Where is she?

holistically: holistic

I look for her. Sometimes unconsciously. My heart's muscle memory grabs for her when a familiar song comes on, I watch a movie, I go somewhere, I see a certain colour or hear a certain sound... you get the picture. The triggers can be subtle, the triggers can be obvious, or they can be random as... well... random. When I can't find my best friend and the realization settles in like poison that she's not coming back, I droop. I get numb. I ache. I feel lost.

I know that feeling well and if you've ever lost someone, you may have felt it, too. When my father died it was the same thing: lumbering around life, looking for him, looking for a shred of his presence to ease my pain.

Within the feeling of being lost more recently, came a realization: I'm not only looking for her and for my father, I'm looking for me. I'm trying to find who I was and who I am now that all of this has happened.

The notion of searching for oneself sounds cliché but that's because it's common. We want to feel whole. We want to feel as though we know ourselves best and be confident in who that is. The problem is that we don't want to do the work just yet. In pain it becomes difficult to muster strength to change or assimilate new information. Basic tasks have to be relearned anyway and that seems to be where most energy goes after a loss.

That said, if you find a shred of hope or light, your gaze can shift toward the light. Yes, we can also start looking in darker places. It's ok to dabble sometimes as long as you don't stay there. In terms of the lighter side of things, I turned to the usual suspects the most (friends, family, my cats). Or my bed. Lately, however, I've turned to podcasts.

The podcast journey started because of my genius, beautiful sister-in-law. Instead of jamming out to tunes in the car, she and her husband listen to an incredibly engaging podcast called Serial. You can listen to this podcast on whatever app you desire (both Apple and Android stores should have a compatible app). I use CastBox (http://castbox.fm/).

Being me, I eagerly began subscribing to any and every podcast that tickled my fancy. Plenty of podcasts exist for everything from self-help to learning French to Science to Serial's uncanny ability to plunge you into the vortex of a single case's every winding, curvy detail for a season.

One podcast took me by surprise. Sure, I support happy, rainbow-filled literature, websites, discussions, etc. However, most of the time, I crave something more real and down to earth. Hence, when I subscribed to Vibrant Happy Women, I had my doubts but a part of me craved the sunshine that the title promised. Well, it's not all sunshine and rainbows. It's better.

Each episode focuses on a woman who has been through some shit. I believe the first one I listened to featured a mom from the Sandy Hook incident back in 2012. Her humanity astounded me. I was humbled, inspired, and dumbfounded by her forgiving, beautiful perspective on the world. I ended that podcast feeling that if she could forgive and see things in a new light, then why can't I?!

Another episode featured a woman who struggled with depression and anxiety. Now that is something all too many of us can identify with. Again, I felt humbled, inspired, and wanted to shift my thinking on my own life.

I've listened to about 15 episodes now. All feature different women who have gone through different plights of varying magnitudes and their transformations have been anywhere from subtle to ginormous. The captain of the podcast ship is Jen Riday. She's a life coach and a calming, warm presence. A magnificent force and woman herself, she curates other magnificent women to show us that we're all so different and so much the same.

So what the hell have I found on this podcast journey? Myself. Not a whole being or formula or graph that denotes specific qualities and emotions, but humble truths that have always been there but have been in hiding.

The first truth: we've ALL gone through something that we found difficult and/or are still going through it. Be kind--to yourself and to others. It's easier than you think.

The second and perhaps most important truth: you have to help yourself before you can help others.

Every woman on Jen's show is asked what some of their favourite quotes are, what they've been through, how they've come out of it, and what advice would they give to others. The main answer to the advice question was answered in a few ways, but a couple of note are the airplane analogy (put your own oxygen mask on first), or simply that you need to take care of yourself before and in order to take care of others. I addressed this issue in a previous post, "Physician: Heal Thyself." I believed the notion when I wrote it, but I didn't quite grasp that I could do it myself until I started hearing other women talk about it.

That's a paradox, I know: relying on other women to tell me I can do something that's supposed to be self-driving. Well, it's true. Because of these women I've only ever heard and never seen, I started to realize that I only have to look two places in order to help and find myself: to other people, and in the mirror. I feel so different and inadequate compared to others sometimes, until I hear their vulnerability and strength. I hear a voice inside me that says "Yes! I've felt that way!" or "OMG you do that TOO?!" I feel connected to something deeper than lil' ol' me.

When I look in the mirror, I start to see me. I start to see that I have some of the qualities these women have: resilience, vulnerability, strength, fallibility, and humanity. Sure, I can strive for other things throughout my life but those are more material or superficial goals. We certainly get wrapped up in those material goals: lose weight, be physically stronger, read a thousand books, be an early morning person and a social butterfly, know all the things, etc. The qualities (resilience, vulnerability, etc.) I mentioned before these material things are timeless and priceless.

