How to Comfort the Grieving Without Saying “Sorry for Your Loss”

“Words have the power to both destroy and heal. When words are both true and kind, they can change our world.” ~Buddha

“I’m sorry for your loss” is a perfectly acceptable response…if I’ve told you I’ve lost my phone. In that instance, I can appreciate the sentiment, empathy, and authenticity of the phrase. It’s my loss and my loss alone. I know you can put yourself in my shoes and internalize what it would feel like to be without this critical device and, as such, the words carry weight.

When I tell you my parents are dead, though? Maybe not so much. That’s because they’re monumental deaths that are not easily relatable for most. See, my dad passed away from ALS when I was fourteen. My mom then accelerated her unhealthy relationship with food and passed away due to complications from morbid obesity when I was twenty-seven. I’m an only child.

Approach me with this filler phrase when this has been revealed, and my knee-jerk reaction will be a rushed “uh huh, thanks. Anyway…” I don’t mean to be brusque (well, I guess I do). I know you’re doing your best. You know you have to say something in response to this info. and, chances are, everything you think of in those few milliseconds after this revelation seems to fall short.

So the autopilot, reflexive, out-of-office reply surfaces to the top.

Here’s why it’s problematic.

Only ‘My Loss,’ Really?

Not to play a game of semantics, but the first issue I take with this filler phrase is that it conveys these deaths are only my loss. Yes, I know you’re speaking directly to me and not my parents’ siblings, friends, co-workers, or grandchildren. But these—either individually or collectively—are not singular losses.

My grandmother lost the ability to outlive her children.

My dad’s friends lost their weekly poker buddy.

My mom’s co-workers lost the office’s “voice of reason.”

My daughter lost the privilege to ever know her grandparents.

The world lost whatever future contributions these two would have made to it.

My point is, there are many people who lost something on those two separate days—and those losses have continued along with their absence.

Alienation, Party of One

Placing this loss directly on me—or on anyone, for that matter—also creates a separation between us. Yes, it might have been a loss in my life, not in yours, but you’ve now squarely bifurcated us.

I am the bereaved; you are the condoler.

The last thing someone mentioning a death needs (IMO) is to be constantly reminded that we’re different from the rest of you. That the black cloud is over our heads, not yours.

Grief and loss and death, not to mention the sadness and depression that can go along with them, is isolating enough. Please don’t magnify that even more by placing us on opposite sides of the fence.

Comfort, Camaraderie

The biggest problem I have with the loss apology is that it really doesn’t offer anything. No source of comfort. No relatability. No words of advice that you can turn to when you’re struggling.

It’s a “break glass in case of emergency” phrase for those who don’t know what to say. For me, it’s words I bob and weave to get away from like a dodgeball torpedoed at my head.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I really don’t. I know you’re doing the best you can. I simply hope to provide a little cause for pause if this is your go-to condolence.

Plus, consider yourself lucky. If hearing about these sorts of losses and deaths makes you uncomfortable to the point that your brain turns to mush, it might be because you haven’t experienced this kind of grief yourself. That’s something to be happy about. And trust me when I say, I’m happy for you. I really am!

Okay, now that we know why this phrase can rub the aggrieved the wrong way, what can we say instead?

Rephrase the Loss Apology

Tweak your sentiments slightly, and suddenly you’ve got a phrase that feels authentic and relatable, at least to me.

I’m perfectly happy with:

“I’m sorry you had to…

• go through that.
• experience that.
• deal with such early losses.
• encounter these tragedies so early on.
• figure out how to navigate life on your own without your parents.

You get the point. Any iteration of this phrase works for me for two reasons. First, because it acknowledges my personal experience, versus framing the deaths as my loss and my loss alone. Second, because, although you may not be able to relate, a sense of empathy and authenticity comes through by recognizing that these palpable losses had palpable effects.

Share a Memory

The absolute best condolence I ever received came from a young man I had never met. We were at my mom’s funeral when he came up to introduce himself. He was the son of one of her co-workers, though her name wasn’t familiar. His presence was a little quizzical to me, as his eyes were red, his nose was runny, yet I had no idea who he was.

He told me he’d gotten to talking to her when he’d visit his mom in the office. Apparently, they developed a rapport over time. So much so that she was the first person he decided to come out to. He told me how she received this news with love, support, and a welcomed ambivalence that let him know it was okay to be himself. That nothing was different with this added piece of information.

I have tears in my eyes as I write this. To this day, that short encounter has been the best gift any single human has ever given me regarding my mom. It brought comfort. It let me know she touched others (and kept treasured things to herself). It showed the magnitude of her loss outside of myself.

When you lose a parent to (food) addiction the way I did, it’s very easy to vilify them. They should’ve known better. Done better. Been better.

Then I think of that story and, at least in that instance, she’s a goddamn hero in my eyes. And not for how she received the news—though she seemed to handle that well—but for being such a source of support and comfort to this young man that he chose her, of all people, to come out to.

Wow. I can’t say I’ve ever left an impact like that on someone. That is admirable, and the encounter is something I’ll treasure always.

I do want to add a slight caveat to sharing stories about the deceased, though. It’s all about right place, right time. Had I been going into a meeting, about to speak to a crowd, or been ready to engage in anything that involved my full attention and right mind, this would not have been the time to share something that might have made me crumble.

This strategy requires you to read the room a little, but it can be the best condolence you can bestow if the timing is right.

The Leading Statement

As the above example shows, your statement doesn’t even need to involve an apology. After all, you didn’t kill them, right? If you did, totally apologize. Hopefully from behind bars.

Anyway, I love the leading statement strategy because it gives the aggrieved options.

“That must have been so hard for you.”

“I’m sure that was a difficult thing to experience so young.”

These open-ended statements give us choices. We can simply acknowledge them, usher an appreciative thank you, and steer the conversation in another direction if we don’t feel like deep diving into grief.

Or we can use them as a jumping off point and say, “It was really hard, I think the most difficult thing was…” Now we’re in a conversation. An exchange. Two people on the same side discussing an experience. It’s not me on one side receiving an apology about a “singular” loss and you on the other, nervously scratching at your neck and wincing, wondering what happens next.

And, in case you’re wondering, yes, I am absolutely guilty of wielding this phrase myself. I’ve never appreciated hearing it or saying it, but I’ve really started to internalize how hollow these words are recently, since discussing my parents’ deaths more publicly.

So let’s all strive to do better. I know we can. If we shift our thinking more toward what may benefit the aggrieved—versus allowing the first obligatory phrase we can think of to pop out of our mouths—these encounters will be a lot less uncomfortable.

And, if all else fails, show us a picture of your dog. They always bring comfort, relatability, and connection. Hey, they don’t call them emotional support animals for nothing…

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About Courtney Deane

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What Forgiveness Really Means and Why It’s the Ultimate Freedom

I used to loathe the word “forgiveness.”

What it meant to me was that someone could hurt me, lie to me, or even abuse me, say “sorry,” and I was supposed to pretend like nothing happened. If I didn’t, they would say to me, “I thought you were a forgiving person,” or “What? I already said I was sorry.”

It felt awful, outside and inside.

I had one relationship that I knew very well wasn’t good for me and I wanted out of, but my misunderstanding of what the word “forgiveness” meant kept me stuck there for a very long time.

