a heavy heart

My heart feels heavy today. My stomach is in knots, holding too much anxiety and fears that are continuously cycling through my head. Though I have been trying to let go of the stress, to rest this body that carries too many obligations and expectations and burdens...though each day I vow to myself to let go a little more, I still find myself physically and emotionally exhausted today.

I have a long night ahead of me, a night for which I do not feel prepared. Some weekends, I feel refreshed and ready for a 12 hour shift, eager for the lengthy drives to emergency rooms, for the solitude of the journey and the possibility of helping lost and discouraged souls upon arrival. Today is not one of those days. Today I want to shed the pager and work clothes, toss on comfy oversized sweats, rent Oscar-nominated movies, and get lost in the warmth of puppy snuggles and naps.

I want to stop the worries that are running full strength through my head. I want to slow down and feel the tense muscles ease into a state of relaxation. I am tired of being haunted by my past, tired of too much time spent analyzing every small action, every thought, allowing every fear to multiply rather than disintegrate. I am worn down from the worries, the stress, that inner voice of criticism that has recently decided to speak up with words of "not enough". I am tired and aching and frustrated.

And there is an ever-present feeling of guilt that accompanies such emotions. Knowing that so many have worries and stresses far beyond the blessings of my own life. Knowing that I should be grateful, and I am grateful, and yet awareness of these blessings is not always enough.

Even this day, these emotions, these fears and anxieties...I am thankful for even these moments. It is all a part of the journey, the infinite path of "becoming". I know that these feelings are necessary for more personal growth to occur. I know that it is only through my own awareness and struggles...through my own pilgrimage...that I may be able to sit with my patients and truly help them to find their own paths of "becoming" and "being".

And yet this knowledge does not negate the feelings themselves. Awareness does not lessen the heavy heart. It only makes it easier to bear in the moment.

in the wake of suicide

It is impossible to work in the field of clinical psychology and not encounter suicide. Particularly in crisis work, treating suicidal patients is inevitable. And yet it leaves with you a feeling that never becomes familiar. A feeling of emptiness, a blank hole staring back at you from some unknown place.

In approximately 95% of attempted suicide cases, it is theoretically possible to successfully treat the patient and hopefully keep him/her alive. But there is that small minority, those patients that have become so utterly desperate and hopeless about life that they cannot be saved. They cannot be helped. Death is the only solution they can find, and the loved ones are left to mourn the loss of someone whose only peace could be found through taking his/her own life.

Death is terrifying and tragic in all its forms. But suicide is perhaps one of the most difficult forms of death with which to cope. The questions that can never be answered, the helplessness and guilt experienced by those still living on this earth. It is a brutal confrontation that is forced upon us, reminding us all of our human mortality and the devastation that death leaves in its wake.

I attended a memorial service this afternoon, a service to honor a woman who tragically ended her own life last week. I watched her children speak, listened to their voices raw with grief, holding back tears for the loss of the mama that brought them so many moments of love and happiness throughout her years. As the music played, I watched pictures of a vibrant young woman flash across the screen. Pictures that captured her own moments of happiness, a life filled with love and faith, and eventually a battle lost in the war of living. I searched her eyes, wondering about the fear and desperation and hopelessness that washed over her in the last days of her life. I hugged her son, in awe and admiration of the strength with which he continued to stand. Of the conviction with which he spoke of God's love and His plan for all of us. Of the dedication in his words, the courage in his determination, the purpose that he has been able to find in the midst of tragedy. And as I listened to the words and prayers and music, as I searched the eyes of this woman who continues to live only in hearts and pictures and Heaven, as I hugged this strong and courageous young man...I was reminded of mortality, of the brevity of our time here on earth, and of the purpose of my own life in working with patients that battle suicidal urges on a daily basis.

I cannot save every patient. Indeed, I cannot even help every patient. But this is my mission in life...that in working with these patients, that I may do my best to bring guidance and comfort and hope for a brighter tomorrow. And most importantly...to be with them, to sit with them, to hold their pain if only for a moment, and to accept that whether life or death eventually wins the battle, that they may know that they have not fought the battle alone.

