I never liked my own company much. Spending time alone was an unfortunate last resort; something I did when there was absolutely no other option. Even then, I usually just slept that time away rather than hang out with myself. Furthermore, I detested being home. When I was younger I thought everyone was doing something better than me; that I was left out or lame if faced with nothing to do/nowhere to go. When I was a tween/teenager, I rode my bike around town or hung out in parks until company arrived. It got me out of the house, at least. I only felt at ease when it poured rain, when my friends had family functions, or were away. I didn’t have to worry about what they were doing, and why I wasn’t included.

Once I got my license, I drove around killing time, looking for something to do or somewhere to go, even traveling an hour to get some coffee rather than sit at home. Once I turned 21, I hung out in bars. Destroying my liver in the midst of company was certainly better than being alone on a Saturday night feeling pathetic and wrestling with my own thoughts.

Looking back on my life, I was almost always out, almost always with someone, always had a boyfriend, always going, always doing. If I didn’t know better I would say I was popular and had a blast. The truth is, I was desperate and clingy and insecure. I often found myself in trouble and had a lot of anxiety. I never said no to anything, afraid that passing up offers jeopardized future invites. I realize now what was really going on. I was afraid — afraid of abandonment and exclusion; afraid of missing out; afraid of being home where life was unpredictable and stressful; afraid of being alone with someone I didn’t like, that person being me.

I was really pretty pathetic to an embarrassing degree. I would have been much better off had I just relied on the company of my books.

With maturity I learned I wasn’t missing out on anything. When you hang out with the same people in the same places, things become fairly predictable and routine. With confidence came the ability to say no without thinking it would hurt me in some way. With self-love has come the capacity to actually enjoy my own company.

I only realized this past weekend that I am beginning to like me. I was on a date at the time.

The date started late Friday morning with a drive to my favorite beach listening to music with the windows down and sunroof open. We swam, we read, we relaxed in the sun, taking in the sounds and scents. Then I got hungry so we headed out for a late lunch. I thought something simple would suffice but then I spotted a Greek restaurant that had a lovely lunch and wine menu and outdoor seating so we didn’t feel under dressed in our beach clothes. We started with wine imported from Greece, hummus and the best pita bread I ever tasted in my life. It was warm and fragrant and tasted citrusy, yet earthy and salty. For the main course we enjoyed a feta and watermelon salad.

Once we finished eating, I sat back, sighed, and brought a smile to my lips. I was inebriated on good wine and food and a fun day in the sun. I looked out over the ocean and felt happy… content. I was having a wonderful time. I took out my book and picked up where I left off while I finished my wine. My date didn’t mind. My date was me.

After my lunch I read in the pool for hours until my husband arrived. Shortly, our good friend would arrive for the weekend, too. The guys had plans and although I love hanging out with them and was welcome, I had plans of my own to go full moon kayaking on a guided tour.

Sitting in my kayak later that night in the inky black water beneath a blanket of stars I was fully aware of how content I felt. I have been vacationing with friends every summer for many years and never have I gone off and done anything on my own. In fact, I often struggled to entertain myself waiting for them to wake up in the mornings. I confess I even stayed up past the point of exhaustion at times just so I wouldn’t miss a laugh. Here I was happily doing something I was excited about and looked forward to. Many times in my life I forfeited things I wanted to do in favor of what others wanted so I could be with the group. But finally, there were no more stories in my head. I didn’t assume the guys were having a better time without me. I didn’t think I was missing out. I definitely wasn’t. I was kayaking through unspoiled marshlands in water so smooth it reflected an unblemished moon with the only audible sound being that of the crickets. I was perfectly happy being out there alone.

I found myself with the opportunity to enjoy some solitary time the following two days. I read, I swam, I floated. I had no resentments, no insecurities, no anxieties, no fears. It was a wonderful weekend and we all had a great time doing all the things we wanted. I even took a lovely walk while waiting for the guys to wake up.

See the photo below? I always called this sandbar that appears during low tide in our favorite secret spot Lonely Island. My friend snapped this photo of me alone reading on Lonely Island.

Only I wasn’t at all lonely.

Where is your safe place? Meaning, where do you go when you’ve had enough for one day or when you’re depressed, hurt, broken-hearted, angry, or just need a break? For many people, it’s home, but where in your home? Do you have a place where you can shut out the world and be left alone?

Mine was always my bed. For as long as I can remember I have retreated to my bed to eat, hide, cry, scream into my pillow, and most of all… sleep. I can slip into bed at 6:00 pm on a terrible day and not wake up for over twelve hours. I have always been able to do this. Sleeping has been my secret weapon for hiding from people, passing the time when I was young and bored and waiting for a boy or friend to call, mending my broken heart after break-ups, or forcing my brain into an off position to stop relentless thoughts.