The person would lie repeatedly and never come clean. When things came out (as they often do), the person would claim to be sorry or that they were “getting better” and then expect me to just go on as if nothing had happened.

My trust for them was eroded, and by staying there, that spilled over into my trust for other people and even myself. My self-worth also became depleted. I felt powerless because I believed that, in order to be a good, forgiving person, I had to accept as many meaningless “sorries” as this person was going to dribble out. I lost motivation and became depressed and drained.

It felt like forgiving was designed to punish the person who was hurt.

I had heard the phrases “forgiveness sets you free,” and “forgiveness is for you, not them,” and neither made any sense because I certainly did not feel free, and there appeared to be nothing in it for me to keep allowing their nonsense.

Well, it didn’t make sense because “forgiveness” wasn’t what I believed it was at all.

One day, I looked it up in the dictionary.

Forgiveness definition: “to let go of anger and resentment towards a person or event from the past.”

Forgiveness is that—just that. Ceasing to carry around resentment or anger inside of yourself for what happened in the past.

It doesn’t say you’re supposed to pretend it never happened.

It doesn’t say you’re supposed to trust the person again after they broke your trust, just because you have forgiven them.

It doesn’t even say you have to speak to them again.

Ever.

Forgiveness IS for you.

Forgiveness DOES set you free.

Forgiveness means you stop carrying around the pain of the past inside of you. So that you don’t bring it into every new place you go, allowing it to bubble up and explode on people who had nothing to do with causing you injury.

If you decide to forgive a person but not speak to them again because you know you can’t trust them, that’s 100% wise to do and doesn’t mean you’re unforgiving. It means your trust was broken, and they gave you no reason to think it would not be broken again, so you decided to separate. Or maybe they made promises and broke them again and again until your trust for them was entirely demolished.

Forgiveness doesn’t have to mean reconciliation.

Forgiveness means you accept that what happened has happened and can’t be changed. It means if a memory pops up or gets triggered, you’re not fired up by that anger and resentment and completely disempowered in that moment as if you were still living in the past.

It isn’t instant, nor easy, and there is a process to it that involves acceptance, reflection, wisdom, and presence before the release. It takes time. It takes work. Memories can catch you off guard, but once you are aware of what is happening, you can use the process on them and dissolve them as they come.

Knowing what forgiveness is—real actual forgiveness—and applying it to my life has been absolutely life-changing.

I no longer poison present days with past pain. I can hear a song that reminds me of a painful time in the past and not get set off at all. I didn’t forget what happened, but it no longer has power over me.

This is the gift of forgiveness. It’s not for them, about them, or dependent on them. It is for you, about you, takes place within you, and gives you your life back. It gives you and all those who you choose to have in your life now the best version of you, unencumbered by haunting memories.

You don’t forget, you don’t erase, you heal.

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About Doe Zantamata

Doe Zantamata is the founder of Happiness in Your Life. She wrote everything she knows in her third book, Happiness in Your Life -  Book Three: Forgiveness. This book will give you the tools and insight to help you set the past down and move on. She hopes you read it and get out of it exactly what she put in it for you. Freedom. The book is available in kindle ebook, hardcover, Audible, and paperback on Amazon: https://amzn.to/2YlQ4bU.

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5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

“Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free.” ~Robert Tew

I like to say I don’t regret much in life, because I know I’ve always done the best I could and have learned from every experience. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t considered what my life might be like now if I’d overcome certain fears sooner.

For years I shut people out because I feared I might ruin relationships if I opened myself up to them. And there was a good reason for that—I’d damaged many relationships in the past by acting in response to my trauma.

I’d driven people away, sometimes with unnecessary drama that stemmed from insecurity and other times with dangerous behavior, like binge drinking, that required them to take care of me.

The binge drinking was particularly terrifying to me because I couldn’t seem to stop once I started, and I often blacked out, which meant I didn’t trust myself.

I didn’t trust myself to drink responsibly. I didn’t trust myself not to humiliate myself when alcohol lowered my inhibitions and opened the floodgates to my deepest pains. But most importantly, I didn’t trust myself not to confirm what I suspected everyone thought of me: that I was a mess. Unlovable. And not worth having around.

I remember a time when I was working on a marketing tour, when I was twenty-three, taking a mobile appliance showroom from state to state. My boss and I would often get drunk together at bars, along with my one female coworker, after we powered down the showroom for the night.

A few shots in and I’d be all over him on the dance floor, with him all too happy to accept the attention.

At one stop, my coworker, who was also my hotel roommate, met a guy who stayed in our room for several nights. This meant I moved to my boss’s room, where we finally took things to the next level.

In hindsight I see it had “bad idea” written all over it—and not just because it was clearly a crossed boundary, but also because I was an emotional mess back then. But that’s exactly why I didn’t see it at the time.

I convinced myself that he loved me and I’d finally found “the one.” Something I feared would never happen after my college boyfriend left me, after three years of my self-destruction. Which made it all the more devastating when he told me we had to keep things professional once we hit the next city.

On the final night of the tour, in NYC, where it had originated, we met up at a bar with several people who were going to be my boss’s new coworkers. I got black-out drunk and—as I’ve been told—cried hysterically in front of all of them, screaming at him, “You used me!”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt shame like I did in the days that followed, and I’ve felt some pretty deep shame in my life. It wasn’t just that I’d lost control and humiliated myself, though that obviously stung. And it wasn’t because I’d hurt someone I claimed to care about, though, once again, realizing this was brutal.

It was also that I’d revealed my darkness and my damage to people who I assumed were better than me, much like I had as a bullied kid. I had publicly exposed the most fragile, broken parts of myself.

This wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time “relationships” and “work” overlapped in the Venn diagram of my fears. And that terrified me. Because now I wasn’t just afraid that I’d mess up my relationships with my emotional issues but my professional life as well.

We don’t always talk about these kinds of things because no one wants to broadcast the experiences and fears that make them feel most ashamed and vulnerable.

But when we don’t process these kinds of experiences, they fester inside us, growing into toxic blocks that prevent us from pursuing the things that would bring us love, joy, and fulfillment.

They keep us hiding, playing small, depriving ourselves of the connections and experiences we deeply want to embrace—if only we weren’t so scared.

Scared of what we can’t do. Scared of what we might do. Scared of what people will see. Scared of what they might think.

We barricade ourselves into a corner of our minds, somewhere down the hall from all our fantasies about the life we really want—filled with people and passion and pleasure.

Because it feels safer there. Because less can hurt us if we don’t put ourselves out there.

But life is out there. Love is out there. Passion and purpose and contribution—all the things that make life worth living—are out there. Beyond the fears that many of us don’t even realize we’re holding.

Not sure what fears are holding you back? Maybe one of these will sound familiar.

5 Hidden Fears That May Be Secretly Sabotaging Your Life

1. If I get into a good situation, I might mess it up.

Maybe, like my former self, you fear ruining relationships. Or perhaps for you, this fear pertains to your work and taking on more responsibility. Maybe you’ve cracked in pressure-filled situations before and worry you will again. Or maybe you fear having kids because you’re afraid you’ll mess them up, even if you try your best to be a cycle-breaker (a fear I know all too well).

I believe this a three-pronged fear, born from equal parts shame, mistrust, and perfectionism.

