what are your beliefs?

One of the things I am really enjoying about my schooling this year is the plethora of thought-provoking questions. Questions designed to make us explore our own inner selves, beyond the surface facades, deeper than the boundaries of familiarity and comfort. Questions that challenge what it is we know, what it is that we have always known. Questions that push us toward a greater, more expansive knowing.

We are born and then raised in an environment in which our core beliefs, values, and expectations develop within a relatively condensed system of family and community. Some people are raised in areas of greater diversity, embracing open-mindedness from an early age. Others of us spend our formative years in a fairly homogeneous group, limited and sheltered in our understanding of those people and places and beliefs that are different from our own. Regardless, we are all confronted with the boundaries of our beliefs at some point during our lives. And many of us find ourselves in a state of confusion at that point. What have we been taught to believe, to value, to expect from others and from the world? From our earliest teachings, which ones have we continued to claim as our own and which ones have we abandoned in favor of alternative views? And of the beliefs that each of us hold today, which ones have been challenged, confronted, questioned, or debated?

We are all guilty of making judgments. It is a natural human trait, albeit one that many of us would rather believe we do not possess. We see a disheveled person walking down the street and we tend to make a judgment about that person. We are apt to assume that the person is homeless, or lost, or mentally ill. We see a beautiful young woman wearing designer clothes, a scowl on her face as she avoids making eye contact with those around her. We are apt to assume that she values material things, is wealthy, and perhaps snobbish. Everyday we see people and we make automatic judgments about them based on what we see. It is a natural reaction and yet our assumptions may be quite far from the truth. The disheveled man walking down the street might have a home and a family and a good job; perhaps his car broke down and his appearance is the result of his attempts to fix his car before venturing to a nearby store for assistance. The beautiful woman in designer clothes may be a very caring and generous person, completely ambivalent about material possessions; perhaps she bought her clothes at a thrift shop and perhaps her scowl and lack of eye contact reflects timidity or a state of personal distress. The fact is that despite what we see, despite what we believe to be true, our beliefs and our assumptions are often more a reflection of our earliest teachings than a truly accurate perception of reality.

Working in the field of clinical psychology, it is imperative that we examine our own beliefs, our values, and our assumptions. If we do not explore these facets of our inner selves, we risk making faulty assumptions and making negative judgments of our patients. The attractive man seeking therapy after a recent diagnosis of HIV may not be gay or abuse drugs. The thirty-five year old woman who continues to live with her parents may not have any social problems or dependency issues. The adolescent dressed all in black with multiple tattoos and body piercings may be incredibly intelligent and well-behaved and have the kindest and most gentle spirit. If we sat with any of these people holding preconceived ideas based on their physical health or living situation or appearance, we would do a grave injustice. And yet we must be aware of how deeply ingrained our beliefs truly are. We must be willing to look at them directly and ask ourselves not only what it is that we believe and also why it is they we hold these beliefs? And then we must challenge them, challenging the very essence of ourselves in the process.

So, as I engage in my own process of self-exploration, I challenge each of you to think as well…What are your beliefs?

defining daily life

“What if we didn’t define our daily life by what we accomplish?”

As I sat in class this afternoon, fighting the grogginess of insomnia’s aftereffects, I was struck by these words. In the context of a discussion centered on the values of productivity and success that are so prevalent in western societies, this question was raised. But far beyond the specific class discussion, this question set me forth on a broader path of curiosity and introspection.

Indeed, what if our daily lives were not defined by how much we accomplished or the notches of success we proudly mark before retiring for the night? What if we stopped focusing so much on checking off each item on the to-do list? What if we re-created our own individual meanings for the word “accomplishment”? Is smiling at a stranger or hugging a friend or enjoying moments of stillness any less of an “accomplishment” than doing the grocery shopping or completing a work assignment? How do we, individually and collectively, define our daily lives? And does our definition reflect our authentic values?

As my professor pointed out this afternoon, parents often ask their children “what did you DO today” upon their return from school. But how many of us stop to actually think about why we ask such questions? Why is there such a focus on what has been DONE? Our society and our American culture have instilled in us the conditioned belief that we must DO something in order to be worthwhile. It is a belief that many of us have come to accept without question. But is it true, for us?

For me, life’s meaning is not about what I do or don’t do. It is about who I am, who others are, and our being in relationships with one another. For me, life is not about DOING, but rather about BEING.

I spend much of my time occupied with classes, studying, working, and doing the necessary errands that reality demands. The act of “doing” cannot be extinguished, nor should it be. It is not in the “doing” that we lose our meaning and purpose, but when the “doing” becomes more valuable than just “being”.

I admit that I am often guilty of defining my own daily life by what I have accomplished throughout the day. I experience a sense of pride in the completion of tasks, and there is nothing wrong with feeling good about finishing 5 loads of laundry or reading all of the assignments before a particular class. But for me, there is something personally wrong when I define my life by those necessary daily activities.

