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.

Last week I confessed I am an emotional over-eater. The support and understanding I received after that post was inspiring and heartwarming, and I thank you all. Some of you shared your struggles with me privately and although it saddens me to know so many of us are suffering, I also find it encouraging: we know we’re not alone and we’re talking about it.

Admitting you’re powerless over a problem is the first step in commonly known 12-step programs. For many people, food is just as addictive as alcohol or narcotics. You may not understand this or believe this could be possible, but it’s true. That’s why programs like Over-eaters Anonymous (O.A.) exist. And remember, we all need food to survive. An alcoholic can stop drinking. A drug addict can stop taking drugs and detox. A food addict cannot stop eating. They must learn to manage and live with their addiction.

I am not taking a 12-step approach to my emotional over-eating. As I mentioned earlier, I am working through the exercises in A Course in Weight Loss: 21 Spiritual Lessons for Surrendering Your Weight Forever by Marianne Williamson. I just think there is an opportunity to practice compassion and to reserve judgement toward overweight people. An overweight person at an ice cream parlor is not that different than an alcoholic sitting at a bar. Some empathy could go a long way.

Admitting to myself I have this problem, and then admitting it publicly here, has made a tremendous difference. Two weeks ago I went for blood work to have my thyroid checked – that was the extent to which I denied my overeating. My thyroid is just fine. There was no denying it anymore. Yes, I was active. Yes, I ate right the majority of the time. But yes, when I messed up, I messed up big, and that was why I couldn’t lose weight.

So now that I finally know this, and you know this, I can get to work on fixing it! I am finding that most often any lesson in anything can be applied to various areas of life so please, don’t stop reading just because you may not be an emotional eater. Surely, the following exercise can benefit all.

“The weight on your mind, and thus on your body, is the weight of your own emotional shadows that have not yet had a light shone on them. They might be unprocessed feelings, negative thoughts, or fear-based attitudes and personality traits.”

Our systems are built to process waste; that includes emotionally and mentally. But when we hang on to excess emotional baggage, we do not allow it to dissolve. We all have unprocessed emotions, but we all express it in different ways: over-eating, drinking, violent outbursts… “The form of dysfunction is not particularly relevant; what matters is that we address the unprocessed suffering behind it.” 

That involves a willingness to be real and honest with yourself about emotional issues, and then a willingness to release them.

On a journal, I wrote various emotions in thick marker on the top of each page: GUILT; ABANDONMENT; FEAR; JUDGEMENT; BURDEN; 18 words in all.

I got to work writing down my experiences that are true for me, those that have resulted in these negative emotions.

Don’t go unconscious! With each paroxysm of shame, my instinct was to try to shake the memories from my mind, those that make me wish I could go back in time and not do whatever shameful or embarrassing thing that I did at age 10, 15, 20, 25, etc. Those things that still have the power to make me cringe and seek cover under a blanket.

But I didn’t shake them off. I forced myself to remember and then found words to convey the harsh realities, articulating that which was never said out loud, let alone written on paper. Flipping from page to page, emotion to emotion, forwards and backwards as thoughts occurred to me, the most unexpected thing was that it became easier as more truths poured from my hand.

I felt lighter.

Now that I have this notebook full of my deepest, darkest emotions, fears, judgements and most shameful and embarrassing moments (I hid this thing like it was MY JOB), it is time to release it all. I am going to offer it up and away, ask for all these emotions to be taken from me, ask for forgiveness, and do some forgiving myself.

I am going to sit with my notebook a few more days, making sure I’ve captured everything as I also finalize plans for my release ritual. I feel that this act is worthy of a special ceremony. Everything that has happened to me has shaped me. I want to properly acknowledge all of it, properly express gratitude where appropriate, and properly say goodbye… to the shame, to the people who hurt me, to my guilt over things long gone, to my thoughts that I am inferior, to my judgements, to all the stories in my head associated with those 18 words.

These sorts of release rituals are not unheard of. Writing on balloons and releasing them in celebratory fashion is a common one. Shredding the pages of my notebook will not be enough. This is an exercise in letting go. I want something final. I only want to do this once. I want something worthy of my lifetime so far.

I am excited. I am ready.

If emotions are weighing you down: guilt, burden, unforgiveness of someone who hurt you, then do this exercise with me. What do the bricks around you say? Write it down. Get it of your head and out of your heart.

And then let it go. Let’s all our souls become lighter, together.