We’re ashamed of things we feel we’ve ruined in the past, and we don’t want to relive that pain. We don’t trust that we can do better than we’ve done, or that we can handle it if the past repeats itself. But most importantly, we don’t realize that the goal isn’t to never again make mistakes but to know that we can repair and bounce back when we do.

I’ve often felt I’ve messed up as a parent to young kids because I’ve had moments when I’ve failed to meet my high standards of calmness and gentleness. And maybe this is why I waited until thirty-nine to have my first son.

But in those moments when I disappoint myself, I remind myself that what matters most is how I respond to my mistakes—because my sons are human and fallible too. Even if I could do everything perfectly, which I obviously can’t, it’s far more valuable for me to show them how to repair, learn, and grow when I inevitably fall short.

When I look back, I recognize that every I’ve time I’ve messed something up—in parenting or other parts of life—I’ve learned something that’s helped me do better going forward. Which has enabled me to slowly become more confident in my relationships and my work.

The key to overcoming this fear, I’ve realized, is diving in, accepting that the worst might happen, and knowing that getting through your worst moments is the key to getting closer to your best.

2. If I put myself out there, people might find out I’m a fraud.

If, like me, you’ve struggled with low self-worth, you might find it challenging to overcome the fear of being seen as inferior, incompetent, inadequate, unworthy, or somehow less than others. And this might compel you to sabotage opportunities to make a difference in the world.

It feels a lot safer in a shadow than a spotlight because people can’t criticize what they don’t see. And you don’t have to worry about being exposed as a fraud if you’re never in a position to be scrutinized.

But I’ve come to believe that most of us feel like we’re really just winging it. Most of us worry that someday people will find out we have no idea what we’re doing. That despite the degrees and credentials and filters and followers, we’re all just wounded kids underneath it all, trying to outgrow the limitations that our trauma and other people have imposed on us.

This is partly why authentic sharing has been so compelling to me. When I put my cards on the table, no one can question if maybe I’m bluffing. Because here you go, I’m showing you! I don’t have the best hand. But I’m playing it the best I know how. We all are. And there’s something empowering about letting that be enough.

3. If I don’t push myself, I might never prove my worth.

This is the other side of the last fear, but instead of creating a sense of paralysis, it keeps us in a perpetual state of busyness—depriving ourselves of rest, connection, and fun so we can hurry up and matter.

It’s the fear that tells us to keep working. Or networking. Trying to build the right thing or meet the right person so we can finally make a name for ourselves. And make the kind of difference that proves we’re valuable.

It’s the ticking time bomb of pressure and productivity that eventually explodes in a breakdown or burnout, ironically pausing all our efforts to do something big and significant.

When we’re driven by the fear of dying unimportant, we’re never truly able to devote ourselves to the things that are important with us. Both because we’re too busy to find the time for them and because our minds are too busy when we finally do.

And what a shame that is—because the people we’re most important to don’t care what we do or what we earn. They just want us. Our presence. Our attention. But we can only offer those things if we fully accept that they’re just as valuable as anything we could accomplish or create.

4. If I’m honest and authentic, people might judge, reject, or abandon me.

Maybe you’re afraid to set boundaries or speak up about your needs. Or perhaps you’re afraid of sharing your trauma because you worry that people might look down on you, or worse, doubt or blame you.

When we suppress our needs and deepest truths, we not only withhold our authentic selves in our relationships but also reinforce to ourselves that we need to hide. That what we have to say is wrong or shameful.

This means we simultaneously sabotage our relationships with others while fracturing our relationships with ourselves.

Looking back, I now realize my binge drinking was partly my authenticity trying to survive. It was the liquid courage that enabled me to release my social anxiety and say the things I wanted to say.

But the irony was that lots of people rejected me when I was a sloppy, emotional drunk.

It took me years to recognize that my binge drinking wasn’t just rooted in the fear of rejection. I drank to excess in social situations because I wanted to numb the voice in my head that told me it might happen. And that maybe I deserved it because I was fundamentally flawed.

So really, the key to overcoming the fear of being rejected was to stop rejecting myself. To recognize that it was okay if some people didn’t like me, and it didn’t have to mean anything about me. It didn’t have to mean there was something wrong with me—just that we were wrong for each other.

5. If I don’t settle for what’s right in front of me, I might end up with nothing.

Every fear on this list stems from low confidence in ourselves and our worth, and this is a sad but common belief many of us with low self-esteem subconsciously hold—that we probably can’t get anything better than what we have right now.

So we settle for unfulfilling jobs and dysfunctional relationships that leave us feeling drained and empty.

We hold onto people and things that hurt us, thinking it’s better than having nothing at all.

And we do it because we believe we need those people and things to feel happy and whole—without realizing they’re actually keeping us stuck in feelings of unhappiness and brokenness.

They probably didn’t cause those feelings, though. Or at least they’re not the root cause. They’re just the most recent iteration of familiar dissatisfaction—a new level in a pattern we’ve been repeating for years because we don’t realize we’re playing out the past over and over, recreating the initial pain that led to our low self-worth.

No one is born believing they deserve the bare minimum. We learn it when that’s when we’re given.

Then many of us go through life without ever questioning why we accept so little, from others and ourselves. We hurt but don’t know why, and try to drink it away, smoke it away, eat it away, or love it away—all to avoid facing ourselves and our deepest wounds and fears.

We may even convince ourselves those fears are just parts of our personality. I’m just quiet. I’m an overachiever. I’m a cautious person.

But that’s not the real truth, or not the whole truth. The truth is that we’re living behind a wall of our fears, yearning for life on the other side while taking comfort in the perceived safety of not exploring it.

And I get it. I really do. I want to feel safe. Safe with other people and, most importantly, safe with myself. I now know that starts with trusting myself.

Trusting that I can do hard things—and bounce back if I fail.

Trusting that I can put myself out there—and handle it if someone doesn’t like me.

Trusting that I can face the pain that comes with a life unnumbed—and grow through every uncomfortable moment.

And maybe that’s it—trust. Maybe that’s the antidote to fear.

I’m not sure if it’s the result of boosting our self-worth or the path to doing it. But I know that trust is the reward for trying. Because we can never guarantee that we’ll do everything perfectly or that other people won’t judge or reject us. But we can trust that with every step we take in spite of our fear, we are growing a little further beyond it. And that the more we grow, the less our fears can limit us.

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About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She started the site after struggling with depression, bulimia, and toxic shame so she could recycle her former pain into something useful and inspire others do the same. She recently created the Breaking Barriers to Self-Care eCourse to help people honor their needs—so they can feel their best, be their best, and live their best possible life. If you’re ready to start thriving instead of merely surviving, you can learn more and get instant access here.

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Embracing Aging: I Want to Be Shiny from the Inside

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt

Yesterday my son called me from college and asked about my day. I told him about my morning, which entailed celebrating my friend’s birthday with her daughter.

My friend passed away almost two years ago. Her daughter reached out to me a couple weeks ago and asked if I would share my morning with her to honor her mom. What a privilege and honor. Hands down YES to that.

The celebration was full of smiles, laughs, tea, stories, tears, yoga mats, birds, fresh air, and tight hugs. As I told my son the story, he asked if my friend’s daughter is cute. (Let’s acknowledge the fact that he asked zero questions about how my friend’s daughter is doing and said nothing about the depth of the meeting.)

“Yes. She’s very cute,” I said. “And I think she’s a bit old for you.”

“How old?” he asked.