So what if I defined my daily life in some other way? How would I define it?

Taking away those actions of “accomplishment” or success, I would define my life in a way that much more closely resembles the person that I am and the inherent values that abide within my soul. I would define my life by the love I give and receive. I would define my life by gratitude for blessings and prayers for those in need. I would define my life by a balance of dedication to self and others, moments of excitement and peace, the treasures of beauty and hope. I would define my life in terms of smiles and laughter, hugs and kisses, words and affections. I would define my life through creativity and dreaming, inspiration and taking chances, holding and releasing, knowing and believing.

At the end of our lives, does it really matter if the carpet was vacuumed every Saturday? Does it really matter if we set aside work on a dissertation in favor of an afternoon spent in the company of loved ones and the beauty of Nature? Does it matter if we worked overtime or did the dishes immediately after dinner? For me, these are not the things that matter in the end. At the end of my life, what will matter is that I have known the power and fragility of love, that I have made a difference in my own life and in the life of others. For me, defining my daily life means that I must purposefully embrace it, for what is it worth at the end for a life that was never truly lived?

savoring each pause

The days rush by, whirring, swirling, an occasional brief pause.

But I feel the air getting cooler, the breeze tickling my skin with an invigorating rush of excitement. The absence of humidity is not mourned, the changes of the season gradually inching toward my open embrace. I see the beauty as sun beams dance between towering pines, the early morning fog hovering over creeks, those beloved smoky blue mountains rising in the distance. I hear new birdsong, the sound of slightly crinkled leaves skipping across pavement. I taste the richness and warmth of morning coffee as if it were the first taste of bittersweet darkness. I breathe in and smell the scent of autumn. And I know that these moments are so full of life.

Each pause must be savored.

steps...

One step forward, two steps back.

Although I began my weekend in the right frame of mind, intent on nurturing myself and relaxing as much as possible, Sunday ended in a state of extreme exhaustion (both physical and mental) and a sense that I had once again not placed my own well-being as a priority. The good news: I explored my feelings about this and devised a preventative plan to circumvent this particular type of problem in the future.

One step forward. I must brag for a moment and say that I attended my first (ever) yoga class on Friday morning. I am aware that many people practice yoga on a regular basis and that this notion of my self-pride in this arena might appear silly to some. But this was a big deal for me. As I am not a fan of going to the gym or being in a big room of sweaty strangers, it took a bit of courage for me to open those doors and enter that unfamiliar realm of tribal-sounding music and strange body positions. Despite my fear that I would look like an idiot (not knowing what I was doing and supposing that everyone else was well practiced in the art of yoga), I took a deep breath and opened that door anyway. What I found in that room was a sense of liberation and the feeling that this was one activity in the gym that seemed to truly fit with who I am as a person. As each minute passed, I could feel the music resonating deeper within me. My eyes naturally closed with an inner focus, my hands in prayer. Even my initial frustration that my breaths, inhale, exhale, were not matching those of the instructor, seemed to diminish as the minutes passed. Realizing that my breathing will become more aligned with my body as my comfort level increases, I let go of those concerns and set my focus to “the warrior”, feeling a swell of inner strength, the empowerment of a true “warrior”. It was a baby step, but it was a step forward nevertheless.

Two steps back. I will not recount the details of the remainder of the weekend but suffice it to say that Saturday and Sunday were spent in a state of increasing exhaustion. The positive side is that I managed to claim an afternoon nap on Saturday and got (more than) my share of therapeutic gardening on Sunday. The negative side is that I spent 90% of my weekend working and another 9% reading books for school. I think the remaining 1% was probably spent on the toilet…sad, but true.

Now it is the beginning of a new week. Busy days await and a long to-do list continues to grow. Amidst the chaos, my personal goals for this week include one art project, one yoga class, finishing May Sarton’s journal “Recovering”, and my own daily journaling.

My other goal: Two steps forward, one step back.

the priority of self-care

The one statement I have heard over and over again this week is this: “In order to do this work and continue to love this work, you must remember to place self-care as your highest priority.”

When I began school for my first masters degree in 2001, I quickly became overwhelmed by the strenuous workload. My social life disappeared, sleep was a rare luxury, and as stress took over my body, my weight plummeted to a dangerous low. My professors termed me a “perfectionist”, making repeated attempts to convince me that putting 100% into everything one does is simply not possible. My counterattack was always the same: “if it is worth doing, then it must be done all the way.” I have never believed in doing something half-assed and misunderstood their advice as suggestions that I allow my dedication to dwindle in exchange for a few extra hours of sleep each week. What I did not understand at the time was that what they were really trying to say to me was much more about self-care and self-preservation than abandoning my dreams. When many of the people around me encouraged me to take a semester off from school and focus on rebuilding my physical health, I only became more adamant and more determined. I completed the program at the projected two-year mark, no doubt attributed to my intense focus on reaching the “destination” of my journey. What I missed was the journey itself.