As I continue to dedicate my life's work to those who battle suicide, may the grace of God and the hope to continue living find its way into their hearts. And in those times when the battle is lost, may comfort and peace be found for those who grieve and mourn.

Life is short and it offers no guarantees for ourselves or loved ones. May we live each day with an abundance of love and happiness and hope.

words for others

I started out writing about myself this morning. How I feel in these early morning hours with the sky a muted dark gray and daylight not yet visible. The experience of walking outside and feeling brisk, icy cold air dance over the goosebumps on my skin. When I sat down to write, I began searching inside myself for something to say or stories to tell or a way to form the words to express my gratitude for the ending of a long week.

I quickly realized that today is not a day for writing about myself. There is really nothing pertinent I need to say this morning...nothing about myself anyways. But there are quite a few important things I do need to say about others...for others.

It has been a difficult week for several people I know. So I am choosing to use this time, this space, this avenue, to ask for prayers for these dear souls. To ask for healing thoughts and prayers of comfort to grace their lives today, and in the coming days.

In these early morning hours, I want to introduce you to a few people in my life that need some uplifting thoughts and moments of peace.

** An elderly couple in their 70's, recently separated through both emotional and physical distance by the devastation of Alzheimer's. Though the man has been in a nursing home for the past several months, he took a turn for the worse this week and is now unable to feed himself or walk around in addition to no longer recognizing his wife or anyone else he encounters. Though he does not appear to be belligerent or angry or in a great deal of physical pain, his recent deterioration is incredibly difficult for his wife as she visits him and watches her life-long love become ever more lost in a world of isolation and detachment.

** A very dear friend, the end of her vacation being met by physical sickness and an overload of emotional stress. Though she has kept her positive and refreshing attitude towards life and those around her, it has been a difficult week for her. Desperately seeking guidance in making decisions and relief from the physical pain and discomfort, she continues to meet each day with hope and her optimism continues to touch those around her.

** A young man, the carrier of too much responsibility and the bearer of too much heartache. After finding his mother comatose the day after a tragic suicide attempt, he has spent many long hours by her bedside on the ICU floor of a hospital. Waiting on test results, to know if she could ever recover from the devastation experienced by her body, praying that God would make his will known and guide this young man in the decisions he must make for his mother's life. She was taken off life-support last night and has now passed from this world. Though she is no longer fighting the horrors of mental illness and the desperation for escape, her son and his sisters are only beginning a long journey of grief and mourning.

I ask of you today to please lift these people up in your prayers and your healing thoughts. Each of them is struggling today; they have been struggling throughout a long week of sadness, desperation, confusion, and pain. I am saying prayers that they find comfort, moments of peace, physical and emotional healing from the painful burdens they have each encountered.

And on mornings like these, when we struggle to find the words to express our own feelings or write about ourselves and our lives...may we be reminded that some days it is others that need our words rather than ourselves. Today is one of those days.

choosing...and here I am

For quite a while, I stopped making the time to come here and write. I choose to say that I "stopped making the time" because truly that is the way life goes. I could say that I've been too busy, but the reality is that life is always too busy. We have to CHOOSE to make time in our lives for those things that are important to us. I have frequently been asked the question of how I manage to do so many social/creative/free time things when my daily life is so full of school and work, reading textbooks and writing reports, attending meetings and seeing patients. I often get asked how I possibly find the time or energy to spend time with Dakota (the pup) or David (the man) or "the girls" (my dear friends). I get asked how I find the creative energy to write blogs after hours of report writing or how I found the time for dance classes and pottery classes and TV nights of American Idol and Grey's Anatomy.

The answer to all of these questions...how do I find the time? How do I find the energy? I MAKE it! That is the only way; the only way to live my life the way I want, to protect myself from professional burn-out, to keep myself relatively sane amidst too much chaos. I make the time.

And so I decided not so long ago that it's about time I start making the time again to come here on a regular basis. To write about my day or my thoughts or my feelings. To share stories or memories or dreams. To read your words of inspiration and beauty, learning more of the stories of your lives, the daily happenings, the struggles, the hopes. To be reminded of this tribal sisterhood that has carried me through the blackest nights and danced with me under the brightest sunbeams. To realize, to know, that we are all walking similar journeys in this life.

