How I Changed My Perspective When I Was Too Angry to Be Grateful

This is not your usual piece about gratitude.

I am sure you’re familiar with all the benefits of having a regular gratitude practice.

Chances are you, as a reader of this blog, have a gratitude routine of yours. I was one of you. I have been regularly gratitude journaling for over a year now. I have experienced all the promised benefits of it myself.

Gratitude journaling has helped me reduce my stress, get better sleep, and feel more energized. It improved my mental well-being so much that I even started a social media page to encourage others to practice gratitude.

However, one day, things changed. Expressing appreciation for what I had started making me feel bad, selfish, and guilty.

What happened? On the sixth of February, my home country was hit by two immense earthquakes. A region where millions reside was completely destroyed. Thousands of buildings collapsed. Hundreds of thousands of people were trapped under the remains. Cities were wiped out. In the entire country, life just stopped.

Shortly after, my social media feeds were flooded with despair. People who could not get in touch with their families… People who tweeted their locations under the remains of their collapsed houses, begging for rescue… People who lost their homes, families, and friends.

I was heartbroken. I felt helpless and useless in the face of this tragedy.

A few days later, like any other day, I sat down to write in my gratitude journal. I couldn’t do it. You would think that after seeing all the unfortunate people who lost everything they had, I would have had even more to be thankful for. After all, I was so lucky just to be alive. But no, I couldn’t do it. Instead, I got stuck with guilt.

Today I feel grateful guilty for being in my safe home.
Today I feel grateful guilty for having a warm meal.
Today I feel grateful guilty for hugging my loved ones.

It has been almost two months since the earthquake. I couldn’t get myself back into gratitude journaling. Then it hit me. Underneath my grief, there was another emotion: anger.

Because you know what? This disaster wasn’t just a completely unexpected incident. The scientists had been warning the authorities about this earthquake for years. The geologist said it was inevitable. The civil engineers said the strength of the buildings was too low. The city planners said the right infrastructures in case of such a disaster were not in place.

Over so many years, we all heard them repeatedly warning the authorities, but nothing was fixed. I was very angry with the broken system that did not care.

I couldn’t let go of my guilt because I was afraid that if I did, I would let go of my anger with it. I don’t want to let go of my anger. I want to hold onto it so that I keep fighting for a change, a better system that cares about its people.

I know it’s not just me or this one earthquake disaster. Many people all around the world suffer from the actions of governments. People who live under war, oppressive regimes, or corrupt states would very well understand the anger I feel.

Rage toward an authority, a government, or a broken system is not the same as being angry with another individual. The rage gets bigger in scale to the number of lives affected. And maybe the worst part is that this type of rage is harder to let go of because history shows that such rage fuels the actions for change in broken systems.

So I wonder: Is it possible to transform the rage that is harming me inside into something else without losing the desire to fight for change?

And again, I find my answer in the path I know the best—gratitude. But this time, instead of being thankful for the things I have, I’m thankful for the things I can provide.

Today, I am grateful for having a safe home because I can accommodate someone who lost theirs.
Today, I am grateful for having a job because I can afford to donate meals to people in need.
Today, I am grateful for having my arms because I can hug someone who lost their loved ones.
Today, I am grateful for accepting all my feelings and having the wisdom to transform them.

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About Gonca Gürsun

Gonca believes that we all have the power to create our dream lives. In her own journey, she has discovered that it all starts with understanding our inner selves and replacing the negative self-talk in our heads with positive thoughts. The rest is consistently taking one step at a time in the right direction. Gonca started a community to spread positivity and empower one another to take action. Join the community to support her in her mission.

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How I Found Hope in my Father’s Terminal Cancer

“Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty, even in times of greatest distress.” ~Milan Kundera

When my father received a terminal cancer diagnosis, I went through a wave of different emotions. Fear, anger, sadness. It opened a completely new dictionary that I had not had access to before. A realm of experiences, thoughts, and emotions that lie at the very bedrock of human life was suddenly revealed to me.

After the initial horror and dread at hearing the news had subsided, I was surprised to find a new sense of meaning and connection in the world around me.

In part, dealing with this news has been profoundly lonely. But the truth is, cancer is a human experience, and it’s been overwhelming and humbling to walk into a reality shared by so many people across the world.

I was immediately confronted with how much I had avoided other people’s experiences because cancer frightened me.

Our minds are fickle when confronted with terminal illness. It can be difficult to untangle the horror and pain we associate with cancer from someone’s very rich and dignified life despite it. 

We see cancer as a deviation from what human life is supposed to offer. A part of this can be found in the values we hold in our culture and our idealization of productivity as proof of our worthiness, with pleasure as the ultimate symbol of success. In this fast-paced, luxury-crazed world, there’s no room for hurt, pain, and mortality.

On a personal level, I understand that it can be difficult to avoid thinking of cancer as an evil intruder that steals away the ones we love, that disrupts any chance at a good life with its debilitating symptoms and treatments. Cancer is a frightening reminder of limitations and loss.

I was greatly affected by my expectations of cancer, in that when I found out about my father’s terminal diagnosis, I instantly began grieving a person who was still very much alive. As if life with cancer wasn’t really a life at all.

After all, terminal means there is no cure. It means that if left untreated, it kills you. It also means that treatment won’t keep you alive forever. You will die of it, unless you die of something else in the meantime, which is likely, considering the risk of infection and complication associated with the aggressive treatment and a deteriorating immune system. It’s a death sentence.

My first reaction to the news was that my parents had to make the most of the time they had left together. They have always been ardent travelers, and as far back as I can remember, talked excitedly about the trips they were going to take when they were older.

I instinctively felt existential dread on their behalf and encouraged them to take out their bucket list and start packing their suitcases, to start traveling while they still had the chance.

Now I see how misplaced my reaction was. To my parents, the whole appeal of traveling vanished when it was motivated by the ticking clock of imminent death. In telling them to go travel, all they heard was “you’re going to die, and you haven’t gotten to the end of your bucket list!”

It turns out, life is so much more than the collection of ideas we have about what we’re going to do and where we’re going to go. Life is not about getting through a list. Sometimes only the gravest of situations can show us what is sacred in our lives. 

By living through a pandemic and then receiving a cancer diagnosis, my father’s life came to a bit of a standstill. But despite my original anxiety on his behalf, it wasn’t really the sad ordeal I thought it would be.

On the contrary. My father woke up from a life of constant traveling and planning for the future, only to find that he loves the life he is already living in the present moment.

The abundance of life is not out there on a beach in Spain, it’s in the first home he ever owned, next to the forest he loves, where on a wind-still day you can hear the ocean; it’s drinking coffee in the garden with his wife, and reading books in the company of a devoted, purring cat; it’s using the fine china for breakfast and playing board games on rainy evenings.

I’m sure that my father has moments of fear about his disease and about death, but for the most part, he’s just dealing with the existential and human need of wanting to be treated with dignity, of being more than a disease he happens to have, being more than a symbol of a death that comes to us all eventually anyway.

Cancer brings with it a whole new world of thoughts and feelings; a lot of it is heavy, a lot of it is fear and pain, but there is also dignity, humility, connection, love, and acceptance. It demands new ideas about life and death, about people, about where we come from and who we are. 

I cannot imagine anything more human and more dignified than that.