Despite all that rest, I have grown weary of sleeping my life away. I don’t want a place to hide, but instead a place to heal. I want a true safe place, one where I can go not to pass time or shut down, but to calm down.

For many people another comforting place, albeit very temporary, is the kitchen. That’s where the food is. Perhaps this is why A Course in Weight Loss calls for creating a safe place in Lesson 3. At times of struggle, our deepest desire isn’t really for food, “but for the experience of home,” Marianne Williamson writes. “Your deepest desire is not for food, but for love.” According to her, unconscious eating stems from a starvation of healthy self-love and the struggle to find it elsewhere.

If fear’s headquarters are our beds, kitchens, bars, etc., where are love’s headquarters?

Love’s headquarters exist at our altars, so it is important we create a place in our homes that remind us that love is the true power in our lives. This will provide us with a safe place to go when we are feeling afraid, sad, angry or ready to give up.

To create an altar in your home, consider what area of your home is best – a spare bedroom, a corner in the basement? It should be a place where you can have privacy, set up an altar, and sit comfortably. I am fortunate to have a home office, a room all my own.

Your altar should celebrate and support your willingness to love yourself and be healthy. Try not to get hung up on the word altar. By “altar” I mean only a table or flat-topped surface, such as an end table or board set on books, used as a place of focus for a ritual. And by ritual, anything goes: reflection, meditation, prayer, journal writing, reading…. any acts of love you perform for yourself. For example, my Happiness Jar sits on my altar. It is part of my ritual to write down my happiest moment from every day on a piece of paper, fold it up, and drop it into my jar.

Once you have identified a place in your home and selected your altar, place upon it beautiful and meaningful objects that remind you of the love you hope to bring to yourself and your spirit. Pictures, prayer books, statues, prayer beads, books, fresh flowers, your journal… anything that expresses your devotion to love and a more beautiful life. Nothing negative. You don’t want a picture of your ex-boyfriend here even if you still love him tremendously. This is a place for your most favorite things.

This is my altar and its contents:

My altar is an antique traveling trunk, a gift from my mother when I was a teenager. I store my sentimental items inside it. Atop the altar are scented candles: one was a gift from my brother and sister-in-law, purchased in Morocco, and it reminds me of them whom I love dearly, but also of adventure and travel; one represents love and smells of lemongrass; one is orange, representative of the sacral chakra where I carry the majority of my stress; the salt votive holder on the right is also for aiding my sacral chakra and is on (permanent?) loan from my dear friend, Kathy.

In front are two incense holders carved out of stone into elephants. The holders accommodate cones and sticks and I always burn it when I meditate/pray or spend any time before my altar. (Aromatherapy does wonderful things for the body and the scent of burning incense calms me immediately.) I adore elephants and consider them exceptional creatures. I also identify with them as my spirit animal so they are important to me. One was a gift from a dear friend whom I love very much, and the other I purchased for myself on a wonderful day, so it is associated with a lovely memory.

On the left is a water globe from my husband, which contains orange-hued trees and when you shake it, orange leaves swirl all around. I love autumn; the scents, the imagery, the weather, the foods, and this globe encapsulates all those sensations for me. It is also orange, which again is good for opening my sacral chakra.

In the center is a seated Buddha and to the right is a crying Buddha. The seated Buddha inspires me to be calm and still and to empty my mind, and also to respect the place I have created for myself. As for the crying Buddha, there are several legends and symbols. Common symbolism is that the Buddha weeps for all humankind, suffering from all the troubles in the world so that we do not have to. For me though it is also a reminder that someone even as strong and poised as the Buddha suffers, and it is okay to feel pain and to cry for this world we live in. Life is hard. In front of the crying Buddha is a small little novelty laughing Buddha. It makes me smile. No matter how still or calm I can become, I always want to cry into my hands… but also to laugh deep inside my belly. I also have a piece of rose quartz to trace over my face in times of need. It is said to help nurture and also to inspire love in one’s self and others. At the very least, it is calming. There is also a little angel stone that reminds me of my mother.

Behind the seated Buddha is my Happiness Jar, a collaged and decoupaged pickle jar that contains my happiest moment from every day. My mala (prayer beads) rests to the right of it on a small wooden carved elephant given to me by an employee I managed over twelve years ago. I do not remember her name, but I have kept it all this time. On the far left is my Buddha Board. You write on it in water and the words evaporate so what you write literally fades away, a visual that assists in letting go.

This is what those words looked like after less than a minute:

Although this altar has existed in my home half a year now, I am not in the habit of going to it when I am upset. In fact, I have avoided it at times of distress for fear of contaminating the space I have so lovingly created for myself. I realize only now this is ridiculous. It’s like buying a fancy car and only driving it when you’re dressed up. This space is magical for me and has everything I need to calm me and reinforce love in my life. With the help of Lesson 3 I see now that this is the safe place I have been lacking despite it being right in my home.