And so here I am...I am back, and I am determined to stay for a while.

"feels like home to me..."

I like the flow of my life these days. The little things, those moments that take my breath away, leaving me awed and grateful for so many blessings.

After a productive but relaxed day yesterday, the boyfriend and I shared a nice healthy dinner sent by his mama. As I sat on the couch, uploading pictures, enjoying the background noise of "24" and the Golden Globe awards, I looked around and realized this finally feels like home.

The boyfriend laid out on the floor, the puppy snuggled against him. The periodic looks "just because", those ones where happiness seeps from every pore of his body and I am reminded how good we are together. My heart skips another beat when our eyes connect, his smile speaking louder than the whispered "I love you's". He brushes my hair, his rough manly hands becoming gentle and nurturing as he smooths the stray strands away from my face, his fingers lingering against the warmth of my cheek.

Later, I lay back, cushioned into a haven where the pillows caress my back. The soft wool of fuschia and indigo weaves through my fingers, across bamboo needles, each loop forming a new connection, another fragment of love embedded in this gift I am creating. The boyfriend lies next to me, quiet, content with his book in hand and the dim lamplight. Even the pups is quiet, stretched out between us, his baby snores the soothing background of an unknown lullaby. It is these moments, filled with peace, the quiet a comfort, a blessing.

As I looked around, I realized I finally feel at home.

"idea"...Sunday Scribblings

In doctoral school, dissertations are a dreaded entity. You spend your first year completely consumed with classes, struggling just to adjust and maintain your daily life and your sanity. The second year requires more adjustment, approximately 15-20 hours each week of work at a practicum in addition to classes. The third year is much the same, but practicum placement changes and expectations rise, the year culminating in comprehensive exams that either make or break your future plans. Fourth year is simply classes and dissertation work, and the entire process of applying for internships. And hopefully, if all goes as originally planned (which rarely happens), you have proposed and defended your dissertation prior to the beginning of the fifth year. The fifth year involves a move to a new area of the country, adjustment to living in a new place, working in a new environment, and still struggling to afford food and rent while you work ridiculously long hours and continue the five-year span of sleep deprivation. This is the way the process was originally explained to me; the steps from start to finish of becoming a doctor.

No one actually ever told me when was the best time to start a dissertation or clinical research project (as they are called in PsyD programs). In fact, no one spoke much at all about the process of writing this dreaded thing or doing all the research necessary or even the laborious process of choosing a topic that is amenable to study. No one spoke of this dreaded entity until this week, that is.

On Wednesday afternoon, the entity was placed squarely before us, no chance of continuing to pretend it did not exist. As we sat there, drinking in every word, scribbling notes on the process of getting started, the expectations, the stresses that would come to feel unbearable at times...as we sat there, the ideas started spinning in my head. Ideas that had been launched in my mind several years ago, the wheels spinning, circulating, spiraling deeper as I allowed myself to start really thinking about what this process would entail.

It all starts with an idea. An idea about a specific topic, not too broad, not too narrow. An idea that has not been thoroughly researched in previous years by other people. An idea that is strong enough to withstand a very detailed proposal and then exciting enough to keep you interested for the next couple of years as you relentlessly work on creating your final masterpiece for defense. In some strictly clinical programs (such as mine) you have a choice; you can do a theoretical or non-empirical study or you can choose the longer, more difficult route of doing an original empirical dissertation. As the ideas swam through my head on Wednesday, I finally found myself wondering if I had completely lost my mind. My ideas are all for original empirical research...that long, difficult, extremely stressful journey that can easily delay the process of becoming a doctor for an additional year. So as the ideas spun, I had to question myself, question my dedication, my motivation, my passion for these ideas. But that is the point...my idea...it is my true passion. It is an idea that I believe is vitally important to the field of clinical psychology. It is an idea that I believe has the potential to influence the diagnosis and treatment of patients, and consequently, the potential to influence the effectiveness and success of such treatment. It is an idea that will require lots of time, thought, travel, and persistence. But it is an idea in which I believe. An idea for which I am willing to do what is necessary to manifest it to reality. It is an idea that can possibly bring about change, that can potentially help people, that can literally make a difference in the lives of my patients.