As I led with, I have gone through a wave of emotions since I found out that one of my favorite people in the world has terminal cancer. It has in no way been easy, but life doesn’t always have to be easy to be good. I have journeyed somewhere deep and unfamiliar and found something there that I never expected to find—hope.

Hope doesn’t always mean the promise of a better future or of finding a cure to our physical and psychological ailments. Hope is knowing that we are flawed, that we suffer, that we are finite. It dictates that every moment is sacred, and every life has dignity.

Before we die, we live. The cause of our deaths will be any number of things. Cancer could be one of the reasons we die. We might have cancer and die of something else. That’s not what defines us. And we must make sure not to define each other by it either.

When someone looks at you and utters the word “terminal,” you might be surprised to find hope. Hope, it turns out, wears many hats. Personally, I found it in the insurmountable evidence of human dignity.

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About Kristin Nordmark

Kristin Nordmark is an editor in digital communications who always searches for a meaningful way to connect with the world around her through the written word. She holds an MA in History of Ideas and an MSc in Political Science and manages a start-up promoting ideas written by women.

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Growing Old Gratefully: How to See Each Year as a Gift

Growing old gratefully. Yes, you read that right. Gratefully. Why on earth would I be grateful for getting older, less youthful, and more wrinkly with every passing year?? I hear you cry. Let me tell you why I’m trying hard to do just that.

One bright Saturday afternoon some years back, while chatting with my uncle, he reminded me that my fortieth birthday was fast approaching. I rolled my eyes and said, “Yes, Uncle, thanks for the reminder.”

He looked at me for a minute and then said, “You know, you should be grateful for every year of life you get. Some people don’t get to see their fortieth birthday.” That remark was quite sobering, and I felt humbled.

That conversation made me think. Why do we have such a fear about getting older? Why the almost shameful stigma attached to it?

Apart from the obvious slowing down, loss of vitality, and general “nearer to deathness,” I realized that much of our fear of aging is set in vanity. We equate youth with beauty, desirability, and happiness. We attach the opposite traits to old age; in fact, we fear that as we get older, we become almost obsolete.

In a society that worships beauty and vitality, it’s little wonder that we are all panic-buying anti-aging serums, trying anti-aging diets, following anti-aging fitness regimes, and generally trying our utmost to stave off any sign that we are getting older.

The problem with all of this is, well, we age. It’s a fact of life and it will happen whether you fight it or just allow it. This leads me to wonder… what if I just stop fighting and fearing the inevitable?

Does that mean I will retire myself to Dr. Scholl’s sandals and elasticated waists? Never!! But what if I just accepted, embraced, or even, dare I say it, was grateful to still be here, enjoying life on our beautiful planet? I mean, really, who—apart from greedy, capitalist, big business—benefits from our aging phobia anyway?

It’s funny that we use the word anti-aging too. We use that word for things that are considered unacceptable in society like anti-bullying or anti-social, as if we had any control over getting older. Using that small, four-lettered word subtly feeds us the message that aging is not only unwanted, it’s down right unacceptable. How ridiculous!!

I propose that we change our own narrative. That we embrace aging as a privilege not granted to everyone. To see it as a gift.

In Japanese culture, the mindset is quite different. Japanese conceptions of aging are rooted in Buddhist, Confucian, and Taoist philosophical traditions that characterize aging as maturity. Old age is thus understood as a socially valuable part of life, even a time of “spring” or “rebirth” after a busy period of working and raising children” (Karasawa et al., 2011).

That really appeals to me. See each year as it is—a celebration that we are still here, still enjoying life, still with our loved ones, still with a future, in another phase of our beautiful existence with new and exciting opportunities still ahead.

I believe that grateful and positive aging is all about the mindset, which is true of so many things that affect our attitudes.

If we cultivate a mindset where we grow older with a grateful heart, living each day to its fullest in our natural bodies and our natural skin, happy that we still get to watch the sunset and feel the warm embrace of those we love and are still a living breathing part of our wonderful universe; then I believe we stand a chance of drowning out the negative messages put out into society that getting older is something to be ashamed of. That we should go and find a rock to crawl under until we die unless we can claw back some semblance of youth, or at least die trying.

I propose that with a healthy mindset towards growing older, we give ourselves the right to grow old gratefully.

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About Suzie Headley

Suzie Headley is a SEND Lecturer working with young people with a range of additional needs. She believes that each day of life is a gift and aims to live with mindful appreciation. She recently qualified as a yoga teacher and works alongside a charity making yoga accessible to SEND children and young people. Suzie loves the simple life and believes that it’s the little things that make life beautiful and fulfilling. 

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We Are Both Darkness and Light: How to Reconcile Them and Grow

“We have to bear our own toxicity. Only by facing our own shadows can we eventually become more light. Yes, you are kind. But you’re also cruel. You are thoughtful. But you’re also selfish. You are both light and shadow. I want authenticity. I want real. I claim both my light and my shadow.” ~Kerry Mangis

Many of us can recall the painful moments that have shaped us. As we grow older, we become intimately aware of all the ways we were hurt, wronged, or betrayed. I think it’s a natural impulse, to number these moments and process them in order to heal.

I reflected on this when on my way to the California River Delta—a peaceful marsh-land setting located between the Bay Area and Sacramento that I often sought refuge in.

The night before I’d watched an episode of Thirteen Reasons Why that had dealt with the theme of the contradictory elements that live inside each of us. How difficult it is to arrive at a clean summary of good or bad once you’re made privy to all a person has been through, every feeling they’ve experienced or thought that’s run through their mind.

My own list of hurts floats in and out of my mind, activating more on some days than on others. When I’m doing well emotionally, it largely fades to the background. When stress is higher and sleep has failed to restore me, it’s likelier to make an appearance.

Here’s a little glimpse into how it reads:

It started for you at the age of five, when you learned that the girl you’d considered your best friend  wasn’t as attached to you as you were to her. 

In sixth grade your core group told you, seemingly out of the blue one day, that you could no longer sit with them. You didn’t know why. You only knew that for whatever reason, people you’d trusted didn’t want you around anymore. Traits and mannerisms you hadn’t previously questioned were suddenly suspect now, and subject to intense self-scrutiny.

The way you talked. Your interests. The sound of your voice. You just didn’t know. It could have been any of these. Or maybe all of them.

Regardless of what that thing was, the message that resonated loudest of all was “Not good enough. Not worth keeping around.”

A year later, self-esteem beaten down, you forged a friendship with a girl who showered you with positive attention one day and shoved you so hard you’d bleed (“jokingly” though) the next. This girl told you that you were selfish in order to get you to pay for things and comply to her wants.

She rolled her eyes and called you “Dr. Phil” when you told her this hurt your feelings. Whenever you spoke up for yourself, it would lead to a fight. You’d sense this was toxic, years before learning what that word even means, but you’d also blame yourself, thinking maybe this was just what you deserved, or was the best you could do. Especially when there was no one else to turn to.

Years later, dating hurt your heart too many times to count. You let down your guard and began to trust, only to realize you made a choice that wasn’t smart. Rinse and repeat.

Your feelings were dismissed more times than you can count—sometimes because you were too afraid to be upfront about them; other times, even when you were. You felt like the carpet had been pulled out from under you, over and over and over again like a sinister movie on repeat.

**

I realized that day, as I drove to the California River Delta, that this narrative I’d carried for years wasn’t altogether wrong. Acknowledging those moments is an act of self-compassion. Once we validate what we went through, we can then begin to heal it.

