I hate running. I hate it. I hate how it makes my body feel from hair follicle to toenail. My legs ache, my lungs burn, my brain feels like it's getting jostled around. I'm as mystified by the elusive runner's high as I am by people who like going to the dentist. 

And yet. I tend to fit it in somewhere during the week, and for the past three or four weeks have been doing so every other day (big thanks to one of my besties for introducing me to the C25K app).

So why would I – a person dedicated to fine-tuned self-care for self and others – engage so regularly in something I can't stand? Well that part is simple. Because I happen to strongly value feeling alert, content, and emotionally stable as often as possible, and getting this type of exercise is one way I can assure myself those experiences.

After many moons of getting to know myself (and flaking on the same friend's October 4th birthday celebration three years in a row) I have learned that as soon as the first week of October hits, if I don't pump up my self-care regime to compensate for the subtly changing light, I go to a default setting of sitting still, isolating myself, and thinking something is terribly wrong with me. This of course perpetuates itself, the lack of momentum making it hard to gain speed, and then, well, let's just say I am eternally grateful that I figured this detail out in my mid-twenties and now it's all about noticing and intervening. But every year it's h a r d. 

This experience, of course, isn't unique to me. After years of sitting with clients, and talking with the other people in my life, I've learned that the action of choosing to do something good for yourself often happens despite yourself. Whether deciding to take a yoga class, reach out to a friend, make dietary changes, start or return to therapy - you name it – we often have to drag ourselves to do it, suffering days, weeks, sometimes years before making a move.

So how can we hasten this process and get to the interventions faster? Here are a few tips.

1. Make decisions based on values, not on in-the-moment wants: If I asked myself the question, “do I want to go running,” on a good day I'd say “no thank you” on a crankier one there'd be more expletives. But if I ask myself “do I value feeling peaceful, present, and grounded for myself and for the sake of those I encounter” not only do I answer “absolutely,” but I also walk right into the follow up question “how can I achieve this”? Running is merely one answer and my felt experience tells me it's the strongest contender. But now there's also space for other interventions to surface as well. 

2. A. Visualize yourself in the future: Go ahead, let yourself imagine how things will be when you are feeling more like your optimal self. What will it look, taste, smell, and sound like? How will you feel? Who will notice the shift? B. Now think of one step you can take towards manifesting that image. What's your move? What supports do you need to motivate you and hold you accountable? This will get you out of a problem saturated language and into a solution focused one. 

3. Welcome the fact that your chosen intervention may be as wonderfully complicated as you. I'm telling ya', every single jogging session is a roller coaster for me. When I'm in a longer interval and feeling the weight of my body, my thoughts are less positive, my eyes move to broken car window glass on the ground. When the interval is over, my step is lighter and I notice the birds tree hopping en masse, and it's beautiful. The highs and lows are symbiotic and the sum total of the experience is absolutely positive and keeps my energy flowing.

The same mush of experiences could happen if you sign up for a class or group where you are asked to step out of your comfort zone, but reap the benefits of pushing yourself. Or therapy, where painful thoughts or memories might surface before their sweet release.

4. Know that you can handle every last up-and-down bit of it. Know that you're worth the try.

I've been so excited to see the recent social media buzz about Louis C.K.'s Conan interview. While I feel like I showed up late to the LCK party, I've been making up for it over the past several months, watching his stand-up specials and stringing weeknights together with short episodes of his TV series.

I wouldn't say I'm obsessed with him per se (partially because I don't think people belong on pedestals, partially because I think neither he nor my husband would appreciate it), but it took about 10 minutes of listening to him for me to decide that he's funny in a way I want to take seriously and he's smart in a way that feels important to our culture. Diving into his material has felt like research to help back that theory (how's that for a justification for watching TV?).

This is what I've come up with so far (warning: this post is PG, but links lead to R-rated content that's pretty vulgar and 1000% inappropriate for minors):

1. To start, as many are aware, LCK can summarize empathy, mindfulness and existentialism in a 5-minute late night interview. Seriously, what a gift. He describes the need to have contact with people in order to understand how we affect them, the importance of being present in a moment without reaching for a superficial distraction, and summarizes the human experience of sitting within a deep feeling of existential sadness—the fleeting, but nonetheless painful loneliness that we can feel by virtue of being human. He does this all while making you LOL.

