Cold water rushed over my feet as I climbed the natural staircase in line with those of my daring family members. We excitedly waited our turn to slide down a 60 foot natural mountain waterfall and splash into the frigid plunge pool below. Sliding Rock is located in Pisgah National Forest and is only one of the many fun things I experienced while on vacation in Asheville, NC with Mike’s family last week. We all enjoyed quality time with one another and the beautiful views. What I loved most of all, however, was the new life experiences and feeling alive. I was in awe of and inspired by my surroundings.

Nature is incredible and mountains are magnificent. I’m falling more in love with them after every trip to Colorado, Washington, Vermont, and now Western North Carolina. The slower pace, fresher air, darkness and quiet inspires and refreshes me. I’ve grown so accustomed to the crowds and congestion of Philadelphia and public transportation that I rejoiced in having so much space. I spread my arms at every opportunity as if I could embrace the breathtaking horizon of jagged greens, grays and blues.

The trip was one of many firsts for me, including the fact that it was my first ever family vacation. All thirteen of us stayed in a beautiful home fifteen minutes outside of Asheville. The views from our porch were splendid.

Everything was within an hour’s drive: white water rafting; hiking; the Biltmore Estate, the largest privately owned residence in North America, where we toured the meticulously manicured gardens, house and winery; Pisgah National Forest where we also swam in Looking Glass Falls; Lake Lure where Dirty Dancing was filmed and we had a pretty epic water balloon fight; and Asheville where we shopped, visited breweries and bars and even went to a minor league baseball game.

The entire area is wonderful and Asheville is a cool little town with a chill vibe. It reminded me a lot of a smaller Boulder, CO minus the legal marijuana. Not only was it great spending a full week in such a fabulous location, but it was wonderful spending it with family we don’t see often.  The trip afforded us an opportunity to spend real quality time with one another.

Our final night in the house Mike’s cousin and wife, whom I had a wonderful time bonding with, made homemade empanadas. Latin music rang out from the portable speaker. The kitchen truly is the heart of the home. In no time nearly everyone was cooking, dancing, chatting and laughing.

As we feasted on our delicious dinner I asked everyone to share their favorite part of the week. Responses varied from Sliding Rock, to the baseball game, to rafting, but mine remained: the new life experiences. When I plunged into the chilly water at the base of Sliding Rock, my body flooded with adrenaline from fear and the shock of the cold water. My heart hammered as I climbed the rocks with weak knees. It poured down rain as we rushed back in line in the middle of the forest at nature’s own personal water park. I took it all in: the rain, the sounds of rushing water, the chill, the fear, the excitement of my family members… I felt ALIVE.

Is there anything better?

I would feel alive over and over again throughout the week on vacation in Asheville, NC. As we walked the grand gardens on a beautifully sunny day at Biltmore, whooped as we white water rafted down Pigeon River in Eastern Tennessee, spun in a circle taking in 360 degree views at the peak of Craggy Gardens Trail on the Blue Ridge Parkway, swam full speed at the base of a waterfall only to be held back by its awesome force, and many more times in between.

I remained in awe of the passing mountains on the ten hour drive home after seven full and exciting days. The time away from reality, the break from work, the fresh air and nature all inspired me.

As the mountains grew smaller and eventually disappeared entirely, I missed them and our vacation in Asheville, NC. Mike, who is often content not to do things twice, turned to me and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll be back.”

I certainly hope so.

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I’m a Gemini. Most of my life my twins have been polar opposites. I go to extremes: all or nothing, indulgence or deprivation! I’m spontaneous and compulsive. I have often struggled with balance and middle ground. I drove my Mom bonkers as a young adult and was (mis) diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. I had two settings: on and off. Whether eating, drinking, partying, falling in love, or studying: I either didn’t go near the roller coaster or I rode it all the way until I was physically ill. It never occurred to me that I could do things gradually or in moderation. Thankfully, I have learned how to pause, but old habits die hard and balance is still a constant struggle.

Riding the Swings

A few weeks back I went to happy hour. My intentions were to have two drinks and be on my way. Several glasses of wine later it was time to go, but I didn’t feel done. The imprint of my old behaviors kicked in and I wanted more. As I walked alone to my train stop, every bar enticed me. One sat at the corner of my train stop and I spontaneously took steps toward the door. Mere feet from the entrance I stopped dead. What am I doing? I stood there, frozen as if I had seen a ghost. So many thoughts collided in my inebriated mind, but two questions rose louder above the noise: What do I want in there? What am I craving?