“Hmm, I think twenty-eight or twenty-nine,” I replied.

“Oh my god, Mom, she’s a dinosaur.”

My son is twenty. I giggled to myself. If she’s a dinosaur, then I’m…

My friend died because cancer ravaged her body. She fought so hard and had the best attitude, and sprinkled it with humor, which was even more admirable. I miss her every day. I also had cancer, but I am a lucky one. It is now gone, in my rearview mirror, and I’m very grateful. What happened to my perspective along the way is still gnawing at me, though.

I received a breast cancer diagnosis in 2019. I endured chemo, radiation, being bald, living with a port installed inside of my body, chemo pills, and surgery.

What happened after all of my treatments was probably even more challenging. I kept getting sick. One thing after another—diverticulitis, which causes excruciating stomach pain and generally requires antibiotics to cure, UTIs, severe brain fog, reflux, the flu, food poisoning…

It was clear to me that my body was very compromised after cancer due to my immune system getting challenged by all the protocols, and of course the cancer itself. I have been working with an integrative practitioner to clean up my system and to get strong and hardy. This has been hard and arduous work, but I’m not afraid of working.

I started working when I was nine years old, delivering papers in the snow, sleet, and ice in Colorado. I paid for my college and worked three to four jobs the entire time so that I could graduate and get a degree.

My amazing, helpful husband and I raised three boys who went through a myriad of large, not tiny, struggles. I have run six marathons. I consider myself pretty resilient, but this work I have done to get back to homeostasis after cancer has been the most challenging thing I’ve endured. It has been more taxing than the cancer.

There were at least seven days, probably more like twice that number, when I truly thought I was dying. My body was sapped of energy and was fighting to rid itself of the bacteria, mold, metals, candida, and H. pylori. I would lie in bed and try to meditate, but my brain fog was so severe that this was challenging. My body would finally succumb to sleep, only to do it all over the next day.

I woke up feeling horrible for two years. I was preoccupied with my health. It was almost all I thought about. I had not been sick all my life until my diagnosis, at age fifty-two.

I used to feel sorry for friends and for my boys and husband when they were sick. I didn’t even understand it. How could people get sick so often? When I was sick, though, I realized being sick changes everything.

It’s hard to concentrate; it’s hard to focus on others and/or reach out; it’s hard to care. Yes, it is hard to care. It was hard to care about anything other than trying to feel better and hoping I would. Many days I lost hope by the end of the day. My brain did not work right, so I felt numb most of the time. There were a few days when I would not have been upset if I didn’t make it through the night.

I am still working daily with food, supplements, breath, yoga, walking, running, and meditation. I am elated to say I haven’t had that feeling of imminent death in months. My brain fog is gone. I’m sleeping well, and all the other things that were really messed up are now going swimmingly well. I often joke that we are all just big babies because poop and sleep are everything, and baby, I’m pooping and sleeping.

Lately, I’m noticing a new set of thoughts that have entered my brain daily. I am certain it is because I have so much room and time now that I’m not working hard to stay alive. I am not worried about the cancer returning or dying from being so sick anymore.

I have now started noticing how I look. Before cancer, I cared enough to drag myself to Target to get a few items to wear so that I didn’t look like I was living in another decade, or I would order clothes online once in a while. I have always worked out, so I stayed in shape, but I actually glean more from the mental effects of working out, rather than the physical benefits.

I’ve always brushed my hair and teeth and put on some mascara, but I’ve been a “less is more” person. Now I’m realizing that it all worked well when I was younger and didn’t have the lines, wrinkles, and saggy skin.

It’s so interesting to me that during all of my health struggles I never thought about how I looked. Don’t get me wrong, I did not get excited about being bald, but I plopped a wig and a baseball hat on my conehead and kept moving.

Currently, I seem to think about my looks way too often. I do not like it at all. I like to think about how I can make a difference in my little world, how to help others, and how to be a better mom, wife, friend, and teacher. I do not enjoy the thoughts about my extra skin from surgery and from age.

What makes it even worse is that I have an inner compass that is not interested in doing one thing to my body or face. I actually think it’s interesting to see new lines on my face. I’m not saying I like them, but I find it fascinating when they show up out of nowhere.

I think I’m grappling with this because 99% of my friends do botox, fillers, and/or face lifts. When I am around them, I notice their shiny pulled back foreheads, their plump cheeks, and their jacked-up lips.

I actually do not like this look at all. To me, everyone that does this starts to look the same—alien-like. However, I also do not love the look I sport (old and tired). What a weird place that I don’t want to do anything about it and I don’t enjoy how I look.

When I meet up with a friend that I haven’t seen in a bit, I’m sure she is thinking, “Good lord, she looks old. Why doesn’t she do botox at least?” But I’m thinking, “Geez, you don’t look like yourself anymore.”

I notice actresses that possibly share the same thoughts I have, and I get so excited to see natural older women. I feel for them because they are in the public eye. When I saw Dear Edward I thought Connie Britton looked so beautiful and real. I saw some lines, and she looked so natural. Yay. I wanted to thank her for looking like a real female in her fifties. It warmed my heart.

This new internal battle of mine won’t get the best of me. I feel like it’s helpful to even get it all out on paper. Now I get to work on my mind. I am intrigued by the amount of work we can do if we can rein in our thoughts and feelings. This is one of the many reasons that I teach yoga, breath, and meditation. They all can help us with our monkey minds.

This is not easy work, but I’m up for it. I want to be so shiny from the inside that people don’t even notice my looks, and I don’t either.

You know when someone walks into a room and their energy and light draws you to them? Many times, that person isn’t even pretty or handsome, but they exude such a peace that you want to be in their presence.

For me, that is being fully aware of my uniqueness, completely vulnerable, and keeping my heart and soul open to every person I encounter and everything that arises. I am not there yet, but I’m acknowledging the struggle. Isn’t that the first step?

After every class I teach, we end with “namaste,” which translates to the light in me honors and salutes the light in you. If you’re also grappling with your aging face and body, I honor your light. Shine on!

**Image generated by AI

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About Laura Pastor

Laura Pastor can be reached at gumprun@austin.rr.com. You can find her teaching yoga on her dock or at Lake Austin Spa or playing with her shiny dogs. She wrote a manuscript about her struggles with breast cancer and had a few friends collaborate so that there would be diverse stories within the book. She is hoping to publish it soon so that others going through cancer can find hope and connection.

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The Tremendous Pain and Beauty of Letting Things Die

“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.” ~Joseph Campbell

My husband Jake and I sit in anguish on our beautiful new linen couch, inches away from each other, yet worlds apart. Hours of arguing have left us at another impasse, the stalemate now a decade long.

I look around in despair at the beautiful life we built together, petrified by the decision I know I have to make. My partner, my friends, the country I live in, the ground beneath my feet—all on the brink of collapse.

I stare at the ceiling in heartache. What will be left of my life? So begins my descent into the white-hot heartache of letting things die.

Lost in Translation: Identity and Adaptation

I’d moved from Australia to the United States ten years earlier to be with my soon-to-be husband.

This wasn’t a particularly dramatic move for me. I’d spent my whole adult life up until that point traveling and living in foreign countries and, although there was always a natural adaptation period, I managed. In fact, I loved it—I feel born to be foreign.

So I thought this would be similar; straightforward, even. But I was wrong.