Professors, yogis, and other sage leader types, take heed. Sometimes I think people complicate explanations of very simple (and relatable!) experiences. Not this guy. The end result? More people get the message.

2. Speaking of general human experience, one of the things I know to be truest in this world is that when we have a fixed way of thinking about how things are “supposed to be,” we miss out on the wonderful complexities of our version of this one life. LCK demonstrates that life is as it is, with it's beauty, disgust, happiness, sadness, success, failure, and everything in between. And it's better at some times versus others. He talks of divorce, parenting, aging, dating, friendship, the behavior of children, privilege, driving, you name it, with an honesty that captures the REALITY of the subject. 

His values are palpable, continually returning to the subject of trying to “do the right thing” and be “a good person,” but the packages these values come in are often a bit worn from wear (and almost always include a masturbation bit, but hey, this is his version).

3. And speaking of masturbation, LCK's character gives a voice to male self-consciousness and shame. Throughout his stand-up and his show he talks candidly (and often graphically) about his aging body. He reveals how compulsively he thinks about sex, even when he's simply wanting to take in the beauty of a woman. He shows scenes where he doesn't do the “manly thing,” where he doesn't quite know what to do; sometimes this happens in the presence of children, sometimes a love interest. All this has a take-me-as-I-am quality. It is what it is.

It isn't news that women collectively have more of a platform to dialog about shame and self-consciousness. We get to talk among ourselves, to say the least. And even with the societal acceptance of talking about feelings, it can be excruciatingly hard to do. So much goes unprocessed, negativity goes inward.

But men are silenced in an especially insidious way, experiencing their world—their bodies, drives, expectations—without being encouraged to process much at all. I think all of us, regardless of gender, are in danger of forgetting that the experiences are still there and can be very difficult to tolerate. Sometimes, in fact, they are so intolerable that they must be tempered with substances or acted out with aggression.

Cheers to LCK for just putting your experiences out there and proving that not only can they be talked about, but that you can have them and still be accepted. 

Imagine a lunch date with him and Brené Brown. Seriously. 

I was flying high on pride when the dentist's office called to schedule my follow up visit. Several hours earlier, I had gone in for a check-up and cleaning after nearly a decade of avoidance. 

You see, despite the fact that I had a gaping hole in one tooth and obvious discomfort in others, I had let fear guide my judgment–fear of pain, discomfort, a repeat of past experiences, and the anticipation of a shaming conversation called “you need 15 fillings, seven root canals, and what-is-wrong-with-you-that-you-would-let-this-go-so-far”? 

I must have thought I couldn't handle it.

Going in showed me that thought was erroneous. I could absolutely handle it through the discomfort and the tears (yes, I wept, reassured the kind staff, and carried on). It also gave me the opportunity to experience something other than my worst case scenario, which is often the only picture hanging in our minds when fear is in charge of decorating.

Although I did need a lot of work done, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. What I didn't even bother fearing is what the receptionist told me after we scheduled my appointment. “For your upcoming visit, your total cost will be $900.” The cost for everything I needed would be close to $2000. 

“Ouch,” I told the woman before confirming that I'd be there (trust me, I scanned my brain for ways to use this as another excuse not to come back).

But I flashed to the moment earlier in the day when I handed over a worn five dollar bill to cover the routine visit. I quickly calculated that I'd be spending $1900 more than 10 years worth of biyearly co-payments for visits that could directly prevent these very issues from coming into existence.

And just like that, I thought “F*#k my fear. I can't afford it.”

I had been trying to take a more gentle, trauma-informed approach to this issue, but as soon as I switched the lens to a monetary one, something shifted in me, and I knew (I know) that I will continue to face this fear. Let's look at a few ways that fear picks our pockets and how we can intervene to lessen our losses.