As soon as the embarrassing truth to those questions came to me, I practically ran down the steps to the train as if the bar might shout after me and change my mind. It wasn’t more alcohol I craved, but something else, and a bar wasn’t the place to get it. So I went home and went to bed. I woke up the next day not with the familiar feeling of shame or regret, but with pride.

I told my best girlfriend, Kathy about my success. “I know it may not seem like that big a deal, but it feels like a huge deal.”

“It is a huge deal,” she said. “You didn’t get on the coaster. You went on the swings and when you were ready, you got off.”

I love that analogy.

Pause

I was able to avoid walking into the bar for two reasons: mindfulness and cognitive therapy. Most of my life I have acted without even a millisecond to think. The amount of times impulsiveness has caused me harm far outweighs the number of times it has benefited me. When we allow our emotions to take over and don’t pause to think is when we say and do things we often regret.

Pausing takes practice. My pause muscle is one I have to strengthen, just like my resistance muscle. It’s not easy to stop, breathe, and think, especially when your adrenaline is pumping, you’re inebriated, or your emotions are heightened. But every single time I am able to do this, I am grateful and proud. That’s what cognitive therapy and mindfulness are — being aware of yourself and your thinking.

Balance

Balance is a daily struggle but something I have much more of in my life these days. Balance for me is leaving happy hour when it ends, not after midnight. It’s eating some chips then putting the bag away for another day. It’s productive in the morning and lazy in the afternoon. It’s a big lunch and small dinner. It’s expressing my frustration without picking a fight.

It’s ironic: I don’t even like roller coasters. I do love swings, however. How nice to be able to get on, but stop when I’m ready rather than be at the mercy of the ride. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.

I can live life on my own terms.

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This summer got off to a late start. In retrospect I think that also contributed to my depression the past several weeks. I love the beach and usually get down there starting in May. But this year my first beach day wasn’t until June 25. Very late, indeed. But better late than never. The day proved to be precisely what I needed and rejuvenated my spirit, like chocolate for my soul after a good cry. I am once again feeling like myself after a day of sun, water, laughter… and a bit of an adventure, too.

My husband, Mike and I left early Saturday morning to meet up with our good friend, Rudy. After an early lunch and a stop by the Cape May Hops Festival for a beer and look around, we headed over to “The Spot,” our favorite secret location to fish, drink, paddleboard and spend the day. We’ve been going there for years and it feels like home. The guys fished and I paddled and read in my beach chair submerged in a few inches of water. We told stories and caught up after not hanging out for a couple months.

We were having a good laugh when I noticed something floating out in the water quite a ways.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing in the direction of the object.

“Some sort of raft, maybe?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You should go get it,” Rudy suggested.

“I should! A rescue mission!” I jumped out of my beach chair without hesitation and reached for my paddle. “I’m off!”

“Oh no, this can’t be good,” Mike said as I dragged my paddleboard toward the water. The object was pretty far out and moving quickly in the wind and current so I paddled hard to catch up with it.

As I approached the object I realized it was indeed a raft. I had wanted a raft to float on and was entertained at the notion of garbage picking the ocean. Some kid must have let it blow away. I slowed once I was within a few feet and drifted the rest of the way. As I came upon it, I got my first glimpse of the design and instantly recognized the brand blazon across the brown and orange square raft. I laughed so hard I nearly fell off my board. “But, of course,” I said, smiling as I plucked the raft from the water and placed it on my board in front of me. The raft was much wider than the board and kept lifting slightly in the wind. I realized very quickly this was going to be a tad difficult to negotiate.

As soon as I turned, the wind caught the side of the raft and I quickly pinned it down with my paddle, struggling to keep my balance on the board. Every time I stopped paddling to secure the raft, the current turned me back toward the horizon. After several more failed attempts to turn toward shore, I carefully sat down on my board and draped a leg over the raft to prevent it from blowing away. This made me incredibly unsteady, and paddling very difficult, but abandoning my booty was out of the question.

I finally managed to get myself turned around and was quite stunned at how far I had drifted from shore. I studied the divided sections of sand between the jetties looking for our camp, but couldn’t pick it out among the other umbrellas and beach goers. I lifted my gaze toward the roofs dotting the road behind the dunes and sought out the red one of the house near where we parked our cars. My eyes lowered from the roof back to the beach and I recognized a pin prick of orange, the color of the shirts Mike and Rudy were fortunately wearing.

They were three jetties to my left and hundreds of yards of water to the shore. The current had carried me very far and very quickly…

Relieved to at least have identified my target, I paddled hard against the current. A boat approached in the distance, full speed, its wake trailing. When the boat passed full speed between me and the shore, it dawned on me just how far out in open water I was. I braced myself for the wake, which had diminished by the time it even reached me.