So instead of waiting until the third or fourth year, I am starting now. In reality, I started on Wednesday...the day the idea was reborn, unearthed from the recesses of years of too many thoughts. I have a long journey ahead of me, one that no doubt will bring tears and stress, but also excitement and eager anticipation of what may come.

I have an idea...

solitude of a morning

Sometimes solitude is the only comfort. I never used to believe that in the past. In fact, I spent many years doing everything in my power to avoid solitude. Fearful of what might happen should I find myself alone. Doubting my own strength, unable to trust my own instincts, my decisions, the experiences of my life. Now I sit here, in solitude, and I revel in the comfort it brings.

The phone rings a tune that usually makes my heart leap in eager anticipation. It is the one tune that can rouse me from blissful sleep, my lethargic arm reaching clumsily across the bed to hear the voice on the other end. And yet, this morning, I have ignored that tune several times. The TV remains off, no noise to disturb the solitude of this morning, no intruding voices to interrupt this brief period of time in which I find myself alone and comforted in my aloneness.

I have learned that solitude can be a beautiful gift, allowing me to reflect, to write, to immerse myself in a personal haven of security. But solitude can also serve the same misguided purposes as the companionship of my past. While I used to crave the company of others in order to avoid the fears of facing myself alone, perhaps the solitude now serves as a crutch to avoid facing the fears that inherently come with having to interact with others. In solitude, I can halt reality, if even for just a moment. I can move beyond words of reassurance or words that provoke anxiety. I can let go of the worries, the anticipations, the fear of not meeting expectations. I can wear my red leg warmers, toenails with chipped fushcia polish making me smile as I look down and ground myself in the moment. My rumpled hair and day-old mascara rings do not frighten me as I catch my reflection in the mirror. I sit with my Diet Dr. Pepper, a pack of Turkish Silver, and a beautiful pile of books by my side. In solitude, I can lose myself or find myself, find strength or wallow in weakness.

Several years ago, I realized that it is impossible to truly find oneself in the company of others. Surely growth can occur in the moments we are not alone, but the truest, deepest, most personal growth...that growth occurs in solitude. In solitude, we cannot escape from ourselves. We can escape from others, and indeed sometimes solitude serves that sole purpose. But we can find ourselves in the process. At times by accident, we come to know more of who we are in those moments when the outside world is pushed aside.

In all honesty, the solitude of this morning has many purposes for me. Partly, I do want to escape from the necessity of talking, or interacting, of being encouraged to make decisions about the events of the day. But a large part of me embraces this solitude for the pure essence of what it is. Time, silence, moments of reflection. Perhaps I will reach an epiphany in these moments. Perhaps I will succumb to the bodily exhaustion and bury myself beneath the warm comforter once again. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll sit with this solitude for a while.

loving the night

It's late and I should be sleeping. The morning will come early, a workshop/conference in the morning hours followed by an afternoon aimed at marking off multiple items on my to-do list. Then dinner and drinks with a group of girlfriends, a time to catch up on life, share stories of new loves and the grief of loss, complain about our ridiculous lack of free time and the beginnings of another few months of sleep deprivation.

It's late and I should be sleeping. But despite the busy chaos of tomorrow, despite my body's overdue exhaustion, despite it all, I cannot seem to abandon the silence and darkness of the night just yet. I love this time of night, when the world is quiet, when the wind beating upon the window sings its own form of a lullaby. I love the darkness, only the hint of moonlight creeping in through the slightly parted blinds. I love the night. Night is when the thoughts come, the creativity begins to flow, the inspiration emerges from its hiding place.

I love the comfort of my body snuggled beneath a thick comforter, the feel of my sleeping puppy's body against mine. I love the sound of his deep breaths, seeing his pudgy belly rise and fall with a rhythm that lulls me into a world of fantasies and sleepy bliss. I love the comfort and warmth, but I love the darkness most of all. Ironically, the darkness brings a feeling of safety for me. Perhaps it is that the vulnerability vanishes when night descends. I am no longer so visible to the world around me. I no longer feel the pressures to be productive, the expectations to be emotionally stable. It feels safer at night. Safe to laugh out loud alone or cry until the tears will no longer fall. The judgments and perceptions of the world fade and I find an internal freedom that allows the moments to bring what they may. This does not mean that the nights are always peaceful. In fact, it is often in the darkest hours of the night when the tears come, when the panic rises, when the overload of daily emotions washes over me and I succumb to their power. But I find relief even in those moment. Relief at the release, the letting go. In these hours, I can be myself with whatever joys or sorrows accompany me on my journey.