1. My dentist example mirrors many others in the medical domain. While they don't always talk about it openly, often people avoid the doctor—whether dodging routine visits, ducking blood tests, or not being honest about symptoms—for fear of what they will learn. The worst case scenario motif in this case usually involves an incurable disease.

Sometimes this avoidance will be okay; The symptoms are innocuous, the person is generally healthy. Other times issues will exist and grow and cost more than they would have if they had been addressed earlier. At its very worst, this type of fear can bring us to the place where it's too late for a medical intervention.

What can you do instead? Hang out in the worst case scenario gallery. Ask yourself what you would do if your worst fear came true. What would be your plan to deal with it? Who would be your support system?

Or think of a time when you had to adjust to something difficult. How did you do it? We often forget just how adaptable we are. Positive psychologists, who focus on human strengths, continually find that people underestimate their ability to get used to things.

Now that you've conjured up images of effectively coping, see if it's easier to take the first step. (And here's a big bonus: When you do show up, there's a good chance the worst case situation won't be there.)

2. Fear blocks us from taking the risks often required to earn more money. Think of the promotion you won't go for or the more appealing and lucrative career change that is too daunting to let in to your consciousness. Think of the inner voice of fear saying things like “I won't get it, why even bother.” Or, “There are other people far more qualified than me.” 

But what if either of these changes would bring you $5000 to $20,000 more per year, or more, and you've been avoiding these changes for a a mere three years? I don't know about you, but I can think of plenty of things to do with an additional $15,000 to $60,000, annually.

So how can you stand up to that voice? Think of all the ways that you do qualify. Scroll back and think of every piece of positive feedback that's ever come your way, whether you believed it at the time or not. 

Think of specific examples of work you have done that stands out. Write these things down and see if your “evidence” is enough to suade you to reconsider your stance.

Alternately, recall the times that people who are not, in your view, very adept, but are outwardly confident got the promotion, got the raise. This feels a bit immature as I write it, but it also feels extremely true and important. Regardless of skill level, the people who are willing to go for things are always in a better position to get them, plain and simple. Wouldn't you be doing a service to everyone to plug in your concrete examples of skilled goodness into the next level of work?

If you truly are left with the feeling that you aren't ready—that it isn't fear, but a simple truth—take the steps to prepare you for the next time an opportunity arises (e.g., take a class, find a mentor, etc.).

3. Fear leads us to purchase things we may not need. Think car rentals where we purchase insurance even though we are already insured. Think baby product industry where the edge of informed parenting is on a slippery slope down which you can fall into a pit of purchases you don't need—from buying every single book on parenting you see to insisting on the Cadillac of strollers instead of the perfectly good Toyota.

The latter example can also be seen in other phase-of-life purchases made because we want to keep up with what society says we should be doing. Think purchasing a house or car that you cannot actually afford.

I know this is quite a spectrum of stuff that may range from 25 to hundreds of thousands of dollars. And I should add that there is nothing intrinsically wrong with wanting any of these things. But what they all have in common is the in-the-moment perception that we must have them, or else _____________. No matter what you put in that blank space, it is likely a statement about fear.

So how can you buy some time? Do just that. Do whatever research you need to do before you get in the car rental line, the real estate office, or the baby registry zone. Get an idea about what you truly need, based on your values, your budget, and your bigger picture timeline. 

Talk to people you know and trust before those who are in a position to sell you something. And when you are before the sellers take all the time you need to ask clarifying questions. And don't forget one of the first words you ever learned: “No.”

I've been back to the dentist twice since that initial visit and it's amazing how my comfort level grows each time. The cost is a bummer, but I know it's finite. It's like the decision to seek support in any way. I'm not only investing in my health, but in my ability to change how I show up to different situations. And that to me is priceless. 

I met a colleague for a walk several weeks back and when she suggested a hilly route, I paused (yes, the thought of an incline made me hesitate) and said, “Yeah, let's do it. I haven't been exercising lately.” Then she paused, and in a lighthearted way that didn't quite sound like the appropriate accusation that it was, exclaimed “I just read your blog post about exercise today.” “I know I know I know, it hasn't been that long,” I quickly inserted (it had been a week). “I just haven't been getting in as much as I would like.”