I was getting nowhere and losing steam. I could barely make out a figure in orange waving at me, so I waved back, unsure if it was Mike or Rudy. “I see you,” I said. Then they waved me toward shore. “I’m trying!” I shouted. “Geez, I’m not sitting out here for my health,” I said to the raft. I was Tom Hanks in my personal Castaway story, my raft my Wilson, and I was not letting it go. I kept paddling, my arms burning.

I finally got close enough to make out that Mike had waded into the water a few jetties closer than where I was headed. Rudy was carefully stepping his way out along the jetty. Rudy pointed toward Mike and Mike waved me in. I realized they were signaling me to stop fighting against the current and just make straight for shore. That hadn’t occurred to me, I confess. And if you’re asking yourself why I didn’t deflate my raft, well… I didn’t think of that, either. I can tell you, though that this story wouldn’t be as good if I had.

So I worked my way straight toward shore. By now I had carefully gotten back on my knees, slamming a hand down on to the raft every few strokes to keep it from flying away. Once I was out of the current, and heading perpendicular to the shore things were much easier and I finally made some headway. I saw Rudy begin to make his way back to the sand from the jetty, satisfied I had gotten the message. Mike continued to wave me in. “I’m trying!” I shouted. “I’m tired!”

Once I was within 50 yards or so, I clutched the raft to my chest, displaying it for him to see. “Totally worth it!” I shouted. And everyone could see that I had risked life and limb for an inflatable Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

Mike lowered and shook his head, but I could see his smile. Of course his wife would find a giant peanut butter cup at sea and worry him sick in order to bring it back. I finally floated aground, exhausted but laughing hysterically.

“I figured you were okay once I heard you laughing,” Rudy commented as he approached.

“I was pretty far out there!”

“Yeah you were! You were caught in the current.”

The guys grabbed my board and paddle. I clutched my prize to my side as we walked back toward our things. “Nice job!” someone shouted. Apparently the whole ordeal had gotten the attention of some of the beach goers who witnessed me retrieve the raft and then struggle back to shore. A few women cheered softly.

“Totally worth it!” I replied. They agreed, understanding the special relationship between a woman and her chocolate.

Once we got back to our spot, I collapsed into my beach chair, exhausted and laughing, and heard things from Mike’s and Rudy’s point of view and just how worried they had become, especially when I stopped making any progress and the boat sped by closer to the shore than I was.

“You were a speck out in the water. I’m pretty sure you were closer to Delaware than New Jersey,” Rudy joked.

“Thanks for your help, guys!”

“I was worried you might be giving up,” Rudy said. “Why the hell didn’t you deflate the raft?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

Mike was quiet – I had worried him – but smiling at the absurdity of it all.

“I nearly busted my ass on that jetty. It was slippery as hell,” Rudy said.

“Something bit my toe and there was blood everywhere,” Mike added.

“I almost got lost at sea!”

“So we all could have gotten seriously injured all because of a peanut butter cup,” Rudy said.

“Technically, Rudy, it was your idea,” I said.

We would laugh about this for the rest of the day. Mike poured beer into our cups and we toasted to an awesome beach day, not being lost at sea, to a good story, to chocolate, to everything…

My heart filled with gratitude for such a rejuvenating day.

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I’m in a dark and scary place on my journey. A beast creeps around every tree, its presence surrounding me like fog. I struggle between finding the strength to be my own light and succumbing to the darkness, laying down on the damp earth, and letting it consume me.

Despite everything I know, believe and practice, I am not immune to depression. Depression is not the flu; there is no vaccine. But there are so many similarities. I feel like I’m coming down with a virus. I’m tired and unmotivated, weak and uninterested. I want to block out the sun, pull the covers over my head, and sleep.

I don’t know why I’m depressed. We don’t ask people with the flu why they have the flu. It just happens. I’m waiting and hoping this sadness runs its course. But unlike the flu, depression is not a legitimate excuse to call out from work or miss a meeting or blog post. So everything I do feels forced and exhausts me. I do what I have to do, go where I have to go, but my heart isn’t in anything. I know I am a passionate, excitable and energetic person. But lately, I feel two dimensional, flat and empty.

Like the flu, no one wants depression. It’s awful. But unlike the flu, the support and understanding from loved ones often just isn’t there, increasing the sense of loneliness, which tends to intensify the symptoms.

I know I’ll be okay, but right now I feel awful. I know I’m loved, but right now I feel alone. I know there are things I can do to feel better, but right now none of them interest me and I’m too tired. I know that right now in this very moment nothing is hurting me, but right now I’m hurting anyway.