Resilience is not something you can achieve through a 30 day program or a Facebook group challenge. It's inherent in all of us and is stoked when we're tested by life's trials. It's there. All you have to do is look back when you've struggled. If you're still alive, then you were resilient. Cut yourself some damn slack.

All you have to do is look in the mirror and realize that you have what it takes because you are you. I have what it takes to thrive because I am me. The people I lost loved me (thank God for that!). That love stemmed from a connection and recognition of similar qualities in each other. Take a moment and think about why you love certain people in your life. I bet you can come up with a few common qualities between them and lil' ol' you.

So maybe love yourself a little bit more. Cut yourself some slack. It's ok to look for yourself sometimes, but I challenge you to find yourself sometimes, too.

The perfectly imperfect

holistically: emotional, social

There's been a theme here since March: loss, grieving, and dealing with pain. I promise there's growth in here, hope, and some reassurance!

So. After going through some photos of my best friend who passed away and me, I saw a comment from my dear friend's mom (she's basically an aunt to me) that said "perfect friendship." Queue emotional tidal wave of appreciation and love to my friend and her momma. 

It got me thinking. About what? Glad you asked.

Death has a twisted way of adding to the pain of loss by ailing us with thoughts of guilt, regret, what ifs, and a sense that somehow we screwed up by not being or doing more. I've thought of many moments, conversations, unspoken words that make me ache with all the thoughts I've mentioned above. 

Our friendship was not perfect in the sense that it was not without its struggles. While we didn't fight or backstab each other, we had our issues, tensions, and what we euphemistically called "discussions." Our affection, bond, and sisterly love transcended formality and normal convention, though and transcended any struggle we came across. And that, my friends, is what made my friendship with her perfect (in a deeper, more meaningful sense).

When she passed, I was pissed off. I still am, but the bubbling rage has subsided (for now). I was also livid and tormented by comments made by people who meant well but had a tendency to diminish our deep relationship into something so futile and meaningless. I won't go into detail, but when people don't have a comfort level in how to deal with grief, they can say some things that are well-intentioned but naive. Comments that made it sound like I was doing her a favour by being her friend. Or that it was lucky she didn't have "insert terminal illness here." 

I've thought long and hard on these two sentiments and here's the thing: they're not ok because they diminish her immense impact on all our lives---her extreme importance in her relationships with each person grieving her loss. One death is not worse than the other, no matter the cause. The pain felt by those who are grieving cannot be measured by how long the deceased was suffering due to an illness, nor if the person was murdered, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, or another cause. The bottom line in this case is that her entire family, squad, loved ones, friends all lost her so suddenly that it knocked the breath out of us so that we lost some of our own lifeforce, too. A piece of us will always be missing now. It didn't matter how it happened, just that it did happen.

Picture a photograph of you with your best friend. Now picture that an invisible hand just picks up your friend and poof! She's gone. That dumbfoundedness that you feel? yeah. That's accurate. But I digress.

Onto the next point of the whole "favour" thing. Ready for a truthbomb? She saved my life so many times that I can't count. True friendship is a two-way street filled with give and take. We leaned on each other all the time. We had our tensions here and there, yes, but we respected each other enough to discuss things and do a little thing required in all effective relationships: communicate. Friendship is no favour: it's a gift that two people choose to honour and nurture together. She did me the favour, folks. She opened her (huge) heart to me and let me in. That is the ultimate gift and favour.

Ranting aside, despite how my thoughts may wander and start doubting if I was a good friend or not, if I could have been there more, etc., I am so bloody grateful for our friendship. Rather, our "sistership." We chose each other. I'll be forever grateful to God (or whatever power you believe in) for putting us on this planet together. I have incredible memories with her! I've met incredible people because of her! Her family inspires me to hold on to my own family and never let go because life is truly short. Cliche, yes, but there's truth to that one.

No matter why or how someone passes away, I hope that you feel able to embrace your pain, emotions, and get the support you deserve to deal with something so immense.

What's more, I hope you can step back and remember the good memories with that person. While it may seem counterintuitive, there's perfection in our flaws and our ability to deal with growing pains and joys in a friendship. There's perfection in a love that is so strong it made family out of strangers. 

So, yes: our friendship is perfect because it's human, full of love, and will endure whatever time throws our way.