The very evening I wrote about mindful cooking, I botched some roasted veggies due to basic inattention and I may or may not have checked my email in the time it took for my sausage to grill.

And yesterday I ran into a lovely woman I haven't seen in forever and one of the first things she said was that she'd been keeping up with my blog and that she was finding it helpful, to which I responded “Oh-thank-you-so-much-I-totally-haven't-been-taking-my-own-advice-I'm-about-to-write-a-post-about-hypocrisy.”

Clearly accountability is on my mind. This is good.

See, the thing about caring for others in any way is that you must check to see if you are holding yourself to the same expectation and hopes as those for whom you provide support. Plain and simple.

Sometimes the misalignment is obvious. 10 years ago I was a coordinator for a mentoring program for children and adolescents. I worked in a building in the Tenderloin that had a youth center on the first floor with windows facing the street. There were always youth inside playing pool, doing homework, or just hanging out.

I was a smoker then and on one of my first days went outside for a cigarette. I didn't feel right about standing in front of the youth center smoking, so I walked around the block and tried to enjoy a short cigarette break. What I found during the five minutes I had left was that I was standing on a street with drug deals to my right and people nodding off to my left. It was hot and the air smelled of urine. I had a moment of clarity. If I don't want these kids to smoke and if I don't want them to see me smoking to the degree that I'll hang out in the middle of THIS, maybe I should stop smoking. So I did.

But sometimes the mismatching of norms for self-versus-other is more subtle. I know a lot of therapists who simply speak unkindly to themselves, leaving the voice of the self-critic to her own devices. There are those who fill their time to the brim while preaching time management, and those who self-medicate with substances, food, and/or harmful behaviors while exploring healthy decision-making with clients. Occasionally I'll meet a therapist or social worker who still has never been to therapy.

If this sounds familiar to you, congratulations. Why? Because every moment of recognition is a potential moment of intervention, and there's no time like the present.

Check out this Wellness Tool for a simple way to start.

And while I've been speaking to those in the helping profession, this same concept is true for everyone. We're all prone to put ourselves last at times or to not live by the lessons we expect others to learn from. (Anyone who has the pleasure of parenting a teenager knows that you can't really get away with this without the hypocrisy police being called. Save them the pleasure.) 

So I stand here in all my glorious confessions to take an unhypocritical oath and I invite YOU to join me. 

Have you ever had a burst of clarity about something you thought you were already quite clear on? This happened to me the other day as I was talking with a friend about how small interactions with people we don't even know can strongly impact our moods (in many directions). This was the end of that conversation:

Friend:"Did I ever tell you about what happened to me at a laundromat a few years ago? I swear I've never been so mad."

Me: No. What happened?

Friend: I was standing at one of those wide counters folding laundry when out of nowhere a tied up bag of dog shit flew across the room, past my face, and landed in the trash.

Me: Hm.

Friend: (Now slightly amped as though reliving the moment) I looked up to see a man and his dog standing just outside of the doorway. I gave the guy a dirty look and he just stood there with a slightly proud look on his face like 'What? I do this all the time'!

Me: He probably does.

Friend: (Softening a little) That's true. It's probably a game he plays with himself at the end of his dog walk every day.

Me: Man, sometimes people are so wrapped up in their own world that that they don't even realize they're throwing shit around.

And that was the moment. 

Objectively speaking, I think it's fair to assume that the guy outside the laundromat was more likely to be having a moment of fun at his personal free throw line than trying to insight anger in a perfect stranger.* 

But one of those life things that is really hard to wrap your mind around is that people are generally not trying to piss you off, even when you cannot fathom any other possible explanation for their behavior (attitude, disregard,"shit throwing," etc.). 

I first got on board with this when my 19-year-old self read The Four Agreements, in which the author, Miguel Ruiz, advised "Don’t take anything personally - Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering."

At the time I kinda got it, but I didn't get it. I'd put this invaluable lesson in the easy-to-understand-but-hard-to-practice category. Plus, it's a pretty tall order. After all, we are just a bunch of individuals trying to get our needs met. We are at the center of our own lives, and it's impossible to know what experiences each person is toting around.