I want ice cream. And Cheez-its. I just pried a bag of Lindt chocolate truffles out of my own hands and in an act of defiance threw it out, grabbed my laptop and started aggressively tapping away these words. There’s no denying it anymore. I am an emotional overeater.

My husband just told me he is going out for ice cream and asked me if I wanted any. “No,” I answered through gritted teeth. For a split second I wondered if I should throw up while he’s gone.

I battle with food and my weight EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. of my life. I’m so uncomfortable in my own skin that my reflection in the mirror catches me by surprise at times. I am not this overweight person. I’m active. I drink water. I’m a healthy cook and meal planner. I am an educated consumer, an expert calorie counter, and know the mathematics of losing weight. What I also am, however, is an emotional eater. It was only within the past few months that I could learn to admit this to myself.

The Emotions I Eat

Tonight a terrible storm ripped through the area. Tornado warnings blared from the television while trees bent horizontal in front of our windows and hail slammed against them. I identified my urge to nibble stemmed from nervousness and I fought it off, afraid to look away from the windows into the fridge. Once the storm passed was another story, unfortunately. Relief, perhaps?

There is hardly an emotion I don’t associate with eating. Happiness: celebrate with food; Frustration: you deserve some food; Anxiety/Nervousness: eat the time away; Sadness: numb it with food; Guilt: distract yourself with food; Abandonment: seek comfort from food; Shame: punish yourself with food.

My mom was an emotional eater. With her permission, I can share with you that she went to Over-eaters Anonymous (O.A.) for a time after her divorce. She’d drag me along when I was too young to stay home alone. I remember all those overweight people standing in a circle, holding hands, reciting the Serenity Prayer. My Mom shared at a meeting that she had eaten nearly a dozen donuts and in an act of desperation, threw the box in the trash. She later retrieved it from the can, had another one while crying with each bite, until she finally threw them back into the trash and dumped used coffee grinds over them for good measure.

I’ve never eaten anything out of the trash, but I will tell you that I see a lot of my mom’s behaviors in me. I don’t know how much is learned and how much is genetics, but I can’t keep living this way. I feel powerless a lot of the time; miserable. I can’t seem to go more than a week without a setback.

Beginning to Understand Why I Am an Emotional Overeater

I started reading A Course in Weight Loss: 21 Spiritual Lessons for Surrendering Your Weight Forever. Although I am only on the first lesson, it’s really hitting home. The goal is to reset the mind in order to reset the body. The notion being that we are perfect, but have a tendency to forget who we are. When we can’t remember who we are, we have trouble behaving like the person who in our heart we most long to be. Fear is powerful.

“[Fear] expresses itself as an imposter self, perverting your true nature and making you behave in a way that is opposite of who you truly are.”

Overeaters have a delusional relationship with food, imbuing it with power it doesn’t actually possess, while indulging in an act of self-hatred. The book refers to it as an “emotionally violent act” to which we then scold ourselves for doing, “inflicting further violence.” I know this vicious cycle all too well.

The book aims to help us replace fear with love, and it starts off with an intense emotional exercise to shed excess weight from our minds, the weight of our emotional shadows.

I will be elaborating on this exercise in my next post because I am finding it powerful and beneficial, and it would be for anyone, not just an overeater.

I’m not going to eat anything else tonight. I managed to distract myself long enough. When referring to my weight, I say all the time, “This isn’t me!” But here I am, unexpectedly announcing to all of you that I am an emotional overeater. Why? Because I suppose this is me. And I know for a fact I am not alone. But just because this is who I am now, doesn’t mean it is who I am supposed to be, or who I will remain.

Alas, this is another part of my journey to happiness. I have some serious work ahead of me as I work on getting my emotional shit together.

Thanks so much for reading.

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.

I was reading an article about child-rearing in the April edition of Real Simple and came across an acronym for adults to keep in mind when their child is having a melt down. The acronym is H.A.L.T. and it stands for the four feelings that cause a child to become upset: hunger, anger, loneliness and tiredness.

I thought, shit, I’m thirty-two and those are the same reasons I get upset! Surely, I’m not the only adult who grows irritable when hungry (I get hangry). And who hasn’t vented and cried only to eventually say, “I’m just so damn tired.” Loneliness? Absolutely. And anger? Well, that’s obvious. We all feel these things, and most of us allow them to upset us. We are human.

It’s incredibly easy to identify with these four feelings… when we’re not upset though.