This is my blog post this week because I am committed to writing one and I am committed to sharing my journey with you. This is where I am. I do not suspect this leg of the journey will last long, and if it does, I know I have resources to help me. I’ve seen this setting before, but I won’t say I’ve been down this road before. That’s because my journey doesn’t go in circles. And although the scenery is eerily familiar, I know it is not the same. Because I am not the same. And I know this is depression and not something someone did or something broken inside of me. Depression is the beast in the woods that is often content to leave me alone, but sometimes treks a bit too close to my trail.

I know our paths will part again.

Kathy and I went hiking in Delaware this past Sunday. The weather was gorgeous. Blue skies, a cool breeze, low humidity. The only sounds were those of our chatter, the rustling of trees, singing of birds, and the occasional honk of a bull frog. I felt free. No traffic, no notifications and updates, no noise, no stress… My cell phone was tucked into my camelback only because it’s also my camera. I mentioned to Kathy I wished I had left it in the car. Even though it was on silent it seemed to radiate a low frequency annoyance. I still felt tethered.

We climbed out on some large rocks to soak our feet in the ice cold water of White Clay Creek.

It was marvelous to be out in the woods. Although civilization was only a few miles away, it felt so distant. Nothing could hurt us, as long as we stayed present. And I am grateful we did because little did we know that one peek at the news or Facebook would have hurtled us right back to reality. It wasn’t until hours later in my car that I would learn about the attack in Orlando, Florida and my heart would break.

Had I known sooner, I would have carried the weight of sadness in addition to my camelback and shadow would cloud the clear skies above us. And so for that reason, I am glad not to have known. Ignorance is bliss and I see little reason to know of the horrible things that happen in this world as soon as they happen.

How many times has a push notification on your phone ruined a good time? Whether a news report, an upsetting e-mail, a Facebook feed full of updates that another musician has died… do you ever wish you had just left it alone and remained in blissful ignorance? At least until the end of your date, or the movie or the party? This is all part of being present and in the moment. And if you’re truly present you won’t go looking for irrelevant news on your phone and run the risk of learning something upsetting which will utterly change the moment.

Had I checked the news after I snapped the above photo, I would have drastically changed the moment from two happy friends splashing their feet and smiling in the sun to two solemn adults sitting quietly and sad, their thoughts on violence and loss. I’m grateful I didn’t do that.

The world can wait. Had I checked in while sitting on that rock it would have been only out of habit or impulse, not need. I would have forfeited my rare view of nature for the familiar view of my cellphone. When do we ever really NEED to know what’s going on elsewhere? I can only think of a few examples…

If you’re happy, content or at peace, prolong the moment as long as possible. Don’t go looking for trouble. If you’re spending the day with family or at the beach among friends or even if reading alone in the local park, be present and be there, not online. You can catch up later. There’s often nothing to gain that couldn’t wait, and a lot to lose… like the moment.

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I’ve come a really long way on this journey to living a happier and more peaceful life. If there was a sign in my house that noted how long it’s been since my last meltdown, two years ago we would have worn down chalk resetting it to zero. But a year ago the number for days without a meltdown was respectable. Recently, every day was record breaking! Until last Friday, when the sign would have been reset to zero. All because a seat belt tried to murder me.

Seriously.

During my thirteen minute commute home, no matter how many times I adjusted the goddamn belt across my shoulder and chest, it shifted up to my throat. With each adjustment and inevitable slip, my body tensed, teeth gritted, and knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. The sensation of edged polyester pressed into the side of my neck from jaw to clavicle felt like the filthy callused hands of a demented stranger wrapped around my throat. My heart rate increased, face flushed and eyes narrowed. I hated my new car with its ill fitting seat belt, blamed and despised my large breasts for existing, and was most likely the angriest a person has ever been throughout history at a SEAT BELT.

Blocks from home, I unbuckled the belt and threw it behind me. Within seconds the obnoxious ding of the seat belt alarm pierced my ears like a screeching child. I hunched forward like a madman as my hands clenched the wheel while steamy breath escaped my flared nostrils. The thought of speeding into a brick wall may have crossed my mind.

Finally, I raced up my driveway, threw the car into park and killed the engine. The only sound that remained was that of my rapid breathing.

My husband, Mike witnessed my arrival from the garage and approached cautiously. He stood beside the window for a moment. “Are you okay?” I heard muffled through the glass.

I opened the door. “No,” I grunted through gritted teeth.

“What happened?”

Too angry to speak, I sat there as Mike waited apprehensively.

“My seat belt strangled me!” I finally blurted. I demonstrated the violence by pulling the belt across my throat and pantomiming my strangulation. “See? I can’t stand it!”