Marianne Williamson writes:

On any given day when you feel triggered, when you are deeply drawn to the ritualistic dance of self-hatred that is overeating [or drinking, smoking, etc.], you will have more power to resist if on that day you already experienced the power of your altar.

And if you haven’t already experienced its power, then go to it and allow it to fill you with love.

Also, please consider a donation to Save the Elephants and help save these majestic creatures.

When I first started this blog and wrote of my desire to be gentle and compassionate, I only had others in mind. I wanted to be a nicer and more loving person to those around me. Nowhere in that sentiment was I expressing an interest in being kinder or compassionate with me personally. I completely overlooked myself.

It wasn’t until I was well on my journey that I realized the need for self-compassion. The old adage that we cannot love others until we first love ourselves has validity. It is this love and fulfillment within ourselves that inspires others. It is also what enlightens us to our interdependence, making us willing to share ourselves with the world. On my best day, the day after I surrendered my negative emotions in my release ritual, I radiated love and kindness and people responded to it beautifully with smiles and light of their own. It was incredible to witness. Unfortunately, I could not maintain the vibrancy inside of me and it soon faded like the energy of a stadium once the crowd is long gone.

I continue to struggle with compassion, particularly toward myself. Without compassion, we do not feel the pain of the world, so we are unwilling to help it. There are times I hurt myself emotionally, inflicting pain like a gangster threatening a a witness tied to a chair. I am unwilling to help, instead barraging myself with negativity, high expectations, and hurtful words. It doesn’t even occur to me to save or defend that whimpering version of myself, just to wield my power over it.

I am completely willing to stand up against people who hurt me, but am still unwilling to stand up to myself when I wrong me. Thankfully, compassion is a muscle that can be strengthened with practice and use. I have become more compassionate since I started on this journey. I fail at it, don’t get me wrong, and can still be insensitive and hurtful, but I have also impressed myself with my ability to be loving and kind. Now I need to start extending some of that compassion to myself.

In keeping with the theme of New Moon in Cancer, self-compassion and love, it’s a better time than ever to practice some compassion strength-building exercises. But just like when you redeem your complimentary personal training session at the gym, they first need to assess your fitness level. So click this link to test your self-compassion. Go ahead and take the test (tests are fun!), reading each statement carefully. This should only take 4-8 minutes.

How did you score? My over-all score is a 2.91 and indicates I am moderately self-compassionate. I scored highest (meaning least compassionate) when it comes to self-judgment. I am very hard on myself and do a lot of horrible name-calling. My lowest score (meaning most compassionate) is in the subcategory of isolation. When I was a teenager I thought everyone had it better than me and was having more fun than I was. I now know beyond the shadow of a doubt that is absolutely untrue and I know that every single person is battling something. I know I am not alone in my suffering. That being said, I found the test to be quite accurate.

Now that we know how strong (or weak) our self-compassion is, lets work on strengthening it. Dr. Kristin Neff, who created the assessment, lists some useful exercises and guided meditations on her website here.

I am a big fan of Exercise 1: How would you treat a friend?, but with one difference.

Imagine a child in your life: your son or daughter, niece or nephew. I am thinking of my dear friend’s ten year old daughter, whom I adore.  

1. First, think about a time when this child felt really bad about him or herself or was really struggling in some way. How would you respond to that child in this situation (especially when you’re at your best)? Please write down what you typically do, what you say, and note the tone in which you typically talk to this child.    

My favorite 10-year old has an adorable little pot belly that I am certain she will grow out of (she is very active and LOVES fruit). Since my weight seems to have become an accidental theme here as of late, I will stick with this example. It is breaking my heart in the worst way that this young girl has begun to feel self-conscious about her weight. She’s too young! Although she hasn’t spoken to me about it (my friend has filled me in), this is how I would respond if she did: I would kneel down to meet her at eye-level and place my hands on her shoulders or take her hands in mind, and in a gentle, soft voice I would tell her that she is BEAUTIFUL. I would also explain to her that all that matters is that she is healthy and happy and she has power over her happiness, so if losing a few pounds would make her feel better, then she should, but that she should view it as a gift she is giving herself rather than a sacrifice she is making or a chore she is taking on. I would also remind her of all of her amazing qualities and how wonderful a person she is. 

2. Now think about times when you feel bad about yourself or are struggling. How do you typically respond to yourself in these situations? Please write down what you typically do, what you say, and note the tone in which you talk to yourself.

When I am self conscious about my weight I am heartless. My tone inside my head is stern and condescending. I call myself names like “fat fuck” and when something doesn’t fit and I am frustrated I say things like: “you’re so gross you shouldn’t even be allowed out of the house.”