But as I got older and especially when I started sitting with clients and working in complex and collaborative settings, this concept really started becoming clear. So much hurt comes from the mere exchanging of words, actions, and energy of people who aren't aware of the fear/sadness/desires/intentions/you-name-it of the other. This is true between family members, friends, colleagues, and the general public alike. In our most vulnerable times the the impact is strongest.

I once got a cold call from a Sprint representative telling me about some upgrade I didn't want or need. She called repeatedly from a number I didn't recognize which sparked a fear in me that something was wrong with someone I knew, so I answered. "Did you know you qualify for an upgrade . . ."? she read from a script. "What? No. I'm not interested. Take me off your list. Thanksbye," I said, rushing her off the phone.

A minute later I got a text from a different number. It read: "You aint gotta be a bitch."

The rest of this story can be saved for another day, but one of the first thoughts that went through my mind, even through my disbelief and anger, was that she was right. I actually could have been more kind with my words and tone, while still conveying my message. Her (presumable) need to make a sale mixed with my need to be left alone and to know that my loved ones were okay led to an unkind and unmindful exchange. The exchange ultimately led to a rather violating behavior.

So what are we to do here? Accept that people are going to throw their shit around? Stop throwing it ourselves? I would say to aim for a little bit of both.

Simply slowing down and increasing our mindful awareness that our actions affect one another is a powerful intervention.

So two areas of practice come to mind:

1. In any given moment, as we move about the world, we can choose to pay attention to how we make waves. We can say "excuse me," "please," and "thank you." We can notice when we've cut someone off and say "I am sorry." Sometimes it seems people mistake basic manners for dogma. But these words and deeds are surely just ways to say "I see you. I consider you and your experiences as just as valuable as my own." 

2. As others affect us we can stay curious about the intention of their actions instead of assuming we know. We can practice "I statements" (I feel disregarded and disrespected when you flung that bag of shit across the room -VS- You are a horrible person because you threw...). 

We can practice loving-kindness meditation and move the loving-kindness towards those with whom we have the hardest time. And we can continue to monitor our own interactions with those having an ongoing negative impact on our lives. We can gain perspective about another and still choose to not be around them (This is especially important to remember if the other is aggressive or abusive). 


What astounded me about the conversation with my friend was how instantly she felt different when considering a different point of view. Her anger was washed away, hung to dry in the light of a different outlook.


*Also objectively speaking, I think the throwing of feces should be an activity reserved for monkeys, but in this context that is beside the point.

The fact that there are three entirely different popular songs entitled “Beautiful Disaster,” two called “Beautiful Mess,” and one “Beauty in the Breakdown” makes me think that pop culture is into the concept of capturing the power and beauty in moments of messy despair.

These are times we wouldn't necessarily want to relive, wouldn't speak of in a job interview, or think of as role model moments. But I have discovered that they are pivotal parts of life, as in something is different and better in the moments or phases after. Presenting to graduate students in the very same counseling program I attended a few days ago reminded me of one of my beautiful disasters, an honest, messy moment in Tulum, Mexico several years ago.

I had just finished graduate school, ending two of the most emotionally taxing years of my life. For those who don't know, a large part of graduate training in counseling/psychology involves thinking about, processing, and writing about your individual, family, and relationship experiences. For those of us who choose to do this full time in public institutions, this means sitting with clients very shortly after opening your first “How To Be A Counselor” book and starting your first of many personal reflections.

Now, being a human being, and arguably one who comfortably hangs out in my head, and even one who had several years of therapy under my belt, I, like most people who want to feel normal and okay more often than not, tried not to think about family dynamics on a regular basis, nor traumas, nor relationship issues. 

Graduate school got in the way of that. 

Conjuring up these subjects was an absolute requirement. From Group Work to Human Sexuality, every subject was subjected to personal scrutiny. And just to remove any semblance of subtlety from the experience, I, in true San Francisco form, lived in my parents' in-law during this two year trek. In any given week, it wouldn't be a stretch to delve into an old wound with my mother and then split an omelette the next morning.