The nature of being foreign is unfamiliarity. Each day feels like a fragile dance between two worlds that requires a huge amount of personal strength, emotional generosity, and energetic adaptation, because you are perpetually read from a different worldview, which means you likely feel constantly misread and misunderstood, even when you speak the same language.

Along with that, and the other difficulties inherent in making a life in a foreign culture that I had learned to deal with—having no outlet for huge parts of who I am, constantly navigating an environment that reflected nothing of my values—I now also had to reckon with the need to adapt to my partner’s lifestyle. I needed to be friends with his friends, take the vacations he wanted to take, and fit myself into the predetermined role of “wife” in his life.

We made large-scale decisions that seemed like compromises at the time, and I was often genuinely happy to make them in the name of the unit. But with each compromise, a piece of my identity slipped away, and I eventually realized how much of what was true to me was being weeded out of “us” and how little importance I was placing on my own desires and happiness.

I became deeply alienated in my life and my marriage. I stretched myself so far outside my own skin that maladaptations started to occur. I would find myself in conversation with friends saying things that felt like they were coming out of someone else’s mouth.

In trying to survive, I’d created a life that reflected little to nothing of my truth, a life that was emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually starving me to death.

But even when I realized this, I couldn’t bring myself to end it. Deconstructing my half-life seemed worse than living it. I knew it would spark a tsunami of such unknown proportions that it was an absurd decision to make. So I didn’t.

For months, I coped with my unhappiness, convinced it was better than starting all over with nothing.

Confronting the Inevitable: Embracing Endings and Loss

A few years ago, I joined a group that met monthly to grow in death awareness and reckon with the grief and heartache of the little and big endings that occur in each moment, month, year, and lifetime, in preparation for our final ending—death.

Through it, I realized that I was avoiding the death of my relationship, for fear of enduring the pain that inevitably came with that, and in doing so, I had forced it and myself to be alive in unnatural ways.

For ten years, my ex-husband and I were two planets orbiting each other—day in and day out. I never thought we would have to live without each other. And even in the later years, despite all we’d been through, I was still in love with him and had great love for him.

Losing this love came with an immense level of pain—even worse that I thought.

For six months I walked around feeling like my chest had been ripped open. The pain was not just a fleeting sensation; it was a tangible, daily presence in my life, so intense that by the time the afternoon came around, I could do nothing but lie down on my bedroom floor, the weight of the world pressing down on my chest. The pain was so dense and heavy it felt like it was squeezing the air from my lungs.

When things we love end or die, we experience pain. Pain and grief are the natural response to death, and to endings in general. But we also have a simple, biological tendency to cling to things that make us feel good and to avoid things that make us feel bad.

This is a paradox—pain is biologically natural, but we try to avert it. In averting it, we miss the point.

The Alchemy of Pain: Increased Resilience and Sensitivity

Pain and fear are so profound that they transform your understanding of life.

If we’re lucky, we don’t get a lot of opportunities for them over the course of our lives, but they are an important part of nature’s design.

The human organism evolves through many things, and pain is a very potent catalyst for our evolution. It makes our interior worlds wider and deeper in their capacity to understand and hold life, and the more pain we allow ourselves to feel, the bigger our tolerance for it grows.

What I came to feel, through the death and ending of my relationship, was more deeply in touch with the nature inside and all around me. It was as though the pain had entered into and worked out all the petrified spaces within me and brought renewed sensitivity back into my life.

Death and Endings are Not Tragedies

Death and endings are natural parts of life. To argue with them is like arguing with our need to eat—we only hurt ourselves. More importantly, we rob ourselves of the biological purpose these endings are here to serve.

I have learned to notice more closely when I’m stopping a death from occurring. I’ve learned to embrace the pain of endings, to love what they’ve done inside me—reshaping my life to bring me to new, more authentic, more deeply fulfilling places I never thought I’d be able to reach.

My deconstruction still hurts every day, but I am much less afraid of it now. I feel way more in partnership with my fear, and I can now recognize it as a healthy, normal part of my own psychology.

As I face life’s uncertainty, I know that when this immense level of pain comes again, I will feel it just as much, but the fear will be more tolerable. And I know now to take solace in the beauty and intention of its design—to grow my heart and soul in breadth and depth.

After a year, my divorce finally came through last week, and when I look around at my life, I realize I was right—not much remains. The people I surround myself with, where I spend my time, and even my business is different.

It will be a while before I can say my healing journey is complete, but as I continue to sink deep into my bones, to reclaim the parts of me that were lost these last few years, and re-learn how to dream my dreams alone, one thing above all else is clear: I am back in touch with everything inside me again, feeling all parts of my humanity and all parts of my life, and that’s all that matters.

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About Rachel Browne

As the owner of Emergent Voice, Rachel Browne is a doula for existence. She guides individuals to fulfill their unique life potential by helping uncover their truth and materialize their gifts in the world. Through her existential approach, she facilitates self-discovery, knowledge, and becoming, helping shepherd people along the path of actualization. Get to know her by booking a free tea now at emergent-voice.com.

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6 Reasons We Ignore Our Needs and How to Stop

“If you feel that you are missing out on fulfillment and happiness, but cannot put your finger on why, perhaps there is something deeper going on. Believe it or not, anyone can develop an unconscious habit of self-deprivation. Usually, this habit begins in childhood.” ~Mike Bundrant

For all my adolescence and over a decade of my adult life, I was what men (and I’m guessing some female friends as well) would refer to as “emotionally needy.” And some did. To my face. With a sense of condescension and judgment.

They were right. I was clingy, insecure, and fragile. I needed regular reassurance. And I was constantly on the lookout for signs that someone might reject or abandon me.

I was also highly dependent on external validation because I didn’t believe I was worthy or good enough. And I treated myself like I wasn’t.

I frequently deprived myself of the things that might make me feel happy and whole while numbing myself with other things that made me feel worse about myself and even more depleted.

Instead of expressing my feelings about things that had hurt me, I attempted to drown and burn my emotions with booze, cigarettes, and weed.

Instead of sharing myself authentically and pursuing relationships with people who seemed receptive and trustworthy, I shapeshifted and chased one emotionally unavailable person after another—repeating a humiliating pattern of rejection and neglect that felt painful yet familiar.

And then there were the many ways I ignored my physical needs. Like pushing myself to work more when I really needed a break—so I could achieve something big enough to feel I was worthy of love. Or forcing myself to exercise when I really needed to rest—so I wouldn’t become big enough to attract the same abuse I’d endured as a bullied kid.

I can’t remember exactly when it happened, but I eventually realized I was so needy because I didn’t value or honor my own needs—so I looked to someone else to do it. It was the ultimate in disempowerment. I was a fragile shell of a human being who desperately hoped someone would fill me up, and convince me I deserved it.

But the irony is that when you don’t believe you deserve good things, you’re likely to sabotage or reject them when they come your way. If you even put yourself in the position to attain them.

And the truth is that no one else can be responsible for meeting all our needs. And most people who try (and inevitably fail) are dealing with their own wounds—fulfilling some kind of savior complex that resulted from childhood trauma. Another pattern I know all too well.

If we want to feel happy, worthy, and loved, we have to take responsibility for meeting those needs for ourselves.