3. Did you notice a difference? If so, ask yourself why. What factors or fears come into play that lead you to treat yourself and others so differently?

Yes, there is a difference. My 10-year old friend is innocent and is too damn young to have these insecurities. I really do believe she is beautiful and amazing. I do not believe that about myself. I don’t believe I shouldn’t be allowed out of the house, either, but I take my frustration out on myself. I want to hurt me because I am the source of my frustration. Also, I now know that I was treating Thin-me and Not-thin-me as two different people. I know now that I need to integrate them.

4. Please write down how you think things might change if you responded to yourself in the same way you typically respond to a close friend when you’re suffering.

I think love, gentleness and compassion would go a long way. Adding pain to an already painful situation is madness! It achieves nothing! I think I could feel safe if I could respond to myself the way I would to my young friend. If I felt safe, I wouldn’t walk around afraid, which piles on to my problem of seeking comfort and safety. It is cyclical.

Now it’s your turn. Take some time to reflect on these questions. Break out a journal and get to work.

Self-Compassion Break

Now, put your hands over your heart, feel the warmth of your hands and the gentle touch of your hands on your chest. Say to yourself: May I be kind to myself.
You can also ask yourself: What do I need to hear right now to express kindness to myself? Is there a phrase that speaks to you in
your particular situation, such as:

• May I give myself the compassion that I need
• My I learn to accept myself as I am
• May I forgive myself
• May I be strong.
• May I be patient

This practice can be used any time of day or night, and will help you remember to evoke the three aspects of self-compassion when you need it most (via Dr. Kristin Neff).

Sitting playfully in six inches of saltwater, a beer in one hand and a book in the other, I turned my face up to the sun, smiled and thought to myself, life is good. It was an incredible day and I was at peace.

Taking a little break from paddleboarding, not a care in the world.

That was Friday.

But Saturday found me not once, but twice, sitting in my parked car in locations nearly 70 miles apart, sobbing. There was no peace.

How quickly things change.

A year ago I’d most likely have claimed the upsetting events of Saturday ruined my entire weekend, discrediting the joy and peace of Friday and casting a shadow over Sunday. But now I know better. Nothing can touch my Friday; it can never be altered. My days have explicit boundaries now.

As for Saturday, it was all my fault. I’m not going to go into what happened here. There were so many contributing factors, but in the end, the bottom line is that I did not mentally prepare and I went into the day with expectations. I was not compassionate, or forgiving, or patient, or the person I want to be. No matter what happened, I had the power to not let it affect me so greatly, regardless of how much I was weakened by other external circumstances. That is where I failed. The person I am trying to be/want to be and the person I was/am collided in a battle royale as my thoughts duked it out. My more practiced, more powerful, defensive angry self ate my weaker, gentler self for breakfast. Part of the later upset stemmed from fear. I hadn’t felt this angry and hopeless in a long time – the darkness inside me was menacing. As my thoughts darkened, my emotions strengthened, racking my body with turbulence.

“Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions.” -Elizabeth Gilbert

Finally, the exhaustion of my eyelids from a day’s worth of squeezing tears down my cheeks got the best of me and I fell asleep, putting the day forever behind me. But not before I apologized.

Sunday the battle between old and new, negative and positive waged on with early points going to Gentle Jessica for rising early and sitting in her favorite chair with a book, and even making a healthy breakfast. Dejected Jessica made frequent appearances on the couch, mindlessly channel surfing, daydreaming of potato chips, and shedding the occasional tear.

I’d force myself up, accomplish a relatively small task, and find myself back on the couch. I used my judgement and had a guilt-free, albeit large lunch. Back to the couch. I forced myself to pull some weeds, clean out my car. Couch.

Finally, mid-afternoon in a herculean showing, I decided a hard workout at the gym was exactly what I needed. Furthermore, it would force me to shower. And if I was showered, why not go to weekly meditation group? If I was driving past Whole Foods on the way home, why not stop for some fresh produce to ensure a healthy start to the week? There was no reason why not, so I did all those things, proving to myself that I can move on; I CAN do what’s best for me.

Saturday may have gone to Dejected Jessica, but I took home the win on Sunday. Friday’s showing of bravery and athletic ability in the water, friendship, relaxation, laughter, and peace received a million points, breaking the tie.

Not every day will be good. What matters is that we value the good days and hold them in our hearts, and bounce back from the bad ones having learned a new lesson (or several). As for me, I learned that I can accept full responsibility for my actions and stop blaming others. Also, that I have the power to break the destructive cycle of giving in to misery and take steps to do what is best for me. I wouldn’t know these two things right now if I wasn’t given the opportunity to discover them.