It was just that this narrative was incomplete. What I had yet to incorporate into my story was the harm that I too had left in my wake—and the way both of these, input and output, fed each other in a repeating cycle.

And so, as I looked out at the blue-grey water after parking my car, my brain began expanding its narrative.

You carried those childhood scars with you. They slept, only to activate. When they did, you saw from your vantage point and yours only, blinded to others’.

You said hurtful things when at your breaking point, lashing out at friends and the people you dated. Consumed by your own issues, you sometimes failed to fully be there or show up for others in their time of need.

You attached yourself to people and relationships, putting unconscious pressure and expectations onto them without their consent.

You stayed with women you claimed had let you down, hoping they’d change, or trying to change them. You refused to accept the present moment on its own terms, instead insisting on seeing it for how you wanted it to be.

Small acts of inconsideration built over the years, even when you weren’t blatantly mistreating someone or behaving in an overtly harmful way.

My mind had briefly ventured to these uncomfortable places before—but that day, with only itself and the bucolic scenery to contend with, it stayed there for longer than its customary five or ten minutes.

As I looked out at the water, I considered what attitudes, beliefs, and cognitive-road blocks often stop us from going here.

How might we learn to move through (rather than away from) thoughts or memories of our mistakes when they surface? I wondered. Because taking accountability benefits not just the harmed person, but our own souls too.

**

I was able to see that shame is a big contributor. Brené Brown has said that when held back by this all-encompassing emotion, we cease to grow. So long as we remain stuck in its slog, we’re ironically more likely to repeat the very mistakes that pulled us down there to begin with.

The character Bojack Horseman (from the Netflix show)—who hurts his friends, strings a good woman along, and even commits sexual assault—is one example of a person (er, horse) undoubtedly stuck in this cycle. He doesn’t see how his own conception of himself as irrevocably damaged largely contributes to the continuation of his harmful behaviors. If you’re just bad and there’s nothing you can do about it, then harming others is inevitable—so why even try to change?

And so Bojack keeps drinking. He keeps hurting people. He keeps making the same mistakes. He himself continues to suffer. By shrouding himself in the shame robe, he self-protects—both from the hard work of change and from the extreme discomfort of examining the insecurities that underly his destructive actions.

Those with trauma in our pasts develop coping mechanisms in response to what happened to us, often many years before fully understanding and contextualizing our pain. These defenses resulted in some level of collateral damage on the people around us.

Some of us thought there was just something wrong with us. Or that these behaviors stemmed from character flaws we’d have to learn how to hide. We didn’t recognize them as signs pointing us toward what needed to be healed.

Nor did we understand that rather than stay stuck in guilt and shame, we could allow it to guide us. That, when a fork in the road presented itself, we could let the sting of remembering direct us onto the kinder path.

Black-and-white thinking also keeps us away from full acknowledgement of the past. We may think that if we’ve done bad things, it must mean we’re bad people. But it’s entirely within our control to learn from our past actions and become better every day.

It took some wonderful people years of fumbling missteps to arrive at who they are today. If we were all judged solely by the single worst thing we’d done, many of us would be on our own right now.

Sometimes we don’t acknowledge the past because it doesn’t line up with our image of ourselves as good people. Even though merely envisioning oneself as a loyal person or good friend doesn’t guarantee we’ll never act in ways that are hurtful.

**

Owning up to our role in past events doesn’t mean we’re forgoing self-compassion. I’ve found I can hold myself accountable and learn healthier replacements for destructive defenses while also maintaining compassion for what my younger self went through, and the struggles she didn’t yet understand.

I wasn’t taught emotional regulation back when I was in school. Nor how to process my experiences. It’s hard to practice what you haven’t been taught. I remind myself, though, that I now have the tools to teach myself. That I can be that person to heal the hurting younger self who still lives somewhere inside me.

Rather than allow the shame swamp of my past to ensnare me, I can seek to understand the unmet needs and unprocessed pain that prompted my negative behavior.

We can extract the debris that led to insensitive actions until eventually we come upon that better and kinder self. The one who exists inside all of us.

In my own journey, confronting regret hasn’t come without pain—but it has motivated change. Reminders compel me to be better now, to the people in my life currently. They also compel me to be a much better friend to myself.

I’ve realized that acknowledging what was done to me is just one side of the coin when it comes to full healing and self-actualization. The other side is self-awareness and honesty. Looking not just at what’s most convenient, but also at our impact on others.

That day on the dock, I gathered a few stones—each representing a person I’d harmed in some way. I held each one in my hands. I wished each person well and imagined filling them with a protective circle of love.

And then I sent each stone on its way. Watched it fly through the air and land in the water with a small and almost imperceptible splash.

Each of us is capable of so much better than the worst thing we’ve ever done. Yet much of how we strip those mistakes of their long-lasting power is by owning up to them—while at the same time, forgiving ourselves.

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About Eleni Stephanides

A freelance writer and Spanish interpreter, Eleni was raised and currently resides in the California Bay Area. Her work has been published in Them, LGBTQ Nation Tiny Buddha, The Mighty, Elephant Journal, The Gay and Lesbian Review, and Introvert, Dear among others. She currently writes the monthly column "Queer Girl Q&A" for Out Front Magazine. You can follow her on IG @eleni_steph_writer and on Medium.

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Workaholics: Why Staying Busy Feels Safe and How It Takes a Toll

“The ego desperately wants safety. The soul wants to live. The truth is, we cannot lead a real life without risk. We do not develop depth without pain.” ~Carol S. Pearson

Workaholism is the body’s wisdom in action, literally.

Some people develop workaholic tendencies because they crave to be seen as the best through their accomplishments.

But I’m not here to talk about people who’re obsessed over their image.

The particular strain of “workaholism” that isn’t talked about enough is a perfectionist’s addiction to productivity.

It has little to do with being recognized for your brilliance or achievements in the outer world, and much more to do with your own unattainably high standards for yourself and others.

It’s not about winning a shiny trophy at the end of the day so everyone will know you’re the real deal, but knowing that you’ve improved yourself, others, or the environment around you–even if it’s just neurotically reorganizing your closet.

It’s knowing that you made the world a better place and that you didn’t cut any corners to get there.

Whether it’s your career, community projects, or personal to-do lists that consume your everyday life, your addiction to activity is problematic for many reasons. Once you get a dose of completing a job, an impulsive urge to drown yourself in more activity immediately creeps in. Without it, you experience a profound sense of worthlessness.

You struggle with accepting your work as it is, and your inner critic never settles for okay enough.

This kind of “improvement” workaholism is about self-worth and a felt sense of safety. Because idleness feels unsafe in the body of a workaholic, non-activity is misconstrued as uselessness, which feels like a gaping hole in your beingness. The wisdom of a workaholic’s body knows that not creating, producing, or improving oneself or the environment is on par with being an unlovable sack of garbage.

So your body keeps you busy.

Addiction to activity shows up in myriad ways. Doing your coworker’s job for them because they’re not meeting your standards. Working long hours to perfect a project that you logically know doesn’t need to be perfect. Cleaning the house when it’s not dirty. Pouring more energy than is necessary into helping your kids with their homework. An inability to rest, relax, or experience pleasure unless it’s “earned”–and even then, it’s a fleeting and rare occurrence.

When the Body Goes to War

My workaholic perfectionism took a toll on my body starting in my mid-twenties. It’s common for people fixated on perfectionism and activity to chronically hold tension in their bodies. I was so armored in my muscles that I injured my neck from stiffness, leading to some of the worst pain I’ve ever had.