Without a word, Mike reached inside the car and adjusted the seat belt height with a gentle push downward.

“Better?” he asked.

I burst into tears, flooded by relief and gratitude.

As surprising as this may sound, my meltdown wasn’t about attempted murder in the car by seat belt. I know, right – you’re SHOCKED! My little incident in the car was simply the straw attempting to break the camel’s back. The truth is I was tired, hungry, and it was my fifth day without a cigarette so I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms AGAIN. I had been driving the car for just shy of two months, and although the belt needed adjusting occasionally, it never agitated me to the point of contemplating expediting my own death.

My point is: no matter how mindful, zen, self-aware, or peaceful we become, we’re still going to have moments when we lose our shit. We’re human! We experience fluctuations in hormones and chemicals, hunger, exhaustion, annoying relatives, bosses, spouses, etc. and there will be times when all these things collide and we JUST.CAN’T.TAKE.IT.ANYMORE. We’re not perfect!

The skill comes in acknowledging what’s really at work. Remember my post Learning to H.A.L.T. about checking in to see if you’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired? If not, give it a read. The other skill is not allowing inconsequential annoyances to snowball into a careening mass of destruction.

In the past, I may have refused to even tell Mike what was bothering me, then found a reason to be upset with him. Soon we’d be in a horrible fight that would become about EVERY infraction ever committed, which would turn into a fight about fighting. Once that fizzled out in sheer exhaustion I may attempt to get changed and then decide I hate every article of clothing I own, which would inevitably turn into me hating my body and then myself.

Good times!

All could have been avoided had someone (or me) just given me a snack and a blanket. There’s a reason it works for kids. We’re not that different, folks… If you find yourself behaving like a toddler with a temper tantrum or a crazed madwoman, take a time-out. Check in with yourself. Ask yourself: am I hungry, angry, lonely, tired? Where am I in my menstrual cycle – could my hormones be off? Did I forget to take my medication today? There are reasons why we behave irrationally and I guarantee you they don’t have to do with what you’re blaming.

I suppose I owe my seat belt an apology…

My brother, Joey recently visited from Colorado. We took it easy his last day here and lounged around. I caught up on journaling. If you’ve been reading this blog a while, you may remember I keep several journals, two of which are 5-year journals. One is titled One Line A Day: A Five-Year Memory Book and the other Q&A a Day: 365 Questions, 5 Years, 1,825 Answers. Both only require a sentence or two be written a day and each entry goes underneath the previous year’s so I can reflect on the past. I find them a simple and effective way to journal.

I explained them to Joey and read him a few simple examples. For May 23rd: What’s your hairstyle? May 3rd: If you could have a superpower just for today, what would it be? (In 2015 I answered ‘teleportation so I could see so many incredible things.’ For 2016 I answered ‘healing, so I could help Mom.’) In this example alone, I can see I’ve become less selfish over the course of one year.

I also explained that some questions were more intense and thought-provoking, and as for the one line a day journal, I write down something significant from each day.

Joey’s response was one of confusion. “Don’t they keep you living in the past,” he asked. “Aren’t they full of stuff you’d be better off forgetting?”

His question caught me off guard since I am a proponent of living presently. I had to think. Was I living in the past? I was learning from the past, and remembering things worth remembering.

“No,” I answered. “First of all, there’s great stuff in these,” I said, tapping the books with my pen. “Little things easily forgotten that make me smile. Also, they help me see how I’ve grown. Sure, there’s painful stuff, but I don’t want to “forget” anything. I want to understand and accept; identify the good in the bad, and not be caught off guard or made to feel uncomfortable by lingering thoughts and memories, because lets face it – do we ever really forget anything completely?”

Joey seemed to consider what I said, then shrugged with indifference and went back to his phone as if the conversation no longer interested him.

But the topic interested me, so I thought about it more. I know some people certainly want to forget, but they go about it by denial and avoidance. I’d like to forget things, and not all of them are bad. Some memories are incredible, but thinking of them hurts my heart and fills me with a bittersweet sadness and longing because a friendship ended or a love was lost. We are advised to express gratitude for the experiences and the memories, but it’s not always easy.

I love Jeanne Safer’s suggestion that we “celebrate” to compensate for our loss in these instances.

When there is something meaningful to retrieve from a past relationship, celebrating it is a genuine compensation for loss. If anything in your love was real—imperfect, ambivalent, obsessive, or selfish in part, but tender and true at the core—it is yours forever, even though the one you loved loves you no longer or never fully returned your devotion. The authentic core of love is eternal, even if the person who inspired it will never return to you. But you have to hold fast to it and fight through your despair and disappointment to find it, resurrect it, and claim it.