When I wasn't in the swampland of reflection, I was sitting with clients, trying to plug skills from professors and books into human relationships. I had to listen to recordings of sessions and code my interventions, hear my own voice (which, all self-love aside, I don't even like the sound of in a voicemail), and critique my work. The self I walked in with was shoved aside for the self I was supposed to be becoming. Even when things were going well, it was difficult for me to feel like I was doing things right.

So there were two years of up to 14 hour days, three hour seminars followed by three hours more, lots of critical thinking, lots of critical thinking, plans to quit and run away, insights, family tension, tension in general, taxed relationships, new relationships, many hours in rooms full of many therapists-in-training, and a 50 page culminating paper. 

By the time I got to Mexico my shoulders had inched up a half a foot towards my ears.

Arriving midday, I stepped out of the cab into the moist air, feeling my curls swell on impact. I was escorted down a short path to my new "home." I put my luggage down, stood in the stillness of my room—a cabana just off the beach—inhaled this humid new place and felt so instantly, thankfully far away.

Human interaction during the first part of the trip was reserved solely for ordering food. I spent hours in silence watching my thoughts go by, observing my judgments and defenses trying to find a space at my table and giggling as I saw that there was no room for them. Alone and amused, I decided to start in on the daily yoga offerings.

I entered a spacious cabana, where 10 or so other people sat silently awaiting the start of class. The instructor flowed in, got right to it. We chanted Om, grounded our feet down, and started a never ending series of sun salutations. We opened our hearts, our crowns, our hips, our thighs.

It hurt.

Out poured the aching in my heart for the times I hadn't been able to give or receive love, and for the ache of others' hearts I had added to my own. Out came the tension in my head tied to war that was waged on my thinking brain, my executive function overload. Out came the pain of tightness, of trauma, that had locked its way into my body. And out came the shaky strength of the beams that had carried me forward despite myself. I wept openly with pain, and sweat out the toxicity of too much hurt and not enough self compassion.

90 rigorous minutes later it stopped.

We layed on our backs in Savasana—corpse pose—for 10 minutes, my entire body pulsing slower and slower. We were then instructed to keep our eyes closed while transitioning to a seated position to start alternate nostril breathing, a technique that was new to me. The instructor described where to place our hands, this finger on your third eye, these two covering one nostril, this one then covering the other.

I was confused, tears still sneaking out of my eyes, but present. My eyes trembled as I struggled to keep them closed and I noticed that amidst the heat and the heavy emotions my nose had started to run. I kept my eyes stretched across my wet face as I was being instructed. My body shook.

Sweat, tears, and snot commingled as my breath at-last found a steady rhythm. I was getting it. I hint of pride and relaxation passed through as we came to the end of the exercise. We were asked to bring our hands into prayer and bow. 

Namaste. 

I bowed low, flexible from the heat, sat back up and opened my eyes to see not the eyes of the instructor, nor the faces of my classmates, but the back of the room.

I looked for the familiar feelings of self-criticism and embarrassment, but they were nowhere to be found.

I had misunderstood, gone the wrong direction, done the exercise completely wrong. I had cried through the majority of the class. I was the craziest shade of red and soaking wet with sweat. And yet I felt lighter than I had in two years, my head held high. I had surrendered to my messy pain, and left the battle, gross and proud as could be.

Until a year ago, Charlotte was my therapist. I use the word “my” loosely, as I hadn't had a session with her for close to four years. But she was the person I sobbingly met with when I was 18 years old and in the throes of depression, and with whom I built a relationship—fluidly moving in and out of contact—over the following decade. She was the first person to truly witness my pain, and what I gained from our relationship ultimately influenced me to pursue psychology and a helping profession.

Which is why I found it confusing that, when I got word that Charlotte had passed quickly from a stage four cancer diagnosis to her death, I didn't feel immediately sad. Like a movie montage, my mind went to all the harmonious things I knew to be true of Charlotte, and it brought a sure smile to my face.

She consistently pursued her passions. 