I was living in rural Japan at the time. Desperate for help, I drove forty-five minutes through snowy conditions down a country road to see specialists who spoke no English, and to this day I have no idea what their area of specialty is called–I’ve never seen it anywhere else. But they treated me in their home on a regular basis to bring me the relief I needed to keep my sanity.

And that was just the beginning.

From that point onward, I continued to injure my neck several times a year. After returning to the U.S., I saw chiropractors, physical therapists, and massage therapists on a recurring basis. They certainly treated my symptoms, but I didn’t understand why I was so chronically rigid and injury-prone.

And then came the injury that changed the course of my life.

In my early thirties, I developed tendonitis and a repetitive motion injury in my right arm from using the computer in my office job. I worked hard, perfecting every task, email, and spreadsheet that came across my desk. I continued to hold tension in my body, and I rarely took breaks. Desperate to keep working despite the pain in my right arm, I compensated with my left arm and injured it too.

Different parts of my body were at war with each other–one part guilting me to stay in the hustle cycle, another part sending smoke signals to get me to slow down and rest.

I ended up on disability for eight months.

I struggled to take care of myself. Bathing, cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry were no longer feasible. I could not hold open a book to read. It took months to be able to return to normal activities. For someone who’s historically been addicted to staying busy, it was a nightmare to not be able to work per doctor’s orders.

Two years later, my doctors agreed that I have a permanent partial disability. I am no longer able to work in any eight-hour desk job. A throbbing hand reminds me when it’s time to rest, and now I know to listen.

Sprinkled through my late twenties and early thirties I also experienced episodes of suicidal ideation and general depressive states. I felt profoundly worthless even though I had my dream job in a beautiful coastal town of California.

My monkey mind was full of chatter. I fixated on how to feel better, but I was just clinging to the same old habits of endless mental and physical activity.

Through that difficult passage of time, I believe my psyche was taking me down the dark path of individuation, the transformative process of integrating one’s unconscious and conscious mind-body.

It’s everyone’s birthright to return to wholeness—a magical reunion of parts that were separated and abandoned in the process of childhood. I discovered that I had banished lazy self-indulgence deep into my shadow.

Jungian depth psychology and pole dancing opened me up. I healed through embodied sensual movement, accessing my creative inner guidance, making time for spontaneous play with no agenda, and finding peace in my deep stillness.

Today I move with ease in my body. I find pleasure in places where I could not before. I know how to be in my deep stillness, and I have what feels like true, sustainable joy.

It doesn’t mean I never slip into old habits. In fact, I still find new iterations of old patterns as I move through life, but I know how to work through them. It’s become my superpower.

The Unconscious Driver in Your Mind and Body

Often, we glorify hard work, refusing to admit the destruction it does to our minds and body when it’s become a habit.

Many workaholics see their patterns as justified, always armed with a list of reasons why they must deliver the much-needed improvement or task despite the obvious sacrifices being made. They do not respond well to being told that they need to slow down or prioritize their well-being.

Best case scenario, they agree that they work too hard but don’t know how to be any other way.

If this resonates, maybe you beat yourself up for not being more present with yourself or your loved ones. And maybe you have a tendency to be your own worst critic due to your sky-high internal standards, so you’re particularly sensitive to critical feedback from others.

The good news is that there’s nothing “wrong” with you. You’re not a bad person because you’re too busy to show up for others. You’re not a self-sabotaging idiot because you worked so hard that you injured yourself. You’re not broken because you can’t sit still.

Just like any other addiction, workaholism is a coping strategy.

Workaholism is a learned behavior that serves to protect you from feeling the pain and discomfort of being completely tuned in to your deep stillness without the activity. A work-oriented perfectionist unconsciously harbors a belief that they’re unworthy unless they’re busy fixing themselves or the world.

Your workaholic tendencies have an incredible intelligence. Your body is brilliant, much more than your conscious mind and ego-persona, which think they know better. But they’re vastly mistaken.

Five percent of your cognitive activity is conscious and the other 95 percent is unconscious.

The 95 percent largely drives your actions, non-actions, urges, and beliefs. Your endless activity isn’t coming from your conscious thinking mind. You might be convinced that your sheer willpower and self-discipline are the reasons you’re so productive. But that’s simply not the case. You’re the result of unconscious conditioned patterns that influence your behavior in the world.

If that isn’t humbling, then I don’t know what is.

The urge to work longer and harder than is good for you is a felt sense in your body. Your impulses—if you pay really close attention—are a reaction to not wanting to feel a certain way. Ultimately, it’s to avoid the discomfort of being fully present to your perceived worthlessness in the midst of being idle, non-productive, and undisciplined.

It’s so sneaky that you often never feel the first dose of discomfort because your body is so well programmed to keep you busy that it knows exactly how to keep you from feeling like a useless waste of space.

Your body in its wholeness is so much smarter than your tiny fraction of conscious thoughts.

It’s not your fault that you’ve never learned how to be any other way. It’s not your fault that most therapists, mentors, educators, and caregivers have no clue how to actually help you change your patterns.

The great news is that you can change. Your mind-body is not permanently wired this way.

Science and many different proven techniques tell us how we can change ourselves in ways that seem unimaginable. Unfortunately, these methods lag behind in formal education and the knowledge base of many healers. But, there are many entry points to working with your mind and body to transform how you show up.

Mind-Body Practice

While it’s not your fault that you’ve been conditioned to stay perpetually busy, it is your responsibility to do the inner work if you want to enjoy life as your best self who doesn’t need to work to feel worthy.

If you have a conditioned tendency to avoid stillness because your body misconstrues it as dangerous, then you have to prove to yourself that endless activity is not the way to live fully in your pleasure, presence, and peace.

Partner with your body and get lovingly curious about yourself.

The precise activity that you avoid most, idleness, is one way to get acquainted with your inherent, non-negotiable worthiness. This will inevitably dredge up anxiety, depression, and other uncomfortable feelings.

Learn to be in touch with what you’re feeling in your body, known as interoception. This alone is a practice that will pay you back tenfold in overall well-being, decision-making, and trusting your inner guidance.

Observe where you’re holding any physical tension. Pay attention to places where discomfort begins to stir and notice what your first impulse is. Often, the urges that arise have a positive intention of squashing the discomfort. For someone with workaholism, that urge is productive activity.

The body is excellent at reacting at warp speed to these signs of discomfort. Notice where the unease is showing up in your body and develop a practice of sitting with it–another practice that’s worth learning if you want to take the risk of being a human in a world of uncertainties. The treasures of life are found in the unknown.

Over time, you will learn when your activity is exiting the healthy, productive realm and entering the unhealthy, self-sacrificing realm–so you can intervene.

You’re incredibly capable of healing and changing your life. You’re not broken, no matter what your struggles are. Trust me, every practice I preach is one that I’ve used to transform my own life.

Remember that you’re a beautiful creature who’s learning to exist exactly as you are—magnificent, perfect, and worthy.

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About Krissy Loveman

Krissy Loveman is a Life Coach and S Factor Feminine Movement Instructor. Learn more about Krissy at krissyloveman.com. Follow her on Instagram @krissy.loveman.