So...it's late and I should be sleeping. But I'm not, not just yet anyways. For right now, for just a few more moments, I'm enjoying the night...the silence and the comfort, the warmth and the darkness. I'm enjoying the release and the freedom to just be in the moment.

just a bad day...

Everyone has bad days. For some, it’s a series of unfortunate events that plagues the day, casting darkness deep within as external factors appear to collapse. For others, it’s merely an attitude, a matter of awaking “on the wrong side”, possibly the result of restless sleep or just not enough hours of peace. And for others, bad days really have no underlying purpose, no instigating cause, no explainable reason. They just happen. They come when least expected and refuse to leave despite the occasional moments of laughter or attempts at lifting the heavy gray fog that has decided, without asking, to descend upon the immediate world of that person.

I had a bad day yesterday. There are multiple reasons I could offer to you, multiple reasons I told myself and those around me in an attempt to justify the sporadic crying spells and overwhelming feelings of emergent stress. A lingering respiratory infection, not enough sleep, too many consecutive hours of paperwork, difficult patients, financial strain….the list could go on. But really the list is just one big excuse, one big attempt at justifying the negative feelings that surfaced within me throughout the day. Most of us have been raised in a society that tells us we must have a reason for everything. No action exists without a cause, no feeling without reason. We’ve been made to believe that we have to justify our feelings in order for them to be valid. In order to feel supported and loved by those around us, we must find a reason and share that reason. Otherwise, we’re just a bunch of crazy people crying and cursing and wandering about with no justifiable reason…God forbid.

The truth is that there are days, bad days, when we don’t know what is really wrong. Yesterday was one of those days for me. I found myself on the phone with my father, his reassurance causing the tears to well. Driving down the interstate, wondering how to bridge the wall of misunderstanding that had been erected between a patient and myself. Lunch, pharmacy, dinner…a slight feeling of panic arising each time I handed over my credit card, knowing that the money is not there right now. Which inevitably led to thoughts of the two years that lay before me, with increasing amounts of debt building, less time for my paid jobs as the internships take more and more time, more and more energy. Then my mind drifting to the three-hour classes that feel unbearable some days, the hours dragging by relentlessly, sleep calling in every open moment despite the insomnia that plagues me at night. It was a vicious cycle of thoughts, unwanted thoughts, the bare bones of reality wreaking havoc upon what otherwise might have been a very pleasant day. There were plenty of good moments. Talking and laughing with a dear friend over lunch in one of our favorite delis. Those treasured words of reassurance from my father who continuously manages to find the positive in every negative event, who refuses to allow the stresses of daily life to disrupt the happiness and beauty he see in the world (and then imparts to me). A brief conversation with a patient that broke down the aforementioned wall, opening a path of understanding, a bridge of compassion and hope. Two hours of side-splitting laughter, trivia, the company of friends, and a glass of my favorite red wine. All of these moments happened yesterday; all of these moments were more than enough reason that I should not have had a “bad day”. Nevertheless, I did. I found myself in the early morning hours, sobbing uncontrollably on the bedroom floor, popping pills, praying for sleep, and wondering why the outpour of emotions felt the need to make themselves apparent yesterday.

The fact of it all is that the bad days will come. But they will also go, replaced by many good days. Some days the stress may feel overwhelming, despite the specific circumstances. Some days we are able to brush aside the stress of the moment and see the beauty that surrounds us. It’s a balancing act, the yin and yang, a coexistence of two opposite forces. And yet, there is beauty even within that polarity. Without the bad, we could never know the good. Without the dark, light would have no meaning. So I had a bad day. Inevitably those days will come again. In the meantime, I think I’ll decide that today is a good day.