In addition to being a busy therapist, Charlotte was a professor of transpersonal psychology, a supervisor, a co-owner of a goat herd (yup), a student of spirituality, and above all a mother and grandmother—both in the flesh and as archetype. 

She could readily share knowledge of everything from biopsychology to enneagram personality types to dream analysis, and she did so with energy. Her bookshelves were sky high and their contents were not for show. She did the work that helped her do the work and you could feel that in her presence.

She felt strongly and loved fiercely. 

Some therapists are stoic, but if you told Charlotte a self-deprecating story she would laugh with you, and if you told her of harm done unto you would get angry on your behalf. She spoke of her family with compassion. and each member was reflected as a glimmer in her eye. When my sassy 20-year-old self learned that her zodiac sign was a triple-Scorpio and joked. “Your husband must like that,” she replied with a giggle, “My first husband didn't.” 

If all this sounds like too much to know about your therapist, that's because Charlotte was not one to color within the lines. She used her human-ness in order to relate to those seeking her help. (One of my absolute favorite memories is of the time I was early for my session and ran into her in line at Walgreens buying a pint of ice cream. If that ain't humanizing, I don't know what is) Had she not been so Charlotte-esque in her work, I would never have felt so confident that she wasn't leaving many regrets on this earth, a fact that she later confirmed.


Death is one of those universally reliable experiences, but how we respond to it varies based on so many factors. What I'm finding to be true is that the stronger I perceive that the person who I have lost was living how s/he wanted to be living, the less complicated my grief becomes. When my heart resonates with the pain, regrets, and have-nots of the person I've lost, it weighs heavy, anchoring me to a deeper despair.

I find there are a few things we can do with observations like these, the first being to take inventory of how we are living, and to make alignments as needed. Are we pursuing our passions, feeling our feelings, loving as completely as possible, and staying true to our own rules? If not, what can we do to move ourselves in the direction of yes?

The other way I find the various responses to death to be helpful is by tuning in and being available to others' messages about their life satisfaction. Instead of passively listening as friends and loved ones mention certain things that they would like to be better or different, we can inquire about how to make such things happen.

And of course, the final way is to make sure your people know how you feel about them, through words or gesture. With Charlotte, I was thankful that I had been in communication with her over the years, despite not sitting across from her. 


Charlotte's memorial came a couple months later and there I found my sadness. It came in a wave of tears similar to those that fell when I first met her, and my face twitched in ways I never knew it could as I listened to those celebrate what they knew of her. I spoke before the packed room and trembled as I told everyone exactly how I felt, exactly what Charlotte meant to me, and exactly how bad I felt that none of us would get to sit with her again. 

My sadness was certainly uncomplicated. It was the primal shaky loss of someone I loved - no more, no less. 

As I left the room I was handed a small laminated card that displayed a lovely two-inch picture of Charlotte's smiling face, below it a quote. I read the card and smiled, thinking thank you Charlotte, for being so inspirationally and stubbornly you, and for showing us when it is truly okay to have the last word. It read:

“I have done everything I wanted to do in this life. It is so very important that people know my passing is not something tragic but part of my journey. You all mean so much to me.”

Over the last decade, I have flirted with countless physical, emotional, and spiritual health niches. From yoga to cardio; from depth psychology to mindfulness-based stress reduction; from acupuncture to reiki; And from Weight Watchers to The Brain Diet, I truly have been playing the field. Some I sized up and let go, others I spent more quality time with. Those I deemed worthy, I introduced to friends and, when appropriate, to clients. What I've learned is that there are a few solid rules that are helpful to abide by, no matter what area of health and healing you are considering allowing into your life.

1. Focus on the positive.

You get better results when you  focus on adding something constructive to health rather than on subtracting something undesirable:

Add a 30-minute walk to your day, a 60-minute class to your week, or a 10-minute stretch before bed (instead of aiming to watch fewer hours of television).

Add more deeply colored vegetables to your plate, more vitamins and minerals from various food sources and more local and seasonal produce (as opposed to subtracting processed foods and meals that offer high calories and low nutrients).