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Two Things Not to Do After a Traumatic Event (Lessons from Being Robbed)

“True emotional healing happens by feeling. The only way out is through.” ~Jessica Moore

Have you ever loved someone so much that you could no longer see who they really were? Or have you ever been young and naive to the danger that surrounds you?

I’m the first to raise my hand and say I did that! I’m a person who trusts people until they give me a reason not to.

Trust

Trust can be broken in so many ways by those you least expect it from; those you love and thought loved you. In some cases, it may not be that they don’t love you, but just that they have had a temporary moment of madness that has hindered their ability to think clearly—who knows?

But whatever the reason for their betrayal, it can cause so much pain that you feel it in every part of your body. You know the kind of pain I’m talking about, which is so intense that it feels like you’re being pricked with needles. It’s not a nice place to be.

Story Time

For me, that moment came on a quiet night in June 2009, which was the calm before the storm that shook my young life. The month before, I had just turned twenty and was looking forward to the summer holidays after finishing my first year at university.

At the time, I was with someone, and we had been together for just over a year. I had told him about certain areas of my life that I didn’t like to talk about because I didn’t think anyone would be able to understand or relate to them.

That’s how much I trusted this person, so when he asked me for my house key, I agreed, although I was hesitant to give it initially. I thought we were cool. I know, before you look at me askance, I was young and stupid. I had been living on my own for about a year and ten months at that point, after moving out of foster care.

On that horrible day, I remember my friend coming to see me during the day and leaving in the early evening. I then remember that shortly after she left, the guy I was with came into the house and stared at me for quite a while. I asked him why he was staring at me like that. He said it was nothing, I just looked different. I said yes, my hair was straight (I usually wore my hair with a natural afro).

But I could tell something was wrong, so I asked him if he was okay. He said yes and walked out. I thought it would be like any other night and just lazed around the flat.

Around 10 p.m. I was lying on my sofa playing my favorite game on the Nintendo DS (Ace Attorney) with my legs up and no trousers on. I heard the key unlock my door, but thinking it was my boyfriend, I didn’t flinch… until the door to my living room opened and I saw a boy with a bandana on his face.

I jumped up quickly to cover myself, and while one of the boys held me at knifepoint, I watched as several other boys with hoods and covered faces took my things. The last thing they took was my wallet, but one of the boys had to ask me where it was.

Due to the shock of what was happening, my brain couldn’t think, so I answered with “I don’t know,” which of course the boys didn’t like at all, as you can imagine. I ended up getting smacked in the face to jog my memory.

It Was Not Over

When they were gone, I quickly got up and ran to the door to put the chain on so they wouldn’t come back in. Lo and behold, one of them came back to get the remote control for the TV. To his surprise, of course, he couldn’t get in, and that made him angry. So he ordered me through the crack to get him the remote and threatened that he’d break down the door and kill me if I didn’t.

Can you imagine being killed over a remote control?

I got the remote and pushed it through the crack. Then he asked me for the password to my laptop, and I didn’t hesitate to tell him. Then he said, “If it’s wrong, I’ll come back.”

During this exchange, I had the police on the phone in the bathroom. When the boys had left, I checked and found that they had taken my house phone, but I still had a spare phone in the cupboard, which I used to call 999.

Just a few minutes after I finished talking to the suspect, the police knocked on my door. He had been arrested not far from my door and the police were able to recover some of my belongings (which were now evidence), including my front door key. The other boys managed to escape, but the arrested boy was later charged and convicted.

That was a tough night for me, but the toughest pill I had to swallow was the realization that those boys wouldn’t have gotten my key without my ex-boyfriend’s consent.

It seemed too premeditated because only he knew how much some of the stolen things cost.

It was the biggest betrayal I’d ever experienced. I thought hearts could only be ripped out in vampire shows until it happened to me in real life that night (at least that’s how it felt).

After the incident, I stayed with friends for the summer, which helped me cope better with the aftermath because I was out of the area for a while. But I also think it took me longer to heal because I was in denial for the first few months.

I couldn’t fully process what had happened. I was finding it hard to get my head around it, and I didn’t talk about it because I couldn’t formulate the right words to express how I felt. I also felt embarrassed that it was partly my own fault for giving him my key.

After the summer I moved to another area in time for my second year of university, and I never saw or spoke to my ex again.

A Little Encouragement

I’d like to say to all those who experience betrayal or survive traumatic crimes that the memory may never completely go away, but the healing will come with time and effort.

This means feeling, processing, and accepting your emotions, reflecting on the situation and thinking about lessons learned, and forgiving and letting go so you can continue living.

The two things I’d advise you not to do:

1. Don’t suffer in silence.

2. Don’t suppress your feelings and pretend nothing has happened.

I did both for many years. It was only when I started talking about what had happened and allowed myself to feel all the different emotions that came with it that my healing journey really began.

My emotions ranged from confusion, disgust, fear, shame, anger, and rage to sadness. They would be up and down on any given day. Sometimes it could be because something had triggered me, and other times just because I was thinking about what happened.

Sometimes the event replays in your mind repeatedly like a broken record. Let it, because you’ll eventually come to a place of acceptance and slowly begin to let go of the pain.

I also found it very hard to trust people after that, especially men. But I realized that the more pain I clung to, the more it prevented me from moving forward.

Not trusting meant I would keep people at arm’s length. I wouldn’t allow them to get too close to me. I appeared cold and detached and thus had very few friends and no romantic relationship for over five years. So I started to forgive.

I learned that forgiveness was more for me than for the other person, so I forgave myself first for not listening to my intuition when I was resistant to give him my key in the first place.

Forgiving my ex without ever getting an explanation or apology wasn’t easy, but it allowed me to trust again. I chose to forgive him firstly for my own inner peace and secondly because I refused to believe that he was that coldhearted; instead, I reasoned that something must have happened to trigger the incident.

Whatever you’re going through, it’ll get better, I promise. Hang in there and remember that this is just part of your story, not your whole story. If you do the work to heal and allow yourself to grow through the experience, it can only serve to make you better, not bitter.

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About Rita Yvonne

Rita Yvonne is the blogger behind thepmublog.com, where she shares her struggles with others in the hope that they may be encouraged, motivated, and inspired to push through their own battles. When life is not going so well, we all need a little pick me up every now and then and assurance that we are not alone. You can also follow her on Twitter and Instagram.

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How to Let People in So You Can Feel Seen, Heard, and Supported

“We are hard-wired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it there is suffering.” ~Brené Brown

In relationships, I have always felt more comfortable being on the sidelines rather than center stage. I liked playing the supporting role to many people’s leading roles. I am good at it; it’s the career I chose for myself as a life coach. However, personally, constantly staying in the role of supporter created resentment.

I felt unseen and unheard, and many of my relationships began to feel one-sided—with me listening and holding space for them and then feeling there was no room for me to have a turn. It felt like I could not connect with others, and that left me feeling deeply alone.

At first, I believed that others were to blame. If they didn’t take up so much space and time, it would be easier for me to open up. As time passed, I realized this was an excuse. It was an excuse that gave me permission to stay quiet. Because staying quiet was easier than sharing whatever was heavy on my heart.

It was painful to constantly stay silent or to question if I should share or not. It felt like I had created brick walls to protect myself, and it began to feel impossible to start sharing more of my personal experiences, thoughts, and realizations.

I would think, “They won’t get it anyway. What’s the point?” Or “What they’re experiencing is so much harder.” Or “I will just end up hurt by sharing more.”

