going – for a time. She has been gone now more than 30 years. I’ve had my own challenges with emotional well-being, largely from living with Mother’s lack of emotional well-being. But I am so very thankful to have experienced the creative part of her. Because of what I learned from my mother, I am an avid gardener, visual artist, crafter, and kitchen experimenter. And I believe that has saved me.

Is there someone in your life story who is/was broken, but has shared with you their beautiful gifts? What were your challenges in reconciling your feelings for this person?

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?

Final Thoughts on My South Pacific Adventure

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Gosh! What a crazy, scary, EMPOWERING trip! At a time when I was feeling broken, I made a drastic change in my life, and “launched” that change by hopping a ship to Fiji!

In the year or so leading up to this trip I had been feeling less than inspired at work. I had worked for five years for a really great company and was doing work I loved, but somehow it wasn’t satisfying anymore. I was having trouble getting up in the mornings and I would return home each night physically and emotionally drained. I had also been struggling with some physical symptoms that had me wondering if I would ever feel good again. I knew I was in need of a change in my life, but wasn’t sure what that would look like. Making the decision to do this trip was the first step.

Going through the exercise of planning the trip helped me begin to look forward to things again. As scary as it would be, I knew I needed to quit my job. I had been thinking about making a change anyway, and to do the trip right I was going to need to take much more time off than I had left in my PTO bank. I also didn’t want to feel the pressure of “what I’m coming back to” at the end of the trip.

One thing leading to another, I decided that since I would be leaving my job anyway, I’d give myself a year to do whatever I needed to do to feel better. I didn’t know for sure what was causing my physical symptoms, I only knew I needed to fix them. But that wasn’t all. Feeling tired and unwell all the time meant I wasn’t spending time with my two loves, art and writing. I decided I would go on my trip, and then I would spend the rest of my “year off” creating art and writing.

Even many of my closest friends don’t know this, but writing has always been my first love. I haven’t shared that a lot because of old tapes in my head that tell me “you can’t make a living as a writer,” and “well, I hope it’s at least cathartic” (i.e., nobody would want to read your dribble). Rubbish! I’ve been sitting on a draft of my memoir for more than ten years. Time to dust it off!

The story I told on my way out of  my job was that I was leaving to pursue my art. I told that story because I felt it would be more readily accepted than, “I’m going to write.” To most people, that would not compute. “How will you pay your bills?” sigh. Well, now I’m saying it. I’m going to write!

Back to the trip…

While traveling on my own in a foreign country did cause some additional stress, it also forced me to think about things in different ways. It broke my patterns. I couldn’t run to my safe place and hide. I had to find my way around. I spent 24 days figuring things out for myself and making decisions for myself without consideration for someone else. I tried new things. I started conversations with people I didn’t know. I began to feel less anxious and more powerful!

Okay, I’ll be honest. While on the ship, there were times I would seek out the safety of my cabin, but mostly I was out experiencing. I slathered my body with mud in Fiji. I danced on the pool deck. I made friends with a wonderful Ukrainian couple from Melbourne. I watched a glass blowing demonstration and had wine and cheese on the upper deck. I donated money to the casino. I sat at the stern of the ship after dark watching as the foamy tail of our departure reached back to meet the reflection of an invisible moon.

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Now, two months later, my trip is a surreal memory. Admittedly, some of the euphoria has worn off as real life takes over again, but I am finding the energy to do the deep work of fixing myself. Through working with a therapist, I have discovered that most of my physical symptoms were stress related. Turns out I have some grieving to do.

These days, I do spend time on my art, but I spend equal amounts of time meditating and writing. Rather than pushing myself into a specific direction, I’m listening to my body and going where my heart leads me.

So…I’ll continue to “do what I do” for the next few months and see where I end up. I would love to continue writing and creating art as my primary activities indefinitely, but if I must go back to working for someone else, I know I’ll be better prepared to handle the ups and downs that go with it.

This trip has helped to set me on a course of self-discovery and healing. And so, as I wrap up “the story of my trip” I raise my glass to toast my new life, whatever it turns out to be!

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