This image has been taped to the wall above my desk for over a year. These words have brought me comfort; easing me away from anxiety. I have kept faith in the belief that things happen when they are meant to, even when I was feeling stuck, and afraid of what becoming unstuck would mean. Sometimes that belief was desperate – I needed it to be true; needed to believe the Universe would intervene – even though I simultaneously feared how it would happen.

I believe those words more now than ever. The Universe has been working its magic in my life, speaking louder and louder until finally something that needed to happen, happened, and I knew in my heart it was the right time and the right way.

This personal thing that happened came yesterday, on the eve of the new moon, which some believe is a magical time of beginnings. The time felt right to practice new moon intention setting, something I first learned about practicing yoga. In some ways this is no different than choosing to make a change on the first of the month – it is a logical and deliberate place to begin. But by setting intentions and conducting some sort of ritual, be it simple or complex, with the start of the new moon, you can add a little bit of magic to the experience. Hopefully, you will see your intentions come to life and take shape in sync with the moon, culminating with its fullness when you can assess your intentions.

Last night I wrote down my intentions for this new moon, my moon, since I am a Gemini. I have these to focus on and devote my energy to during this moon cycle. Although this may sound new-age or a little too “mystic” for your taste, this is a next step for me on my journey, something I am willing to try to keep me focused. Marianne Williamson explains it best in A Course in Weight Loss: 21 Spiritual Lessons for Surrendering Your Weight Forever when she says:

“Spiritual growth is a fascinating process when you allow it to be. It is an inner journey from one insight to another, in which helpful realizations fall into place as you are ready to receive them.”

The timing feels right to set these intentions and face things I have been afraid to face, in an effort to release myself from them, and move forward.

If you are feeling stuck, I ask that you put faith in time or at least believe that what needs to happen will eventually happen. It may be cliche, but sayings only become cliche because they are said so often, meaning many people believe in the words:

Everything happens for a reason.

I do not claim to know the reasons. But I do trust the process… and the timing.

Today is my birthday.

I have been thinking a lot about what I want my 33rd year to look like. I have also been thinking a lot about what I want today to look like. I’ve had lots of ideas, but made no set plans.

A few days ago I went to Grounds for Sculpture. The weather was absolute perfection. I spent a lot of time walking the manicured grounds, listening to leaves rustling in the breeze and feeling the wind and sun on my face. There is a not-so-secret little garden that I knew contained a hammock. There in the shrubbery and bamboo was a single door. I entered and was surprised to find that the door locked from the inside. I turned the lock, walked the footpath over to the hammock and laid down, hidden from the world behind living walls. I watched the clouds. I thought about the year ahead and my goals. It was frustrating because all I could think about was that moment and how much I enjoyed just laying there.

I didn’t know the point of this post until I wrote that last sentence. The past few days I have felt unsettled and it was because today was approaching and I didn’t have concrete plans in place and set goals laid down. Maybe I’m just meant to enjoy today…

Laying on a hill at Grounds for Sculpture

I want to be outside. I know this much. I set up my hammock in my backyard. The sun is out and the weather is perfect. I feel no need to recap my 32nd year. I am more aware of my life and the good and bad in it than ever. I feel no need to plan out what I want the year ahead to look like because I have my 2015 goals in place and after 32 years, I know it doesn’t really matter anyway. Want to make God laugh? Tell him your plans. I love that expression. Maybe after all this time, I am finally learning how to live a more flexible life? I don’t know…

I do know that if today were to be my last day on earth, I could die with this having been my view:

A birthday view from my hammock

Today, and every future day, is what we make of it.  After a rough start, I have the power to turn it around. Byron Katie says that we have the power to be happy under any circumstances. It is so hard, but she is so right. I have cried twice so far today because I have relied on others for birthday joy and allowed them to disappoint me. Maybe it is time I gave myself a birthday gift. Maybe I need to go look at myself in the mirror, wish myself a great big “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” and go feel the sun and wind on my face.

I think I’ll do that. After all, today is my day and I have the power to make it a good one.

Greetings from Colorado! I am currently on vacation, my first in well over a year. I am enjoying the fresh air, change of scenery, and catching up with my brother, Joe.

Time off and down time are very important to me. I am writing this post one year from the day I graduated Saint Joseph’s University. I will never forget the stress of how busy I was while working full time, going to school full time, writing, and co-editing a collection of short stories. It really scarred and changed me and never again will I allow myself to take on so much at once.

There definitely seems to be a glorification of busy in our culture, as if prizes are handed out for those who work the most hours or go on the least amount of sleep. If you’re not busy all the time, then somehow that seems to imply negative things about your character, like you’re not motivated or successful. When asking someone how they’re doing, how often does the response include the words ‘busy’ or ‘tired’ or some variation of both? I hear it all the time. I know that I was busy and tired for two years. My prizes were depression, frustration, weight gain and complete and utter burnout.