At times when I felt the loneliest, I began to wonder, what was I protecting myself from, and why had it gotten so difficult to speak to my closest and trusted people? I felt like I was walking around like a knight covered in steel armor, but there was no one shooting arrows at me; and on the inside, I felt like a volcano was slowly brewing.

I knew where parts of these habits stemmed from. I am highly sensitive and guard my heart because I feel things so deeply. In the past, there were times when I shared and people either didn’t listen because they weren’t fully present or they didn’t understand where I was coming from, and this hurt.

Also, I knew that I was a people-pleaser and wanted others to feel good and happy even if it meant that I didn’t. And I’m naturally an observer and introvert, so it came easily to stay quiet.

Part of my healing came from this basic knowledge. This is the unique way that I am built, and it is not bad or wrong. However, I had to address the brewing storm inside, and that meant having the courage to share and to cry and to be angry—to be seen in front of people I love and trust.

A friend of mine has consistently modeled what it means to open up by communicating her thoughts, fears, and feelings with me, even if they are vulnerable. Over time she became someone with whom I felt comfortable testing the waters of sharing my own pain.

I felt a huge sense of relief when I opened my heart to her and shared that I was struggling to feel good enough in my relationships and roles—and I was met with the simple yet powerful impact of thoughtful listening. Not only did she accept me with my messy emotions, I felt more safe, authentic, and comfortable being me.

Opening up to others is still a practice for me, but each time I do it I find that others are more loving and capable than I imagined, and that my taking a step toward vulnerability leads to the connection I deeply desire.

I have realized that opening up has less to do with others accepting or understanding me and more to do with me accepting the vulnerable parts of myself.

I know now that I deserve to be listened to and supported, even if it is messy and more emotional than logical. The only way to do that is to communicate and share what’s going on in my heart with a reliable or committed partner/friend.

I believe most of us avoid opening up at all costs because we’re afraid of being judged and rejected.

In any relationship there is a chance that you are going to get hurt. Whether it is intentional or unintentional, whether you guard your heart or not, the possibility is there. The question is, is the sense of connection worth it for you? This is a question that requires discernment.

Not all relationships require equal sharing. This is the part that you get to choose. Who do you want to talk to and who is able to hold space for you? What parts are you willing to vulnerably share and, as Brené Brown asks, “who has earned a seat at your table?”

If, like me, you tend to be guarded and not trust the people you are closest to, take a moment to slow down and acknowledge the part of you that wants to be seen and heard.

Let yourself know that, though safety and security cannot be promised from another, you can promise them to yourself. You can assure yourself that whether other people understand and support you or not, you will maintain a safe space within yourself by validating your own thoughts and feelings.

Also, remind yourself that even if sharing was painful for you in the past—if people didn’t offer you their full attention, empathy, or understanding—the future can be different. All people are different, and there are many who care and want to be there. You just have to give them a chance.

Having the courage to be seen in a vulnerable place isn’t easy; however, it is necessary if you long for connection and authenticity.

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About Orly Levy

Orly Levy is an Intuitive Life Coach and Writer. She offers guidance for the sensitive soul struggling to see their gifts. Through her one-on-one programs, she leads others to meet with "what is" to release blockages, reconnect with their intuition, and discover true peace. Visit her virtual home for tools, to schedule a free session, and follow her on Instagram.

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Abandonment Wounds: How to Heal Them and Feel More at Ease in Relationships

“I always wondered why it was so easy for people to leave. What I should have questioned was why I wanted so badly for them to stay.” ~Samantha King

Do you feel afraid to speak your truth or ask for what you want?

Do you tend to neglect your needs and people-please?

Do you have a hard time being alone?

Have you ever felt panic and/or anxiety when someone significant to you left your life or you felt like they were going to?

If so, please don’t blame yourself for being this way. Most likely it’s coming from an abandonment wound—some type of trauma that happened when you were a child .

Even though relationships can be painful and challenging at times, your difficult feelings likely stem from something deeper; it’s like a part of you got “frozen in time” when you were first wounded and still feels and acts the same way.

When we have abandonment wounds, we may have consistent challenges in relationships, especially significant ones. We may be afraid of conflict, rejection, or being unwanted; because of this, we people-please and self-abandon as a survival strategy.

When we’re in a situation that activates an abandonment wound, we’re not able to think clearly; our fearful and painful emotions flood our system and filter our perceptions, and our old narratives start playing and dictate how we act. We may feel panic, or we may kick, cry, or scream or hold in our feelings like we needed to do when we were children.

When our abandonment wound gets triggered, we automatically fall into a regression, back to the original hurt/wound and ways of reacting, thinking, and feeling. We also default to the meanings we created at the time, when we formed a belief that we weren’t safe if love was taken away.

Abandonment wounds from childhood can stem from physical or emotional abandonment, being ignored or given the silent treatment, having emotionally unavailable parents, or being screamed at or punished for no reason.

When we have abandonment wounds, we may feel that we need to earn love and approval; we may not feel good enough; and we may have our walls up and be unable to receive love because we don’t trust it, which keeps us from being intimate.

We may try to numb our hurt and pain with drugs, alcohol, over-eating, or workaholism. We may also hide certain aspects of ourselves that weren’t acceptable when we were young, which creates inner conflict.

So how do our abandonment wounds get started? Let me paint a picture from my personal experience.

When I was in third grade a lady came into our classroom to check our hair for lice. When she entered, my heart raced and I went into a panic because I was afraid that if I had it and I got sent home, I would be screamed at and punished.

Where did this fear come from? My father would get mad at me if I cried, got angry, got hurt and needed to go to the doctor, or if I accidentally broke anything in the house. Did I did it purposely? No, but I was punished, screamed at, and sent to my room many times, which made me feel abandoned, hurt, and unloved.

When I was ten years old my parents sent me away to summer camp. I kicked and screamed and told them I didn’t want to go. I was terrified of being away from them.

When I got there, I cried all night and got into fights with the other girls. My third day there I woke up early and ran away. My counselor found me and tried to hold me, but I kicked, hit her, and tried to get away from her.

I was sent to the director’s office, and he got mad at me. He picked me up, took me out of his office, and put me in front of a flagpole, where I had to stay for six hours until my parents came to get me. When they got there, they put me in the car, screamed at me, and punished me for the rest of the week.

When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with anorexia, depression, and anxiety and put in my first treatment center.

When my parents dropped me off, I was in a panic. I was so afraid, and I cried for days. Then, my worst nightmare came true—my doctor told me he was putting me on separation from my parents. I wasn’t allowed to talk to them or see them for a month. All  I could think about was how I could get out of there and get home to be with them.

I didn’t understand what was happening. I just wanted my parents to love me, to want to be with me, to treat me like I mattered, but instead I was sent away and locked up.

I started to believe there was something wrong with me, that I was a worthless human being, and I felt a lot of shame. These experiences and many others created a negative self-image and fears of being abandoned.

For over twenty-three years I was in and out of hospitals and treatment centers. I was acting in self-destructive ways and living in a hypervigilant, anxious state. I was constantly focused on what other people thought about me. I replayed conversations in my mind and noticed when someone’s emotional state changed, which made me afraid.

It was a very exhausting way to be. I was depressed, lonely, confused, and suicidal.

There are many experiences that trigger our abandonment wounds, but the one that I’ve found to be the most activating is a breakup.