These memories of past relationships remain our property despite their demise. We have every right to hold on to them in order to celebrate what was, and to look back with a smile and grateful heart for the experience.

Other memories I’d like to forget because they trigger shame, embarrassment, and are altogether pretty horrible. For example, the memories that a building near my home evoke.

I drive past this particular building two times a day. Years went by when I couldn’t even bear to visit the town, let alone see the building. But the passing of time helped me heal and I learned to accept what happened there. Some days, particularly during the winter, the season when I lived in the building, a memory strikes me like a flash of lightning and I shake my head to dissolve the materialized image. I know I’ll never forget what happened, but at least the memories don’t trigger anger or anxiety or cause me pain and suffering anymore. That’s because I allow them to exist.

I recognize the behavior from those who choose the way of denial and avoidance when dealing with their past.  They are easily triggered; defensive, anxious. I’ve witnessed people shut down conversation at the mention of a seemingly innocent subject because it triggered a memory or feeling they’ve gotten so used to ignoring. A lack of acceptance is at work.

Keep in mind that when I write of acceptance in this context, I don’ t mean we should resign ourselves to what happened to us or that we are helpless. By acceptance, I mean allowing something to exist, like a building, and accepting that these memories are part of who we are and our lives. Zindel Segal, Professor of Psychology in Mood Disorders, wrote that denying a negative mindset is taking place can be riskier for mental health than allowing negative emotions to exist.

In accepting negative emotions, allowing them to exist, we can begin to increase our self-awareness. Instead of lashing out after being triggered and not understanding why because we block out our memories, we can understand what’s happening (cognitive therapy). We can learn to understand our responses to certain triggers because we can identify them. Like Segal says in the article linked below, “Ah, fear is here.” Rather than experience impatience and irritability when at a red light next to the building that triggers me, I understand what’s at work – fear and discomfort. So instead of getting upset, I tell myself, “You are safe.”

What’s my alternative? Drive miles out of my way to avoid what boils down to bricks and concrete? Drive past white knuckling the steering wheel? Neither are viable options to me. If you’re avoiding something or someone and find yourself holding your breath or wanting to disappear into the wall, ask yourself: What’s really at work here? What is it I don’t want to exist? 

Perhaps it’s shame and you could go the rest of your life without seeing someone who triggers it deep within your core. Try giving yourself much needed self-care, love, and forgiveness. Your shame is not written across your forehead, even though I know it may often feel like that. Allow it to exist, and the person who makes you feel that way, and be mindful of your feelings and what you need, even if it’s leaving the space. The point is to be aware and good to yourself, not deny what is happening and behave in a way that will further add to your shame.

Three Ways Acceptance Helps You Work with Difficult Emotions

Whether good or bad, remembering is healthy. Allow for opportunities to reflect and see how you’ve grown, how relationships have changed, how less or more important things that were worthy of preserving at the time have become. Get comfortable with the past. Allow it to exist.

See for yourself how healthy remembering can be. Enter my raffle for a chance to win a 5-year journal of your own.

From June 3 – 9 you can enter to win the five year memory book so you, too, can capture a line or two a day for five years and reflect back on your experiences.

Click here to enter!

Please share this post (or one of your favorites) right now for a quick and easy three entries in the raffle. Just don’t forget to enter your name and e-mail address at the link above so I know you did it.

Thank you and good luck!

At last the cool, wet weather that consumed what should have been spring here on the east coast passed. Kathy and I resumed our daily walks. It was the day after my birthday and I was trying to find words to express what I could only describe as my heart having grown a size.

“I feel… special. It’s weird. I wonder if maybe I’m easier to love now, or if I’m more open to receiving love?”

“I think it’s both,” Kathy said.

My heart felt enormous. The previous week was intense: preparations and cleaning, house guests, estranged family, worrisome visits, carefully navigated conversation, managing expectations… I approached all the experiences with authentic vulnerability and openness. Over the course of the long weekend there were opportunities to lose patience, have hurt feelings, place blame, judge and inevitably fall asleep crying. Yet despite wearing no armor, my heart remain unscathed! How could this be? Because in staying open and leading with my heart, I didn’t identify those opportunities for pain. Instead I found the opportunities to show love, compassion, forgiveness, and understanding.

I often wore armor in the past. I closed myself off in order to protect myself and maintained a defensive and judgemental stance. In doing so, I realize now I only attracted blows to my defenses, invited others to test me, and created opportunities for judgements and stories about me, bringing upon myself precisely what I was trying to avoid. My armor didn’t protect me; it damaged me.