That doesn’t mean we can’t also form relationships with people who see our worth. Just that we won’t depend on their perception to maintain our own. And we won’t require anything (or much) from them to fill our own cup. Because we’ll not only have the awareness and tools to do it ourselves but the confidence that we deserve it.

If you can relate to any of my story or even just some, there’s a good chance you also struggle with recognizing and honoring your needs. And this likely affects more than just your relationships.

It might manifest as deteriorating mental or physical health. It might result in professional burnout if you push yourself to do too much, especially within a toxic work culture. It could also lead to a sense of emptiness and purposelessness if you continually ignore the voice inside that tells you you’re unfulfilled.

The first step to changing all of that is to recognize that you’re devaluing and deprioritizing your needs and do some soul-searching to understand why.

When we understand the conditioning and beliefs that have shaped us, we’re able to work on the type of internal healing that can lead to major external change.

It was only when I healed my deepest core wounds that I was able to change my patterns because I was no longer building from a foundation built on trauma but rather one erected in its place from self-love. Self-love that started as the tiniest seed and eventually grew into a mighty tree—much like the one at the top of this site.

Not sure why you ignore your needs? Perhaps, like me, you’ve experienced some of the following.

6 Reasons We Ignore Our Needs

 1. You grew up watching other people putting themselves last.

If your parents or caregivers constantly neglected themselves while trying to please other people, you might have learned from their example that it’s selfish or wrong to put yourself first.

They probably thought the same, and maybe for the same reason. Patterns of self-neglect, self-sabotage, and self-destruction often get passed on from generation to generation until someone says, “No more” and does the work to break the cycle.

2. You learned, by how you were treated growing up, that your needs aren’t important, or as important as other people’s.

If your parents or caregivers ignored or neglected your needs, regularly or as a form of punishment, you might have concluded that you’re not worthy of having your needs met, or that you deserve to be deprived in some way whenever you make a mistake.

You likely didn’t realize as a kid that when your parents failed to show up as you needed them to, it was because they were wrong, not you.

This doesn’t mean they were bad people or even horrible parents. Once again, they were likely repeating what they experienced as kids because they didn’t know any better. (But now you do.)

3. You believe that having needs is somehow wrong or a sign of weakness.

You might mistakenly assume that having needs is the same as being needy—perhaps because someone else ingrained this belief in you, directly or indirectly. Maybe by invalidating your feelings, gaslighting you when you spoke up for yourself, or shaming you for asking for help.

But as I realized, there’s a huge distinction between having needs and being needy. And more importantly, when you’re able to recognize and honor your own needs, you’re not dependent on other people to do it for you. Which is the exact opposite of being needy.

4. You believe prioritizing yourself is unsafe because other people might hurt, judge, or abandon you.

If you were hurt, judged, and abandoned as a result of trying to honor your needs in the past, you might carry a subconscious fear that this could happen again. Consequently, you might feel panic even thinking about honoring your needs.

And if you’re anything like I used to be, you probably don’t realize you’re better off losing anyone you could lose by speaking up for your needs.

5. You believe you need to earn good things and that you haven’t done enough to deserve them yet.

In our achievement-focused culture, it’s easy to conclude that you’re not good enough if you haven’t accomplished something impressive. If this is true for you, you might be putting most of your needs on hold until you achieve something that makes you feel worthy.

In my twenties I spent many days and nights glued to a computer, thinking everything would be better in my life if I could just find a way to make a mark—and some decent money in the process. It didn’t occur to me that I could feel better right in that moment by stepping away, taking care of my needs, and allowing myself to be present while doing something I enjoyed.

6. You’re living in survival mode, and your needs aren’t even on your radar because you’re focused on getting through the day.

If you’re living in a state of chronic stress, due to trauma, grief, or burnout, you’re quite possibly doing the bare minimum,  just trying to keep your head above water. When you’re in survival mode, you have no energy left to focus on your needs, big or small.

I experienced this when I was at my worst mentally and physically, struggling with depression and bulimia while also suppressing deep trauma. And I went through something similar (but far less life-threatening) as a chronically sleep-deprived new mother, without a village.

—

If you were nodding your head while reading any of the above, you now have a good starting point for changing your patterns.

The next step is to regularly check in with yourself and ask yourself two questions:

• What do I need right now—physically, mentally, and/or emotionally—to feel and be my best?
• What false beliefs do I need to challenge in order to meet that need?

The first question requires you to get really honest with yourself and to let go of the instinct to judge your needs. Because they might be different from other people’s.

You might need to share your feelings in a trusting space while someone else might not require the same type of emotional support in a similar situation.

You might need to get up and move your body while someone else might be able to continue with the task at hand for longer.

You might need time to yourself to recharge while someone else might be fine and even content with socializing for longer.

The important thing to remember is you’re not them, and that’s not only okay but beautiful! Because honoring your unique needs allows you to show up as the best version of your unique self.

As for the second question, when you pause and really think about why you might choose to deprive yourself, you give yourself the opportunity to challenge your instinctive behavior and overcome your conditioning.

I’ve found that a tiny pause can be huge.

In tiny pauses, I’ve realized I need to let myself cry instead of stuffing my painful feelings down, burying all hopes of joy with them. That this isn’t wrong or a sign of weakness but rather a precursor to feeling stronger.

In tiny pauses, I’ve recognized that I need to get outside instead of isolating myself or forcing myself to be productive. That I don’t need to accomplish anything to be worthy of relief and connection.

And in pauses somewhat longer, I’ve found the strength to speak up when someone mistreats or devalues me. Because I remember that, contrary to what I concluded when I was younger, I am worthy of love and respect.

Knowing this is the key to honoring our needs. Because honoring our needs is the number one way we give these things to ourselves.

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About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She started the site after struggling with depression, bulimia, and toxic shame so she could recycle her former pain into something useful and inspire others do the same. She recently created the Breaking Barriers to Self-Care eCourse to help people honor their needs—so they can feel their best, be their best, and live their best possible life. If you’re ready to start thriving instead of merely surviving, you can learn more and get instant access here.

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How My Wellness Passion Was Actually Destroying My Health

“Your body holds deep wisdom. Trust in it. Learn from it. Nourish it. Watch your life transform and be healthy.” ~Bella Bleue

It didn’t fit. I zipped, tugged, and shimmied, but the zipper wouldn’t budge. I was twenty-three, it was my college graduation, and the dress I had bought a month ago would not zip.

As I stood there crying in the mirror, riddled with exhaustion, anxiety, vulnerability, and sheer overwhelm, I wondered what was happening to my body. In just one month I had gained thirty pounds. I was having one to three panic attacks a day. Everything I ate made me sick, and no matter how much I worked out, I only felt worse.

I was graduating with a degree in clinical nutrition, yet my health was the worst it had been in my entire life. The world was supposed to be my oyster, yet I couldn’t leave the house.

I used to tell people all the time that my “passion” was health. I started my first fitness program when I was nine. Tried my first diet at the age of thirteen.

Since that day on, health and wellness were all-consuming thoughts—to the point that I got a degree in clinical nutrition and became a certified personal trainer and Pilates instructor.

But maybe the problem was that my passion for health was actually an obsession.

In an effort to be fit, happy, and well, I became a victim of marketing and manipulation of “wellness and diet culture.”

Everywhere you turn, there is marketing for wellness and finding your “best health.” Whether it is using fasting to regulate blood sugar, drinking adrenal cocktails to reduce stress, or only eating organic and non-processed foods.