When we’re in a relationship with someone, we invest part of ourselves in them. When they leave, we feel like that part of ourselves is gone/abandoned. So the real pain is a part of us that’s “missing.” We may believe they’re the source of our love, and when they’re gone, we feel that we lost it.

So the real abandonment wound stems from a disconnection from the love within, which most likely happened when we abandoned ourselves as children attempting to get love and attention from our parents, and/or when our parents abandoned us.

When I went through a breakup with someone I was really in love with, it was intense. I went into panic. I was emotionally attached, and I did everything I could to try to get her back. When she left, I was devastated. I cried for weeks. There were days when I didn’t even get out of bed.

Instead of trying to change how I was feeling, I allowed myself to feel it. I recognized that the feelings were intense not because of the situation only, but because it activated my deeper wounding from childhood. Even though I’ve done years of healing, there were more layers and more parts of me to be seen, heard, cared for, and loved.

The “triggering event” of the breakup wasn’t easy, but it was necessary for me to experience a deeper healing and deeper and more loving connection with myself.

When we’re caught in a trauma response, like I was, there is no logic. We’re flooded with intense emotions. Sure, we can do deep breathing, and that may help us feel better and relax our nervous system in the moment; but we need to address the original source of our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs in order to experience a sense of ease internally and a new way of seeing and being.

Healing our abandonment wound is noticing how the past may be still playing in our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. It’s noticing the narratives and patterns that make us want to protect, defend, or run away. It’s helping our inner child feel acknowledged, seen, heard, safe, and loved.

Healing the abandonment wound is not a quick fix; it does take self-awareness and lots of compassion and love. It’s a process of finding and embracing our authenticity, experiencing a sense of ease, and  coming home.

Healing doesn’t mean we’ll never be triggered. In fact, our triggers help us see what inside is asking for our love and attention. When we’re triggered, we need to take the focus off the other person or situation and notice what’s going on internally. This helps us understand the beliefs that are creating our feelings.

Beliefs like: I don’t matter, I’m unlovable, I’m afraid, I don’t feel important. These underlying beliefs get masked when we focus on our anger toward the person or what’s happening. By bringing to the light how we’re truly feeling, we can then start working with these parts and help them feel loved and safe.

Those of us with abandonment wounds often become people-pleasers, and some people may say people-pleasing is manipulation. Can we have a little more compassion? People-pleasing is a survival mechanism; it’s something we felt we needed to do as children in order to be loved and safe, and it’s not such an easy pattern to break.

Our system gets “trained,” and when we try to do something new like honoring our needs or speaking our truth, that fearful part inside gets afraid and puts on the brakes.

Healing is a process of kindness and compassion. Our parts that have been hurt and traumatized, they’re fragile; they need to be cared for, loved, and nurtured.

Healing is also about allowing ourselves to have fun, create from our authentic expression, follow what feels right to us, honor our heartfelt desires and needs, and find and do what makes us happy.

There are many paths to healing. Find what works for you. For me, talk therapy and cognitive work never helped because the energy of anxiety and abandonment was held in my body.

I was only able to heal my deepest wound when I began working with my inner child and helping the parts of myself that were in conflict for survival reasons make peace with each other. As a result, I became more kind, compassionate, and loving and started to feel at peace internally.

Healing takes time, and you are so worth it, but please know that you are beautiful, valuable, and lovable as you are, even with your wounds and scars.

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About Debra Mittler

Debra Mittler is a warm and compassionate healer with a unique ability to touch people’s hearts and souls. She enjoys assisting others in loving and accepting themselves unconditionally, feeling at peace in their body, and living authentically. Debra is a leading authority in overcoming obstacles and supports her clients by holding a space of unconditional love and offering encouragement, effective tools, and valuable insights allowing them to experience and listen to their own inner wisdom.

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How I Started Appreciating My Life Instead of Wanting to End It

“When I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around.” ~Willie Nelson

Few things have the power to totally transform one’s life as gratitude. Gratitude is the wellspring of happiness and the foundation of love. It is also the anchor of true faith and genuine humility. Without gratitude, the toxic stew of bitterness, jealousy, and regret boils over inside each of us.

I would know. As a teenager and as a young man, I lived life without gratitude and experienced the terrible pain of doing so.

Outwardly, I appeared to be a friendly, happy, and gracious person. I could make any person laugh and I was loyal to my friends through thick and thin. However, beneath the surface an intense fire raged within me.

Despite receiving boundless love and attention from my wonderful family, I was inwardly resentful about my adoption as a child. For many years, three bitter questions ran on repeat in my mind:

• Why did my birth mother give me up for adoption when I was only months old?
• Why did I try so desperately hard to win acceptance from others when it was clear that I just didn’t fit in anywhere?
• Why did I have to experience the pain and confusion of not truly belonging?

As I allowed these questions to dominate my thoughts, I began to experience a range of negative and unpleasant emotions as a result. Among the worst of these feelings was that I came to see myself as a victim of circumstance. Of course, as I would later realize, this couldn’t have been further from the truth. Far from being a victim of circumstance, I was a blessed recipient of grace. But at the time I couldn’t see that.

Eventually, my sense of resentment at being adopted contributed to destructive behaviors like heavy drinking.

Throughout the entirety of my early adulthood, I filled my desperate need for belonging with endless partying and a hedonistic lifestyle. During those years, I found myself in many unhealthy romantic relationships with women, partook in too many destructive nights of drinking to count, and frequently got into brushes with police.

During that difficult time in my life, I also seriously contemplated suicide. I even got to the point where I meticulously planned how I would carry it out: through overdosing on pills and alcohol. And I even purchased both the bottle of booze and pills for the act.

Had it not been for the last-second torturous thoughts of inflicting such an emotional toll on my family, I am quite certain that I would have followed through on taking my own life. 

On into adulthood, my own refusal to put in the long hours on myself and address my adoption led me in a downward spiral. I was fired from several full-time teaching jobs, continued to battle with alcohol abuse, frequently lashed out in fits of anger at others, and I restlessly moved from one place or another every year or two believing that a change in location would somehow translate into my finally finding a semblance of inner peace.

For the better part of my twenties and early thirties, my mind’s demons continued to get the best of me. This cycle of discontent persisted until a dramatic turning point happened in my life. While on a trip to Maui, Hawaii, with family, I experienced an unforgettable moment of healing while hiking in the transcendent beauty of that mystical island.

On the third or fourth day of the trip, I found myself wandering alone on a little trail that unexpectedly led to the edge of a breathtaking cliff overlooking the crystal blue ocean. While standing there, I felt so overwhelmed with joy that I instantly tore off all my clothes and let out a great big primal yell! For the first time since childhood, I felt undulating waves of peace wash over me.

Today, when I reflect on what I truly felt in that moment, I recognize it was gratitude. I felt pure gratitude to be alive. And I felt pure gratitude to finally know that I was a part of something infinitely greater than my mind could ever comprehend. While standing there in awe of the Earth’s glorious wonder, I also experienced overflowing feelings of gratitude for my adoption.

Suddenly, everything about my adoption made perfect sense.

It was my destiny to be adopted into the family I was. It was also an incomprehensibly high and selfless act of love for my birth mother to give me up for adoption, knowing that I would have more doors opened to me in America. And of course, it was also an incomprehensibly high and selfless act of love for my adoptive mother to endure horrific physical abuse and an exhausting legal battle just to get me out of Greece.