When I decided to leave myself exposed, I tried not to attach expectations. I knew by anticipating the worst I could create a self-fulfilling prophecy. I tried to leave everything unknown and focus on keeping my heart open. Although I didn’t anticipate it being broken, I never thought it could be strengthened! Yet despite wearing no armor, my heart was reinforced. Did my love protect me, or did it attract love in return? Like Kathy said, I think it’s both.

My defenses only attracted negativity. My love attracted positivity. Maybe our energy really does have influence… that’s what Elizabeth Gilbert says.

“Your energy has an effect on every single person you encounter throughout life. You have influence over people sometimes even if you don’t speak to them directly; they can still feel your energy, and your energy is a powerful and deeply contagious force.” – E.G.

It makes perfect sense. Don’t we avoid those we identify as “standoffish” and gravitate to whom we find welcoming? Have you ever felt great then been exposed to an emotional vampire and felt drained of positivity, or allowed your mood to be enhanced by someone in good spirits? I’ve experienced both too many times to count, and have also been the vampire. I just never made the connection with an open/closed heart before. Perhaps my open heart drew people in? Guarded people allowed themselves to be vulnerable, at least briefly. People softened in my presence, becoming more at ease. I witnessed all this and it was beautiful.

Anyway, my birthday sat at the finish line of those intense 5 days and I was too exhausted to celebrate, opting instead for a low-key day and postponing any celebration until the weekend. The love continued to pour, though, and my heart filled with gratitude for all the incredible thoughtfulness directed my way.  I felt light on my feet and special, special in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. Maybe, and I’m only realizing this now as I type, it’s because for the first time I feel worthy.

I seem to have silenced the sabotaging voice that says I don’t deserve friends, or to be loved, or to feel special. I displayed in my living room all the birthday cards I received over the past week. I walk past them several times a day and I smile. Not only do the cards themselves express beautiful sentiments of love and friendship, but the words handwritten inside do as well. I’ve worked hard to repair, strengthen and create relationships. Can my interactions over the weekend and those cards and all the beautiful sentiments be proof I’m succeeding?

In letting people in and showing my authenticity I allow myself to be open and vulnerable. Maybe the law of attraction is at work here, after all. How can we receive anything if we’re not open? For so long I was closed off, angry, and defensive. Is it any wonder I didn’t receive anything but more negativity?

So I think Kathy’s right; it’s both. I’m easier to love now because I’m open to receiving love.

With love and gratitude,

Jessica

Are YOU open to receiving love? Are you living authentically? Give it a shot. Take off your armor when you’re ready, even one piece, and put yourself out there. You may be surprised how people respond when they can actually see you.

Today is my 34th birthday! So many people say their birthday is “just another day,” but I wholeheartedly disagree. Today is my day, a day to bask in a little special treatment and celebrate the blank page between the end of one chapter and the start of another. I don’t want to write the same chapter year after year and call it a novel. Today is my day to reflect back on what I’ve written all year in the book of my life and get excited for what’s to come! Here’s some highlights:

1. I was nominated, then elected Vice President of the South Jersey Writers’ Group
2. My story, “One For the Road” was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Very Good, Very Bad Dog
3. I moved The Cracking Nut to its new home here and re-branded it (learning WordPress in the process).
4. I got a new car! My very first new car!
5. I identified a novel concept and “won” NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) by writing 50,000 words of said novel.
6. I started stand up paddle boarding and fell in love with the activity.

Aside from the car (which is not an indicator of recent success, by the way, but a sign that my 2002 was getting to a point of beyond repair) and the paddle boarding, seeing those highlights spelled out like this helps me realize that I have been doing a decent job working toward my goal of becoming a professional writer.  I definitely haven’t spent the year sitting on my ass. In fact, despite my lack of meaningful weight loss, I am happy to say I haven’t been sitting on my ass much at all.

Weaved throughout those highlights has been the continuation of this blog, continued efforts to minimize, and greatest of all, persistent work towards healing and living a gentler, happier, more compassionate life. Thirty-three was probably my very best year in terms of mental wellness, and I am so grateful for the amazing progress I have made in order to live more mindfully. Life was not good for a very, very long time. I was living the same angry, disappointed existence year after year and calling it my life. But there was no life… not by definition.

Now there is so much life… the capacity for growth and functional activity. Now there is light where there was only darkness.

Thirty-four… I think it’s going to be a good year. I’m old enough to know better, young enough to still have the world in front of me, as much as any of us can hope, at least. My goals remain the same: lose weight, write, learn, have fun, and be a good person.

I’ve done a bit of all those things in my 33rd year. In fact, I feel as if the past several days was a wonderful final exam for my 33rd year, testing much of what I have learned. It’s been an intense few days full of visits and family, many of whom I have not seen in a long time. I feel that I passed with flying colors, showing patience and compassion, self-care, understanding, forgiveness and love. I feel proud of myself.