And even if you end up doing it “right,” the next day you are wrong because there is some new trend or hack that is being pushed. This can leave your head spinning and, in the end, it only disrupts your relationship with yourself, with nutrition, and with fitness.

It was on that day that I vowed to chase true health. Here are three lessons that I have learned along the way.

There is no one-size-fits-all approach when it comes to nutrition and fitness.

You are unique. You have a unique medical history, genetic makeup, environment, and lifestyle that all influence how you and your body respond to nutrition and exercise.

This is known as bio-individuality.

So there is no one RIGHT way to do things. You might respond well to eating lower carb due to a history of insulin sensitivity.

You might respond better to heavier weight training due to your muscle fiber makeup.

You cannot put yourself in a box and try to copy and paste success. You have to honor what your body needs and nourish it accordingly.

I find that my body does best when I eat carb meals and lift heavier weights. I also feel my best when I eat every three hours.

I find that my body shows increased signs of stress when I do high-intensity workouts. And it rejected any attempt I made at intermittent fasting or eating lower carbs.

Finding what works for your body is how you unlock your best self.

But whatever you choose, you must enjoy doing it. Because if you do not enjoy the process, if it does not make you feel good, if it does not add to your life and promote your best self….

… it will be impossible to stick to it long term.

It’s about what you can ADD to your life, not restrict.

Nutrition is the science of providing nourishment to your body to sustain life. Food is the fuel that your body uses to keep you alive and thriving.

Movement is medicine that gives you the strength to take on anything that comes your way.

It is not about restricting, cutting out, or depriving yourself. When you approach it from this mindset, it promotes negativity, it fosters the development of a negative self-image, and it cultivates a culture of guilt.

And no one—absolutely no one—feels good in this type of environment. Instead, think of what you can add to your life and body to enrich it.

I love to eat nachos; I enjoy them every week. Instead of restricting them, I add protein to ensure they are a balanced meal.

You might love to enjoy dessert every evening. A great way to enhance this is to add a delicious fruit with your dessert. Or you can take a walk after your meal to help regulate your blood sugar.

This approach stems from a place of love, support, and encouragement, which makes it much easier to sustain for life.

You can be all-in without being all-or-nothing.

I used to feel so much guilt when my life responsibilities disrupted my workout routine. I would obsess over the missed workout, thinking it would end my progress, and then I would try to find ways to “make it up” later.

There is so much pressure on remaining consistent, which is critical to success.

But do not confuse consistency with perfection.

Perfection is trying to take this structure or “formula for success” and cramming it into your life without any flexibility. Like saying you “have to work out five times a week” or you “can’t eat out.”

Consistency is learning how to shift your goals and your intention to match what is happening in your life at any given time.

Life always has seasons of highs and lows. That is the beauty of it.

There will be times where you have the energy and intention to be consistent and even chase insane growth for your health goals.

Then there will be times where life is calling you elsewhere, so while you are still prioritizing your health, you need to shift how you show up.

Learning how to adapt your health goals and intentions across these phases is how you get long-term success.

Consistency is showing up in the stress. Even if this means doing less than you hoped, you still did it.

Perfection is showing up for ten days in a row then quitting when you miss a day.

An all-in mindset is much better than an all-or-nothing mindset.

If twenty-three-year-old me could see me now, she would be in awe. Her jaw would drop because even though I’m not doing everything “right,” I’m doing everything right for me.

Your health does not have to be as complicated as it sometimes feels. You don’t need a fancy supplement, the latest trend, or another unrealistic habit.

It really comes from creating a lifestyle around what makes you feel your best and happy.

Because you can have the perfect health for yourself without losing yourself in it.

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About Tasha Stevens

Tasha received her degree in Clinical Nutrition and Human Development, B.S. from UC Davis. She is a NASM CPT, STOTT Pilates Trained, and is Founder of Happy Hormone Health. She has coached 2000 women in reclaiming their energy, living symptom-free, and transforming their health through hormone balanced nutrition and strength training. Start your hormone balance journey with her free hormone assessment to get tailored strategies.

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Are You Paying Attention to the Beauty of this World?

“’I got saved by the beauty of the world,’ she said to me. And the beauty of the world was honored in the devotion of her attention. Nothing less than the beauty of the world has become more present, more redemptive, for more of us in the encounter with her poetry.” ~Krista Tippett, on interviewing poet Mary Oliver

The act of paying attention seems rather simple. Simply being aware of life happening all around us. And yet most of us are what we might call asleep at the wheel. We perform daily tasks and engage ourselves in human interactions without a moment given to the here and now taking place in the present.

Instead of enjoying the scenery while on a drive to finish the day’s errands or the conversation with a person directly in front of us, our bodies perform rote tasks while our minds ruminate over discussions that already took place or those that we feel we must mentally rehearse for future preparation.

I can think of nothing worse than choosing to plan a future conversation that may or may not take place instead of deciding to be present for whatever the moment brings. Yet we are all guilty of this and other forms of past and future thinking, and we do them quite frequently.

I really need to get more bottled water/pasta sauce/rolls of toilet paper from the basement.

I wish she would call me back.

How long before I need to start worrying about this? Can I do something to change it?

What should I make for dinner tonight?

This is just a sampling of the daily thoughts taking up precious space in my head. Our habit is to be lost in a trance. Thinking. Planning. Striving. Worrying. We forget why we’re here, and in the forgetting, there is suffering. Each day requires a gentle nudge back to our true nature. The nature that exists only in the here and now.

“Before going to bed, I glance back over the day and ask myself: Did I stop and allow myself to be surprised? Or did I trudge on in a daze?” ~Br. David Steindl-Rast

Our attention to the present moment is what helps us enjoy a life of meaning and purpose. It can keep us from feeling as if life is devoid of any significance. This is why remembering is so important.

Caught in that state of nonstop thinking, believing we are alone and separate with our egos and internal chatter, we may wonder: Is this all there is? Am I anything more than a hamster running on a wheel of thoughts in some crude experiment?

Because it doesn’t really appear all that special when our life seems to exist as a series of repeating thoughts between the ears (many of which seem punishing and unkind), rather than a kaleidoscope of sensations and experiences—along with moments of pure wonder, heartbreak, beauty, pain, and awe.

So how can we find meaning in our lives when we are repeatedly lost in our own thinking? A beautiful place to start is with intention. Intentions help us to remember our true nature and keep us aligned with our higher selves.

Tara Brach, renowned psychologist and teacher of Buddhist meditation, once gave a beautiful lecture on intention. She says that the more you focus on your intention, the more you pay attention. These two work together, back and forth, in a circular manner.

The caring and compassion that comes from an increased attention to this world deepens your desire of intention, and the two feed each other in a beautiful reciprocation. What results is a habit of being more awake and alive in this world. We begin to think less, and to become more present in the here and now.

Tara reminds us that having an intention alone is not enough. We must pay attention in order to manifest our intentions. We cannot just meander along and fail to pay attention to what is in front of us.

“When you start setting your intention and pay attention, they actually allow your Heart and Spirit to manifest.”  ~Tara Brach

The power of intention has helped me train my brain to be aware of my surroundings in a new and profound way. Since I know that my brain is hardwired for thought, I recognize that I must be intentional about paying attention to the world around me.