The hard part is to H.A.L.T. in the moments of upset and irritability, bring mindfulness to the situation and get ourselves what we need, be it some food or a nap. If angry, we need to stay focused on what’s making us angry and not let it snowball and get redirected. For example, one morning a few weeks ago I opened a brand new container of spring mix to find it wilted. I was annoyed. Before I knew it I was angry at things I hadn’t even thought about yet that morning. My husband reminded me I was just pissed at the lettuce and I immediately retaliated with “Noooo! Everything sucks today!” or something equally as over-reactive and dramatic. The truth is: I was pissed at lettuce.

Emotions gain so much momentum so fast and it takes practice to slow it all down and think rationally in the moment and consider the source. I still suck at this most of the time.

It’s not unlike when we want to eat. We’ve all heard the advice that we need to assess our hunger. Are we really hungry, or just bored. Maybe we’re just thirsty?

H.A.L.T. is another checklist I am adding to my toolbox. I was upset nearly all of 2014; it is what started me on this journey. And I can tell you now it was largely because I was tired and lonely. But if you had asked me then, those two feelings would have been amongst a laundry list of other complaints and emotions. Now, when I am feeling upset I need to go through the list and be responsible for my emotions and keep them under control.

Am I hungry? If so, I need to eat something and it’s probably best if I don’t interact with anyone until I do. Am I angry? If so, what am I angry about?  Can I keep the anger directed and try to work through it there? Am I lonely? If I am is there someone I can talk to or who can give me a good hug? Am I tired? Can I stop what I’m doing and nap, or at least take a night off and have some couch time?

I believe that I can spare myself a lot of unnecessary upset if I remember to H.A.L.T. and address these underlying emotions.

Obviously, there are times when we are upset for reasons outside of these four emotions. Our lives are much more complicated than children’s. But I definitely think it doesn’t hurt to H.A.L.T. and see.

I don’t believe that people can change. A sapling doesn’t change into a tree; it grows into a tree if cared for properly. If not, its growth is stunted. Rather than changing, I believe we grow into ourselves; like a sapling into a strong tree, becoming more what we were born to be, as we care for ourselves and reach our true potential.

I am growing. I feel it in my limbs. There are all these little amazing things, so small no one else would notice, that I am feeling, observing, and that are happening. Like a tree at the very beginning of spring, tiny specks of growth are budding everywhere.

Although people can’t change, they have the power to change their stories. Heatherash Amara writes in Warrior Goddess Training that transformation starts with how we use our words – how we speak our story to ourselves and others.

“Each word we choose can hold the vibration of healing, peace, and love, or be brimming with fear, victimization, and judgment.”

I am going to tell you a very personal story that I have been telling myself for a very long time:

Your dad doesn’t love you. He is ashamed of you, even though he knows hardly anything about you, and he doesn’t care to get to know you. He doesn’t talk about you and he rarely thinks about you. Seeing him brings nothing to your life but a week of heartache and tears. There are two people in the world who are more or less obligated to love you, and there must be something wrong with you if your father doesn’t.

It’s a sad story. It’s made me cry hundreds of times, and has made me feel great sorrow for the little girl in the story who grew up without a father’s love never feeling like a princess and that she was the most important little girl in the whole world; without that one man who would do absolutely anything for her that she could always count on.

A little over three years ago I decided not to speak to my dad anymore. I did it for me, to spare me from additional hurt and disappointment. It was a good choice at the time. I didn’t have any other tools at my disposal.

But now I do.

I saw my dad for the second time in three years last week. I knew in advance that I might see him. The second the thought occurred to me, it was gone. No trepidation, no anxiety, nothing at all. It wasn’t until I saw the back of his head that I remembered I might see him. Oh, there he is, I thought.

Once we met up, I observed and interacted with him, calm and composed. Nothing he said upset me, except his own self-deprecating humor – it was sad. I gave him a hug goodbye, and went on my way. Be it maturity, new tools, compassion or something else… it was that afternoon that my story began to re-write itself. I realized that he couldn’t hurt me anymore. It was my own attachments to my own idea of what a father/daughter relationship should be that had been hurting me for nearly 30 years. I thought that by not having his doting love, there was a part of me that didn’t grow right, that I would forever be a member of the Daddy Issues club, that I was left with a twisted, rotted limb that dangled dangerously in the wind and I’d never be whole or beautiful.