But I’m tired. So my gift to myself today is self-love, in the form of nutritious food and a peaceful and happy low-key birthday.

I’m not only excited for the rest of my day, but the rest of my year, and the rest of my life. I am grateful for the opportunity to turn a year older – so many people don’t get the chance. This is another reason why today can’t possibly be “just another day.” Today is a beautiful birthday gift.

Guilty pleasure – what an asinine expression. I’ve used it, of course. But I’m going to stop because I’ve realized how awesome it is to be able to recognize what makes us happy. Many people can’t. We should be celebrating those things, not keeping them to ourselves or sheepishly admitting them in a whisper. We judge ourselves enough – do we really need to judge the things that give us and others pleasure, too? Do we really need more to be self-conscious and judgemental about?

I say hell no!

Dear Readers, I PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS EVERY OTHER THURSDAY NIGHT! (That’s me screaming from the mountaintop.) I have been embarrassed about this, admitting it with a laugh and making fun of myself before anyone else has a chance, but guess what? I love it! I get to play make pretend, be someone else and visit a fantasy world twice a month. Instead of judging me, you should be jealous! If it wasn’t fun, people wouldn’t play it. And guess what? Lots of people play it, and not just in their parents’ basements.

If we should be hiding anything, it should be our poor attitudes, sarcasm, judgements, and other crappy characteristics. But for some reason, that’s all completely acceptable. Instead we hide that which makes us happy if it’s not generally held in high regard.

Lame.

Last year I read Jenny Lawson’s Furiously Happy and the following stayed with me:

“It is an amazing gift to be able to recognize that the things that make you the happiest are so much easier to grasp than you thought. There is such freedom in being able to celebrate and appreciate the unique moments that recharge you and give you peace and joy. Sure, some people want red carpets and paparazzi. Turns out I just want banana popsicles dipped in Malibu rum.”

Jenny doesn’t fail to appreciate the good things in life. She is successful in recognizing what the good things in life are for her. Let the noise fall away and ask yourself: what are the good things in life for me? Who cares if it’s dipping saltines in grape jelly while reading People magazine. A lot of people like People, and the wonderful combo of salty and sweet. (I took that example from Sex and the City when the ladies are talking about the stuff they love to do but would never let their boyfriends see. Speaking of Sex and the City, I have seen every single episode of that brilliant show at least three times but when I’m scrolling through the guide on tv and I see it’s on, I still stop everything and turn up the volume. Day over! But I digress…)

I asked my Facebook friends what their guilty pleasures are. For my friend, the beer snob, it’s cheap and sweet Bud Light Lime-a-Ritas. For two of my old co-workers, it’s reality television. And I don’t mean the decent reality television like Top Chef (pleasure!), we’re talking about the BAD reality tv of hair pulling and spit hurling. I’ve listened to these women whom I adore and respect dissect the previous night’s episode of whichever horrendous show was on last with intense passion, as I sat laughing and wide-eyed. I love that they love bad tv!

For my writer friends, it’s comics, World of Warcraft and heaven forbid, Twilight fan fiction. Awesome! I love the idea of my friends putting their kids to bed at night and escaping to their bedrooms to anxiously indulge in these things! What would life be like without these simple pleasures that are always within our grasp?

For more than a decade my personal philosophy has been that life is made up of the little, wonderful things that are too often overlooked in search of something bigger. These “guilty” pleasures are some of those little, wonderful things!

Please, don’t overlook or look down upon those things that give you pleasure because you think they’re too little or held in low regard or worried what people will think. Pick those things up, embrace them, and shout them from the mountaintops. I have learned that people everywhere are looking for permission to do the things they enjoy. Look how popular adult coloring books have become! Someone was smart enough to say, “Hey, adults like to color!” And now they’re rich. But we needed the person who came up with the idea to give us permission to color again.

Middle-aged moms who dream of taking ballet class don’t because they talk themselves out of it even though there’s a dance studio two miles away. Men who love comics haven’t set foot in a comic book store because they feel they’ve outgrown them. If every time you’re in the checkout line you look longingly at gossip mags but you never buy them for whatever reason, I say buy them! Put away the groceries, make a beverage and settle in and see if Bennifer is really getting back together. (And let me know, okay? I heard they’re not – Ben wants to, but Jennifer is too smart for that.)

Enjoy the stuff that makes you happy, loud and proud! Let’s start a revolution!

Shout it from the mountaintops – or in the comments section – what’s your formerly-known-as-guilty pleasure?