And my intention should be to see the whole of my environment and the person or people around me, in all their messy and magnificent layers. Therefore, my intention is this: see people and my surroundings, in all their beautiful joy and struggle, and send my love and compassion to all.

This increased awareness certainly didn’t happen overnight; it takes repeated training and subsequent brain rewiring. I still get lost in thought from time to time, but fortunately now I can catch myself falling into the trance of thought and return my attention to the here and now. This attention allows me to live from my intention, and the two dance together in a beautiful waltz, just as Tara suggested.

When I was first getting started, I learned of a simple idea from Eckhart Tolle that resonated with me immediately. He said that when you get into your car to leave your home, take just thirty seconds to become aware of your immediate surroundings. No thinking, just observing.

What do you see? Items in your garage, or on your driveway? Things inside your car? Or nature just outside your car window?

Unless you are on your way to the hospital with an emergency, Eckhart says that each of us have thirty seconds to stop and take notice. I was glad he mentioned that, because most often we feel like we have no time to spare when all we are talking about is just half a minute of our day. This simple practice serves as a gentle reminder to be more present and aware as you leave your home and embark on your day. It also helps me set my intention. It was a great beginner lesson for me and one I still use today.

Meditation and other mindfulness practices have also helped me increase my attention to this world. Study after study shows how meditation practice can not only increase focus and reduce distractions but allow us to bounce back from those inevitable distractions as well. Since the aim of many meditative practices is to help us sustain attention while letting thoughts pass through awareness, it seems logical that meditators would have an increased level of focus and attention.

Meditation also teaches us to slow down. The tendency in our culture is to do everything at a rapid pace –whether that is driving, grocery shopping, cooking dinner, or any number of activities both inside and outside the home. When we slow down, however, we notice much more of the world that we failed to see while we were in overdrive.

Slowing down our bodies slows down our brains. Once the brain is moving at a gentler, less frenetic pace, it removes the heavy charge of thinking and makes room for the present moment.

“When I move half as fast, I take in twice as much.” ~Tara Brach

Our brains are made for thinking. Lots of it. This fact makes mindfulness practices and setting intentions difficult. However, each of the practices above help us to rewire our neurons by doing a series of actions on purpose.

Every second spent being mindful and living out our intentions helps our brains to internalize these actions by creating pathways in the brain. What begin as thin and barely recognizable trails you may see in an overgrown forest become deeply grooved track beds after repeated and daily rewiring. The key to maintaining mindful attention then, like most things, is practice.

I desire a life of meaning. In order to have that, I know that I need to keep myself awake for all of life’s moments. There are some moments that I may not want to see. However, I must not shy away or tune out from anything I may be averse to. It is in the paying attention that I get to understand all of life in its richness and complexity. Its heartbreak and beauty.

Some of us experience pain in the present moment that is just too great, and because of this we fall below consciousness in an attempt to ignore the deep and profound heartache that exists in the here and now.

Anesthetics used to numb the pain, such as alcohol, drugs, food, or compulsive shopping, alleviate the feelings associated with grief, bullying, physical or emotional abuse, divorce, and many other forms of distress. However, though these feelings may temporarily subside, they return once again when we awaken from our unconscious state. And the negative feeling or emotion is often more intense each time it resurfaces. It’s begging for our undivided attention and care.

Previously, I had no awareness of the fact that falling below consciousness was my go-to move. Perhaps because society has somewhat normalized this tendency, or because I did not want to sit with my act of ignoring what felt too difficult to face.

Years of spiritual and mindfulness teachings slowly worked their way into my psyche, and I learned that beneath the illusions of daily life, both good and bad, there is an unshakeable inner peace that always endures.

I didn’t need to develop this peace by hours of sitting meditation or any number of courses, retreats, or books on spiritualty; I only needed to uncover what had been there all along, waiting patiently to be discovered.

Difficulties, both great and small, continue to present themselves. This, of course, is life. Though I have been tempted at times to return to a comforting salve, my awareness of these feelings and the nature of them (transitory and not part of my true being) allow me to sit and be with the experience, even when that experience is unpleasant.

Author Parker Palmer once said: “My heart is stretched every time I’m able to take in life’s little deaths without an anesthetic.”

Personal growth occurs not when we are warm and cozy and everything seems to be going all right, but when we are able to be present with the painful moments of our lives.

We can take refuge in the fact that, no matter our situation or circumstance, our infinite beings of light cannot be harmed. They can only grow in the comforting surroundings of the great and eternal love that never leaves, lessens, or places conditions upon us. Let the storm rail on as we watch its cloud formations swirl and feel its thundering presence, patiently waiting for it to pass like all the others that came before..

Like Mary Oliver, I want to honor the smiles, the kind gestures, the sweet surprises, the expressions of nature outside my window. I want to equally honor the catastrophes, the grief-stricken tears, and the everyday struggles in our lives—whether that is the loss of a loved one or a broken refrigerator.

It has taken me a while to get there, but I now know there is beauty in the latter too. By remaining attentive to what is happening right in front of me, without needing to change it, I open myself up to a peace that is timeless and enduring.

The year 2021 presented me with the most difficult experiences of my life to date. Personal injury, family hospitalizations, the loss of grandparents, crippling stress, and unimaginable anxiety filled most days of the calendar.In the final weeks of that year, I lost my mother-in-law to COVID, and the very next day I was scheduled to appear at my sibling’s court sentencing.

Nearly two and a half years later, I only need to exercise some mental time travel to recall the still vivid scenes from that brief period—the toughest part of an already difficult year—and the corresponding emotions that came from this double whammy heartbreak.

An anguished cry, muffled under someone’s fist. The cold and blinding snow squalls that froze my feet and stiffened my body in place; finding myself somehow unable to turn around and return inside to wade in further waves of grief. Anger being expressed as misplaced love with nowhere to go. The chains and handcuffs clinking with each step taken in the courtroom. The wad of tissues, wet and crumpled, in my free hand.

And this. A long overdue embrace between estranged brothers. The offering of one’s home as a place of respite after burial. The gesture of love that presented itself in homemade casseroles and desserts. The joining of warm hands on a cold courtroom bench. The final look at my brother through the window of the courtroom door, our eyes meeting one another. The beautiful and bittersweet reminder that my love for both of them was greater than I’d ever imagined.

The beauty of the world, as Mary Oliver describes it, includes everything. There are no exceptions or exclusions. When we remain aware, we are witnessing life as it unfolds and changes from one heartbreaking moment to the next jubilant occasion.

It all belongs. And, though it may seem counterintuitive, it all needs to be celebrated. This is life, and we can experience joy and divine love in each moment of attention. Though some moments may appear too difficult to bear, we must always remember that beneath each tragedy is an inner spaciousness that gently carries the weight of it all.

I don’t want to miss a thing. The beauty or the heartbreak—both of which make me feel alive and actively participating in life’s unfolding. For that reason, I’m striving to be awake for as much of it as I can.

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About Karen Weissert

Karen Weissert spent twenty years working in higher education and now devotes her time as a freelance writer and spiritual seeker. She enjoys sharing her words of wisdom on spirituality and meaningful living with her friends and loved ones. Her work also appears online at The Universe Talks, Minimalism Life, and Humanity’s Team. She enjoys daily meditation practice, both city and nature walks, and traveling to new destinations with her spouse. Finally, she is a proud cat mom to a beautiful rescue named Annabelle.

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