Later that night, I received a text message from my dad about a surfing movie he had watched and thought I would enjoy. One thing my dad does know about me is my passion for surfing and love of the ocean. He did think of me…

Since seeing my dad, new growth has formed and new words have graced the pages of the previous story. I have decided to let go of my expectations once again and work on accepting my dad for who he is and our relationship for what it is, not what I wished it would be, even if it means talking once a year instead of not at all.

I am going to rewrite the story. The next chapter will begin with a phone call to my dad, inviting him to dinner.

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.

Were you loved enough?

That is a very tough subjective question, I know. What defines enough? Can there ever really be enough when it comes to love?

My dog, Cooper is snoring beside me right now and the sound is to me what a baby’s laughter is to a new parent. When it comes to my feelings for this mustachioed, four-legged love of my life, there is no room for growth. My heart grew three sizes the day I met him, nearly making my chest explode. He has taught me more about the human capacity for love than any romance movie or relationship ever could. That is because he taught me what unconditional love is.

Love is a human need. Once our physiological and safety needs are fulfilled, we seek a sense of belonging, interpersonal relationships, and love. Without it, we don’t grow right, like a sunflower in the shade.

We spend our lives throwing the word “love” around; craving it, seeking it, feeling it; giving it. We love siblings, ice cream, parents and pets; snow days, pizza, spouses and brunettes.

But are you loved enough?

I want to be loved so deeply and so hard that a magical whirlwind of sparkles forms within my chest collecting every shattered fragment of my heart, piecing it back together. I want to be loved so much that it makes up for every single time I wasn’t. I want a love that I never have to fear losing. I want unconditional love for the rest of my life.

This is a tall order.

Cooper loves me unconditionally. He is also a dog and a fool who will not live the rest of my life, assuming I stick around a while. I say he is a fool because I am not who he thinks I am. I wish I was, but I’m not. I am broken and imperfect.

I haven’t been loved enough. But am I even worthy of such love that I seek? Aren’t we taught not to ask for things we’re not willing to give? I can’t give myself the love I seek. How often do you love yourself?

I have looked in the mirror, right into my own eyes, and said, “I hate you.” I know how to love, and I’m not just referring to the love for my dog. I love many people. I have loved flawed, broken people with the intensity that I wish to be loved with. I have looked into their eyes and found the perfection, and said the words, and meant it.

I have looked into the mirror, into my own eyes, found nothing but imperfection, said, “I don’t love you,” and meant it.

Why is it so hard to love ourselves? If we can’t love ourselves, why should anyone else? I can hardly take a compliment. Last night I told a friend he looked great when I greeted him and he kissed my cheek and said, “so do you!”. I said, “Ugh, no I don’t. I got so fat.” Why did I do that? I stopped myself and apologized and said “thank you”. If I can’t even take a compliment, is it any wonder I have trouble believing I deserve to be loved.

We need love to grow right. Are we really at the mercy of our parents, family, friends, lovers, spouses to love us enough? Is our growth really forever stunted if we weren’t? Can they ever really love us enough to make up for how we really feel about ourselves? What happens when people stop loving us? Love is the sun. Without it, we droop and shrivel. Why should anyone love me if I cannot even love myself? Only one person can love me the way I want to be loved, forever and unconditionally, and it’s me.

I do not hate myself anymore, but I barely like myself. In some ways, I am like a somewhat annoying acquaintance to myself that I have some respect for and who I sometimes have a good time with, but mostly try to avoid. To love myself is the pie in the sky dream – it’s the goal. To be forgiving and gentle and kind and to look in the mirror when my heart is broken and my eyes are red and swollen and smile at myself and say “I love you”.

For now, I just want to like me again.

See this little girl?

I love her. She is beautiful and fun, confident and free. She is bold and adventurous, innocent and honest.

I used to be her.

I no longer identify with her; she is a completely separate person whom I love because I admire so much in her. Isn’t that how we begin to fall in love? We see things in someone that we admire? Their smile, their intelligence, the way they use words, the way they make us feel when we are around them, like we can be a better person. She makes me want to be a better person. Several people I love make me want to be a better person. I want to be worthy of their love. I want to make this little girl, and the people I love, proud to love me back.

In order to be able to look at myself in a mirror and be able to say the words, “I like you”, I will need to eliminate things I don’t like about myself. When I set out on this journey, I have aimed to be more loving and kind, gentle and compassionate to other people. Only a little of that has spilled over in my own direction.

Being at war with myself has been so exhausting. I need to work harder at being someone I am proud of; someone I admire. Maybe then I could learn to love myself and receive love from others.