This year I have made a conscious effort to limit my use of those words. It hasn’t been that difficult because I no longer feel tired and busy all the time. Sure, there are pockets of stress and times when a lot is going on, but my perspective is different now. I still keep busy, but everything I do is by choice and the deadlines are self-imposed and I am in control over what I do and when. Doing things out of obligation is stressful, but doing them out of choice is passion. It makes a world of difference. I was explaining to my oldest brother the other day how I am keeping busy, but I wished there was another word for it. He said, “Full. Your days are full.” “Exactly!” I said.

So many people fear or look down upon doing ‘nothing’. But it is impossible to ever be doing nothing! There is this sense of shame and regret in doing ‘nothing’, but even if you’re laying on the couch, vegging out, marathon-watching Netflix, you’re not doing ‘nothing’. You’re resting – giving your mind and body a break. We don’t say we’re doing ‘nothing’ when we practice meditation, sitting in silence, trying not to think. Reading a magazine or napping are forms of meditation for some people. It recharges you. Sitting around chatting isn’t doing ‘nothing’, either. I needed to remind my brother of this last night when he said he wished there was something we could do. I was having a good time doing what we were doing.

We need this down time. Napping, vegging, reading for pleasure, hobbies, laying in a hammock watching the clouds even though there are dishes in the sink and you have 50 unread e-mails is important. So many of us put the things we really want to do at the bottom of a massively long to-do list and consider them our reward for finishing that list. But if you’re like me, there have been many times that by the time you got to the bottom of that list you were too tired to do what you wanted to do just for you.

Resting is not a form of laziness. It is necessary. In fact, I would argue that rested people are more productive. I consider myself very productive with a balanced work/home life. I am the happiest and most fulfilled I have been in a very long time.

My advice to you, coming from someone who knows, take downtime. Let’s stop the glorification of busy and feeling guilty about times when we aren’t producing. We’re not machines. There is so much pleasure in looking up from work and obligations. It’s time we realize that almost everything in life can wait a day or at least a few hours, so that we can take a few hours for ourselves.

Make yourself a priority on your to-do list. Remember, it is impossible to ever do nothing.

Following is the continuation of a 2 part story. Please click this link to read Part 1.

The day after I was diagnosed with PMDD and prescribed Sarafem, an anti-depressant specifically geared toward treating the symptoms of PMDD and that can be taken for two week stints leading up to menstruation, I had an appointment with my wellness counselor. I explained to her that I didn’t want to take the pills and that maybe I should work harder on a more holistic approach. “I could give it a month. Really mark out the calendar so I know when to do what. Inversions, more vitamin B, more carbs and protein, more naps, more meditation, more avoidance of emotional triggers.” We agreed I should give it a shot. She also pointed out that sometimes having a diagnosis makes a big difference in and of itself because there is a better understanding of what’s happening.

A few days later, I confided this latest development and my plan with my friend Kathy, who immediately whipped out a piece of paper and started drawing a calendar.

“Here,” she said, enthusiastically circling a square on the impromptu calendar, “is when you need to start increasing your magnesium. Pumpkin seeds and Epsom salt baths. Here,” drawing an arrow, “is when you need to start putting legs up the wall. It is so good for your body. Make sure you have plenty of healthy junk food in the house. And here,” voraciously circling a square repeatedly, “is when you need to be extra gentle with yourself. Dr. Christiane Northrup says that in a perfect world, women would stay home and rest their first day of menstruation.”

I had my plan and shared it with the most important people in my life, the ones directly affected by my behavior, and had their support. I would insulate myself against PMDD with sleep, the right food, vitamin B, meditation, yoga, and magnesium. It would be great. I would defeat the beast with graceful shoulder stands, indulge in healthy junk food and meditate whenever destructive emotions arose within me. I would be poised against the storm.

Things were going okay. Until they weren’t anymore. After a particularly hellish morning, another one in which getting to work was a victory in and of itself, I was distracted and emotional. I could hardly wait to get home to start my medication, desperate for some relief from myself. The holistic approach clearly wasn’t enough. I was going crazy. But like my counselor had suggested, knowing what was wrong was a little comforting. Countless times I had wondered, what is happening to me!? Not this time. This time I knew. And even though I didn’t think there was any room in my toolbox for medication, I started to think that I had been wrong. Maybe needing a little extra help wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe it didn’t mean I was a failure and a fake. Maybe I had been denying myself a very useful tool that had its place amongst the other tools. I am no stranger to depression and anxiety. I had exhibited great strength at times overcoming those emotions. One of my past yoga teachers once said that going into child’s pose, a resting pose, takes great strength because it requires you to admit that you need rest. I decided when I got home that evening and took my first antidepressant in over a decade that it wasn’t a sign of weakness, but one of strength. Here I was admitting I couldn’t do it alone and I needed help.