What relationships are perfectly imperfect in your lives? :) 

The "S" Word

holistically: emotional

Suicide is a scary subject, right? It's one of things that is so taboo in our society. There are misconceptions about suicide, too. For one, people seem to think that talking about it makes it more likely to happen for someone; as if by mentioning suicide to someone with suicidal thoughts, then you'll be encouraging them to do it. You'll plant a seed and help it grow resulting in an attempt to suicide.

That's not true. Period.

You see, people who have suicidal thoughts think of suicide as a giant, murderous elephant in the room. It's there, it wants to literally kill them, they don't feel comfortable talking about it, but they wish they could scream about it. Whenever I brought suicide up with clients, there was a palpable exhale of relief from them. By my naming their fear and bringing up the one thing that's on their mind but not on their tongue, the murderous elephant became Snuffleupagus: awkward and not sure why it exists, but at least he isn't trying to kill you at the moment.

I've been to two training sessions on how to recognize suicidal tendencies in others and how to help people in various circumstances. The second session was akin to Suicide First Aid. Before the training, I remember that I was terrified about talking to people about suicide, how the hell I would deal with it, and what would it feel like to have someone's greatest pain tossed into my hands. Once I learned what I could, and more importantly once I learned about who gets these kinds of thoughts, it became scary for a different reason.

It became scary because I almost got used to talking about it. There were so many people I came across in my work experience with suicidal thoughts. And, just as often as those who display "typical" risk factors, were those who seemed completely "normal."

Suicidal thoughts do not indicate a definite risk of suiciding.

SIDENOTE: it's considered more compassionate to say "suicide" instead of "commit suicide," as it's not a crime anymore. In addition, saying someone "committed" suicide places more stigma on the issue. There's enough stigma on it already.

A great example of how thoughts don't always equal action can be found in this awesome article, entitled What's the difference between suicidal thoughts and actions? One mom explains.

Which brings me to the next tidbit of this wordfest.

I have so much to be thankful for: life, an incredible husband, family, friends, a decent house, two little furbabies, financial support, and so many "things" (a lot of which I probably don't "need" but I digress). All of that makes what I'm about to share that much more painful and enraging (to me). I get the "s-word" thoughts, too. I had them when I was younger (in high school), and they've poked at me for years since. There are obvious triggers (loss being the biggest one), but sometimes it's simply part and parcel of my depression. Those are fun days: feeling sad and suicidal for "no reason" except that my brain is depressed.

I'm ok. Let's get that out of the way--just as the mom says in the article, I am ok. I'm telling you this because if there are any of you out there thinking/saying "OMG ME TOO!", I want to give you the chance to exhale some relief. Of course, let me scream from my side of the universe that if you EVER feel unsafe or in crisis, call a crisis line. Do it. In London, the Crisis Line is through CMHA 519-433-2023, located on 648 Huron St., London, ON (http://cmhamiddlesex.ca/crisis-services/). The Crisis Line also has a mobile outreach unit. And, there's always 911.

It sucks to be in crisis, but it also sucks to feel any of these feelings or think any of these thoughts. Journal, talk to someone, and dare I say it? Try counselling. I'm not saying to commit yourself to a life full of therapy if you don't want to, but consider talking to someone about these thoughts. Honestly, the biggest and most profound nugget that comes from counselling is validation. I've experienced it myself, and I've had the honour to provide it for others. It's so basic, but so incredibly profound: to feel like your feelings and thoughts are based in something real, that you're not a different species, and that you're human.

Again, if counselling isn't your jam right now, there are other phone lines (Distress Centre 519-667-6711, Good2Talk 1-866-925-5454 if you're in school, Kids Help Phone 1-800-668-6868). Or, there's paper, computers, and friends. It's scary, it's humbling, but the world needs you, so take a chance.

As for the training side of things, these are the rockstars who put on the two training sessions I did (SafeTALK and ASIST): The London Middlesex Suicide Prevention Council and LifeWorks. I would encourage anyone to take SafeTALK as it's accessible, a briefer length, and usable by everyone. ASIST is more geared towards helping professionals, is more intense, but would be amazing if everyone could do it :).  Again, the ASIST training is truly more Suicide First Aid. Invaluable stuff. Both training programs help create a safer community. Who doesn't want that???

I am so thankful for the people in my life. They've been pillars, holding me up when I have felt like I was going to fall down or deserved to fall down. They relentlessly remind me that I do deserve to live and thrive, even when I wake up thinking the world would be better off if...And the experiences I've had: they've given me the resources to help myself and others.

I'm ok. If you're not, please talk to someone. Name that elephant, because you could turn it from a demonic, laser-eyed beast into Snuffleupagus. And who could be scared of Snuffleupagus????



(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/8/80/Snuffy31.jpg)