In that moment, I feel like I was catapulted into a higher realm of consciousness, where the boundary dissolved between who it was that thought they were the knower and the subject they thought was being known. In that moment, there was no me. There was no birth mother. There was no adoptive mother and father. We were all just one perfect expression of love.

The point of this somewhat long-winded story is that no spiritual breakthrough for me would have even been possible without the power of gratitude. For it was at the root of that profound glimpse of reality I experienced in that indescribably perfect moment. Since that life-altering day, I have tried to make gratitude the cornerstone of the inner walk that I do on myself.

Each evening just before going to bed I make it a point to write down at least two things that I was grateful for from that day. The idea of starting a gratitude journal may sound cliché to some, but it has helped me navigate life with more gratitude. Since starting the journal, I also feel like I am starting to have greater appreciation for those blessings that I used to take for granted, like good health and access to clean water, air, and food.

From my own experience with the adoption, I have come to believe that one of the greatest benefits from starting a gratitude journal is that it helps pull us out of our own egoic way of thinking that sees ourselves as victims of circumstance.

When we consciously set out to cultivate gratitude in our day-to-day lives, we come to see the ample opportunities for personal growth that emerge out of our trying life experiences.

Now, whenever I hear someone complain that they are a victim of this or that circumstance, I listen quietly with an open heart to their predicament. But when they finish telling their story and ask me for my thoughts and advice, I reply with the following questions:

But what are you grateful for? And what are the lessons that you learned through your adversity?

Gratitude profoundly transforms our relationship with suffering. When we acknowledge the feelings of gratitude within us, we come to re-perceive even the worst events in our lives as grist for the mill.

It is not at all necessary for you to travel to some faraway paradise like Hawaii to cultivate gratitude. We all have the innate capacity to experience this same profound sense of gratitude where we are now in this moment.

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About Forrest Rivers

Forrest Rivers is a seeker and lover of the earth who enjoys hiking with his dog, Abbie. He has appeared on over 55 consciousness-themed podcasts and radio shows. He is the author of The Hippie Revival and Collected Writings, and his forthcoming book, Humanity’s Spiritual Rebirth, is set to be published in 2024. You can reach Forrest through Facebook and his website (forrestrivers.com) and follow his new YouTube channel, Mystic Soul Revival with Forrest Rivers.

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The post How I Started Appreciating My Life Instead of Wanting to End It appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

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Dealing with Unrequited Love: How I Started to Let Go and Love Myself

“If you don’t love yourself, you’ll always be looking for someone else to fill the void inside you, but no one will ever be able to do it.” ~Lori Deschene

I was a simple girl who met a complicated boy and fell in love. It was unrequited. I loved him with all my heart for six months, without him knowing. Or if he did know, he never said anything.

I acted like a teenager with her first crush. It was humiliating. I did things that I should never have done—the incessant texting, calling, arranging meetups, and what not.

Embarrassment doesn’t even cover the emotions I feel now. There is also a lot of guilt and pain.

When I was kid, I learned by watching my parents to sacrifice myself and show up for others before myself.

Gradually, my sense of self become entwined with others. I only felt worthy when I served a purpose in someone’s life, and otherwise, I didn’t think I mattered much.

Every little thing became focused on other people—how I behaved, how I dressed, how I worked. I would mindread, try to control how people perceived me, and stretch beyond my limits to show up for people who probably never even cared about me.

That is exactly what happened with the boy I loved. My life became all about him—what he said, what he never said. I was waiting for a proposal that was never going to happen. My mind had created all these stories about a fantasy relationship that would never be and was constantly lost in a daydream.

Instead of loving myself, I was pouring all my time and energy into someone else. My family and friends knew what was happening, and they told me I needed to accept that he didn’t love me back, but I didn’t listen to them. I was on a high, addicted to the dopamine rush of seeing him and talking to him.

One day, I suffered a nervous breakdown and cried. The boy I loved would never love me back. It was emotionally traumatizing, both for me and my family. The heart of it was my need for validation from someone else.

It was hard for me to accept the fact that he would never love me. I wanted him. I loved him so much. Why couldn’t he see my love for him and love me back?

It’s been one year since I’ve talked to him. My heart still beats a little faster when I think about him or see him.

For a long time, I was ashamed of how I’d obsessed over him and pursued him. Sometimes I wish that I hadn’t met him. He was the beginning of a dark and depressing change in my personality. I was so sad. I couldn’t eat properly, sleep properly, think properly.

I blamed it all on myself. It triggered a sense of worthlessness. I wasn’t good enough for his love, for him. I cried a lot. More than I should have.

It felt silly. To cry over someone who doesn’t even know what you’re going through.

For a long time, I didn’t forgive myself. I would wallow; I was in pain. I’d always struggled with low self-worth and self-esteem, and the pain of a broken heart was too much for my already broken self to handle.

I had placed my worth in someone else’s hands instead of my own. I was cruel to myself, constantly criticizing myself and putting myself down, all because of a boy. I had been abandoning myself and treating myself far worse than I treated others. My mind was suffering; it felt rejected.

But thankfully, support from the right people and therapy slowly helped me figure out what was going wrong and forgive myself.

Therapy helped me rediscover myself. I was no longer the girl who placed her self-worth in someone’s hands.

It also helped me recognize that my obsession was more about me and my issues than him. I already didn’t feel good enough; his rejection just magnified it.

It was a gradual process, and at first, it was a little scary. I was fundamentally changing myself and rewiring my personality, learning to treat myself with kindness and compassion. Letting go of my old self wasn’t easy, as I had been so used to the pain and heartbreak.

But I was patient with myself, and it paid off. I conquered my demons, and slowly, gradually, fell in love with myself.

All of this happened last December and one year later, I can finally say that I’m letting go.

It hasn’t been an easy journey. There are days when I don’t treat myself kindly. There are days when I still place my worth in someone else’s hands and expect them to ease my self-hatred and guilt and make me feel good enough. There are days when I end up sacrificing myself for people, but those are outnumbered by the days when I look at myself with loving kindness.

There are far more days when I take care of myself instead of focusing on someone else who probably doesn’t care about what I’m going through.

I have finally forgiven myself for all that happened. I look at the past and I wonder how I survived. I am far stronger and more resilient than I thought myself to be before, and now I can show up for myself, hold myself together, and be there for myself.

I look at myself in the mirror and feel proud of coming so far. I love myself, and I’m not ashamed of what happened. Unrequited love teaches you a lot: It teaches you what you’re looking for and what you don’t want in someone.

I know my worth, and I know that the right person will love me the way I deserve to be loved.

But most of all, I know that I will love myself the way I want to be loved. I no longer look at myself with hatred. The pain of my heartbreak comes and goes, but I know I’m strong enough to handle whatever life gives me.

I’m happy after a long time, and I want to hold on to this happiness and cherish all the good memories I’ve made.

I have collected all my broken pieces and created art, writing down my thoughts and emotions, and also, appreciating all I’ve gained through my struggles has helped me work toward forgiveness and acceptance.

Unrequited love can be a blessing because it gives us an opportunity to practice loving ourselves.

Loving someone is hard but unloving someone and pouring all your love into yourself is even harder. It doesn’t happen overnight. Self-love is a journey, and it has its highs and lows, but it is worth it.

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About Shreya Arora

Sherrie is a student of life, and she loves to read and write. Her mantra is to take it one day a time. You can follow her journey of self-love and creativity at @sherriewrites on Instagram.

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