I was only on the pills for three days the first go around. I am a big fan of the placebo effect, and even though the pills were no placebo, they had an instant calming effect on me.

I recently finished my second go around taking the pills (this time for 2 weeks) and I noticed a difference. I spoke to my Mom briefly once my period had started. We agreed after my diagnosis that since our relationship is on the mend, it may be best if we didn’t speak leading up to my period. “You sound good!” she said. “I feel good. I slept a lot, which is unfortunate, but I don’t think forcing productivity would have been very successful. I prefer to sleep when my body needs it rather than be awake and emotional. The pills help me think clearer. Everything doesn’t seem so hopeless.”

I decided that I’m okay with needing a little help. I only feel better – emotionally and about myself – because with the help of this mild antidepressant, I have more control and can see a little more clearly and not be so reactive or destructive. I can still feel. Before going to see my doctor, I was downright scared of what was happening inside of me. I had a therapist who said, “That’s the thing about preventatives. You never know what you may have prevented.” She’s right. I consider my pills a preventative that have earned their place alongside my vitamin B.

Please keep in mind that in no way am I undermining the holistic approach that I had tried. I still continue to do these things every month and I do believe that they are beneficial. But right now at this point in my life, while I am cracking my nut open and wounded, it unfortunately just isn’t enough.

I am fortunate that I only feel this way a couple weeks at a time. For countless people, this is their daily life and there is no escape from their black pit of despair. If you have no idea what I am talking about, then I am happy for you, but I ask that you please have some compassion for those who have depression, mood and anxiety disorders, because the struggle is real.

I was torn as to whether or not to tell this story and admit all this to the world. I am worried what you all will think of me. But I went a long time without any help and seeking it out is now part of my journey to becoming a gentler, happier woman, and I am dedicated to sharing that journey. Also, I think it is important that we keep the dialogue open about mental and hormonal health and prescriptions and work on breaking down the stigma that medication is bad or for the weak-minded. Also, if you or someone you know, like your spouse or girlfriend, appears to be a different person before her period, maybe this story will encourage you to talk about PMDD.

I don’t plan to need these pills forever. I do believe that as I continue to crack the nut on my suffering and work toward a life more reflective of the one I want that I will be happier. Right now, I am rubbed raw, so the lemon juice hurts. Maybe in the not so distant future, new skin will have formed and things won’t be so painful.

But for now, this is where I’m at and I am meeting myself in the present.

This journey thus far has been an exercise in cracking the nut on my suffering; letting the light in to allow me to see better. I don’t always like what I find. But I’d much rather see, than continue to live my life with blurred vision, never really being able to make things out for exactly what they are. Through mindfulness and self-awareness I am finally seeing more clearly, and have detected some patterns in my emotions and behavior.

I have always been an emotional person, but at times those emotions are volatile. As a teenager my mood swings were chalked up to a chemical imbalance and I was diagnosed as bi-polar and prescribed medication that I rarely took because I thought it made me inauthentic. Over time, I just seemed to grow out of it, except for the one to two weeks leading up to my period, and then it was chalked up to PMS. I wonder now if my problem had always been hormonal…

Some months are better than others, depending on my life at the moment. PMS is an intensifier, like lemon on a wound. If life is going okay and stress is under control, it’s like a scratch, and a little lemon juice isn’t so bad. But if life is painful, an open wound, then PMS can make it downright unbearable. Nothing experienced during this time is disingenuous, just exacerbated. For women who are already emotional on a good day, this monthly roller coaster ride of hormones can be debilitating and destructive, disrupting work and damaging relationships.

Back in February, I experienced one of my lowest points so far this year. My mood changed directions like a weather vane in a tornado and a sense of sadness permeated my soul. On a regular day, I wake with energy and a mission before me, maintaining a fairly positive attitude as I work out, enjoy a healthy breakfast, prepare for work, fix my lunch and walk my dog, Cooper. I am focused and productive at work and my energy stays up through the evening as I continue to be productive. But some days, like back in February, getting out of bed requires monumental effort. I am exhausted, filled with dread and hopelessness. Nothing has meaning. I lay in bed as my tears soak my pillowcase and conjure possible call out excuses. Only maturity and the reality that work is a valuable distraction and that not going will only increase my anxiety gets me to slowly swing my legs out of bed. Working out doesn’t even cross my mind. By now, I will most likely be late for work anyway. I have no appetite so I skip breakfast and figure I’ll just buy lunch, something I don’t like to do, but I don’t care about money or routine. Cooper gets walked because he has to, but I don’t enjoy it, and I feel fatigued after 20 minutes. Driving to the train station, I daydream about car accidents and Cooper being left without his Mommy, and wonder if anyone would miss me…

This particular day back in February, no tool I had learned – meditation, yoga, nor positive thinking combatted the intense hopelessness and frustration that was interfering in my life. Everything was wrong. Desperate, I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I called my Mom and sobbed into the phone and explained every ugly emotion I was feeling. I needed sympathy, understanding, and advice. Out of my desperation came a phone call that would single handedly bring our relationship back from the brink of destruction, because she was everything I needed.