Two years later and with two years of additional life experience, I embarked on a new journey in my current doctoral program. The first semester proved to be a similar reflection of my previous graduate years. With a full load of classes and four (yes, FOUR) jobs, I treated my body as if it were easily replaceable and completely ignored the protests of my spirit and emotional well-being. I finished the first semester with an excellent GPA but too much was sacrificed in those first few months. I was admitted to the hospital during the week of mid-terms for a suspected appendicitis. After grueling tests, it was discovered that my appendix was fine. Diagnosis: lesions in my digestive track (i.e. ulcers). My body perpetually screamed for sleep and I battled recurring episodes of depression. And yet still I did not learn the true need for self-care.

Throughout the past two years, I have become more aware of the needs of my body, mind, and spirit. I know what burnout feels like and I know how detrimental it can be, on both a professional as well as a personal level. I have started to gain a better understanding of my physical limitations as well as the boundaries I must maintain for my emotional well-being. This is not to say that I have become an expert at caring for myself in the past two years, but I have taken baby steps and gradually progressed toward a more balanced life.

So here I found myself, all these years later, and still I am hearing the same words from my professors and mentors and supervisors. I am learning that they are words that are said to everyone in this field, not specifically designed for my own unique benefit. I am learning that these are not words of attack at all, but quite the opposite. They are words of compassion. They are words of wisdom. And they are words of truth spoken from those who have lived this life, done this work, and know the importance of caring for oneself.

With all of this being said and all of these realizations brought forth, I am making myself a priority for a change. As difficult as this is for me to do at times, I KNOW that self-care is no longer an option. It is a necessity for my body, my mind, and my spirit. I must find ways to nurture myself physically, emotionally, intellectually, creatively, and spiritually. And knowing myself, I also know that I need a “plan”. Realization of the importance of self-care is not enough to keep me actively doing what I need to do. So as I ponder what it is that feels good and nurturing for me, and as I devise my “plan”, I welcome any suggestions…

opening a new door...

An ending and a beginning. That point of transition when one door closes and another opens. It is that time now and despite my efforts at prepping myself for the changes, I can already sense the uncertainty and muted tensions settling into my body and mind.

Yesterday was my first day at my new practicum site up in the mountains. The day went well and I enjoyed the pleasant camaraderie of the six other women with whom I will be working. It was quite a different experience from other “first days”. Such a small group and only women; it was refreshing. Of course we had the official “meeting” in the morning, discussing new cases and concerns with ongoing ones. But it was not a typical meeting. A small table with chairs pulled haphazardly around the edges, inspirational art adorning the walls, and a mixture of unique personalities and appearances completed the scene. But above all the evident idiosyncrasies of these diverse women, what I noticed most was the common thread of passion in each of their voices. Sitting at that table, I realized that my work there will be about far more than fulfilling the requirements of “practicum hours”. My work there is about making a difference, fighting for the safety and healing of children and adolescents whose lives and spirits have been threatened and attacked amidst a world that should have been filled with innocence and playfulness and happiness. Despite their individual job titles and responsibilities, what was most prominent in that room was passion. And that passion reminded me of why I have chosen to live this chaotic day-to-day rat race. Compassion permeated the air, the scent of dedication wafting throughout the converted 1950’s style home, settling into an atmosphere of love and support. And as I shared a delicious meal with these women, I felt inspired and excited to be welcomed into this amazing “family” of healers.

Today is my first day of classes for the new year. Beginning my third year of doctorate school, it seems impossible that so much time has elapsed since that first day two years ago when I walked into a classroom of strangers and began this journey. In the past two years, my life has changed in so many ways. No doubt I have learned much during this time, but the knowledge has reached far beyond the walls of a classroom and even beyond the boundaries of my professional existence. These years have witnessed an internal growth, a “coming of age” into my own self, my own unique identity. New friendships have been formed, bonds that speak of connections that will last for a lifetime. Relentless hours of studying have occurred and crucial moments of haunting anxieties have been shared. Late night conversations about cases and reports and the frequent venting sessions about debt and sleep deprivation and fears about failed attempts at perfection. But the past two years have also seen many nights of laughter beyond the tears. Holiday parties, birthday gatherings, Tuesday night rituals of relaxation. Celebrations with wine and dancing and talks that last until the early morning hours. And it is these memories that bring me comfort today as I venture back down to the city, walk through those same glass doors, and step into yet another classroom and another new beginning. The anxieties and fears are not so different than those of the past two years, but when I walk through those doors today, it is not the faces of strangers I will see. This “family” has offered shoulders for the tears and encouragement through the valleys, and knowing this makes this beginning not quite so frightening.

It is time to get moving now. The old doors are gently closing behind me, the news ones painted in vibrant colors. Breathing deeply, one step at a time, I will enter…