“I am so, so sorry you’re just like me,” she said. Together, we identified what might be going on. It was the same thing she had dealt with since she was in her early thirties: Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), PMS’ larger, uglier, angrier sister. Since underlying depression and anxiety are common in both PMS and PMDD, it’s possible that the hormonal changes that trigger a menstrual period worsen the symptoms of mood disorders, hence why emotions are so intensified. It made sense. I exhibited every symptom.

My mom listened and consoled, and urged me to see a doctor. “You have to call tomorrow,” she said. “If you don’t, in a few days you’ll feel better and then you won’t think it’s a big deal anymore. You need to see him while you’re feeling this way. You can’t go through this every month.”

“Can I ask for a hysterectomy?” I cried, dead serious. “You can ask, but menopause is no picnic, either.” We talked until exhaustion set in.

With some reinforcement from a friend (because the next day I felt better and the matter lost its sense of urgency), I did call the doctor. The morning of my appointment I was a mess. I sat in the chair, holding back tears. When the doctor arrived and asked what brought me in, I choked on my words. “You have no control of your emotions.” I don’t know if it was a question or an accusation, so I just nodded and let the tears stream down my face. “We can fix this,” he said.

Within minutes I was given a diagnosis of PMDD and a prescription that burned in my purse. I was back on the elevator heading down to Walnut Street, my mind reeling.

My feelings have been medicated. There wasn’t even any discussion of alternatives. Sure, what I’m feeling is extreme, but these are my feelings, and I want to FEEL them. I don’t want to be numbed! Pills kill creativity and passion – they will change me. How can he prescribe me so quickly? This isn’t just a prescription, but a stigma. What will people think? I have endured for a long time through emotional turmoil and I have done it without medication. There is no room in my toolbox for medication. Healthy, happy people don’t take medication. This isn’t who I want to be…

Already as vulnerable as a seedling during a frost, I struggled greatly with this development and all my preconceptions against medication that would never even cross my mind had anyone but myself been prescribed. But despite the struggle, I still felt a desperation. A desperation that pulled me to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription. The bottle would sit in my purse for a few days, and then the medicine cabinet for weeks… unopened.

To be continued…

Please click here to read Part 2.

This past week a theme has emerged in my life, smoothing the shards of heartbreak, like the long-awaited spring has softened the edge of winter.

I awoke on Monday morning fatigued from restless sleep. Sitting up, the recollection of upsetting events the day before hit me, pushing me back down in defeat. Curling up, tears fell from my eyes.

Everything is going to be okay, came my own voice, but soft, gentle. You can do this.

All day this loving voice encouraged me. Feeling fragile in the past, I’d chip away at myself, forcing the break. This time, I was treating myself with care, avoiding further damage, seeking out that which would reinforce me, like a walk with a supportive friend, nutritious food, exercise, keeping busy.

After writing about not loving myself the night before, I began to think I may have been wrong because here I was treating myself the way I would someone I care for.

That night I wanted to curl into bed early, having used all my strength getting through the day. But again came the voice. Yoga will be good for you.

When the teacher came around with a deck of cards fanned out, I reached with my non-dominant left hand, my receiving hand, for a bright yellow corner. Looking down at the vibrant card holding my intention for the evening’s practice was a woman, a sunflower growing out of her cupped hands. The card read, “Are you taking care of yourself? If not, begin your self-care practice today.” The Universe had intervened again, sending me what I needed.

That night in bed, propped up, not curled up, I made a list of all the ways in which I cared for myself that day. It totaled nine items. Settling in for the night, I prayed, placing my fears and worries in God’s hands. I slept soundly.

Throughout the rest of the week, I continued to care for myself the way I would a friend or a child. There were times it was like caring for a child. Wednesday I craved the comfort of food, an emotional and self-destructive response that has been my inclination since my teenage years (or longer). Okay, one piece of chocolate. No, no, don’t cry. Two pieces. But then you must clean your room.

All week long I took my time, making one sandwich at a time, a tool I learned applies to much more than just anxiety. I do care for me. I was wrong when I said that in order to love myself I must eliminate all the things I don’t like about myself. All I need to do is to continue to care for myself; which is ultimately an act of compassion, love and affection.