It may feel doable to add a 5-minute mindfulness exercise upon waking, to start the conversation (with yourself or others) about calling a therapist, or to write a daily affirmation on a post-it note (instead of trying to will yourself to feel less anxious, sad, or self-critical).

We have a tendency to erroneously assume that concentrating on what we don't want will keep us focused on our goals, when the focal point often remains on the very thing we don't want (and its accompanying entourage of feelings—Guilt, Shame, Irritation, and Co.). Try adding what you do want and notice how that nudges the undesirables out of your life. 

2. Go slow and be prepared for the discomforts of detoxification.

If someone had been using alcohol or heroine on a daily basis and simply stopped, he would be at-risk, not of discomfort, but of death. This is because the body grows dependent on the substance to keep its balance. Remove that substance and the body doesn't know what to do with itself. One needs proper pacing and supervision to safely detox.

While not necessarily as severe, the same concept goes for changing health habits of any kind. Whatever you have been doing—eating low-fiber foods, being more sedentary than you desire, or calling yourself nasty names—you have likely been doing it for a while. And while the negative affects are there, you have adjusted to them.

By engaging in something different you are going to purge and that purge just might be nasty before it's awesome. I invite you to imagine what would happen if you suddenly ate the recommended amount of servings of fruits and vegetables after you've been living a life full of mashed potatoes, or if you up and ran a marathon after years of not being able to touch your toes. What if, in one sitting, you suddenly let in all the hurt you'd been holding back? Each of these scenarios would lead to some form of system overload and feelings of dis-ease.

So do yourself a favor, and go slow. If you are noticing that you need help with pacing, shove an elbow in Pride or Shame's side, and ask for it. If you don't, they might introduce you to their friend Self-Sabatoge, who is a sneaky and powerful force, and tends to show up right when you are on the verge of something pivotal. Whether you are attending to your health as a solo project or with support(s), the simple act of remembering that unpleasantness may be part of the process can go very far in sustaining positive growth.

3. Kiss and tell appropriately.

It is exciting to find something that works for you. Like really exciting. Kind of like falling in love, you may be tempted to shout from the mountaintop “Pilates changed my body”! Or, “My therapist just gets it”! The more woowoo domains are somehow even more compelling. “It turns out my heart chakra was just blocked! Yours may be too”!

I am obviously a huge proponent of spreading the word about self-care and health, especially in the more taboo domain of mental health. Just remember, everyone's process is different, as is their comfort level, as is their tolerance for unsolicited advice. Even starting a sentence with “What worked for me...” as opposed to “You should definitely try...” can go far in actually being able to share your message.

What I notice is that when we start paying attention to our health needs in a way that makes for meaningful changes, we walk around shining a little brighter. Let that light draw others to you, and then share your secrets.

Several months ago, as I was strolling through the Panhandle, I observed a scene that leaped into my heart at once. A birthday party for what looked like a four- or five-year-old was happening in the playground. A group of ten or so children, a few grown-ups in tow, were scurrying around, sliding, swinging, and generating that unmistakable shrieking, giggling sound of play. It was so normal that I would have walked right past had one little boy not caught my attention. He had climbed the short fence, so he had as much of an aerial shot as a 3-foot-tall person could have. With a wide-eyed look of concern he yelled, without a shred of self-consciousness, “WHAT IS EVERYBODY ELSE DOING”?! 

What is everybody else doing? Oh, you sweet boy, don't you see they are playing? They are playing with effortless flow, not with thought, and you will enjoy yourself more if you join them.

I slowed almost to a stop and touched my hand to my heart. I had been thinking a lot about how to increase my feelings of well-being, particularly around overall life balance and career. I had also been counseling so many people who were making decisions about their next life steps, and these steps were moving alongside similar ones of their peers. I had been noticing how complicated these thoughts and decisions were in and of themselves. Anytime we are wanting to move towards a decision, we make a lot of considerations: What do I want? What do I need? How will I get there? What strengths and experiences can I build upon? Who are my supports? There may be a lot of questions here, but answer them and you are on a path.

But what happens when we veer away from our own inquiries and start focusing heavily on what other people are doing? Well, the path can start winding around pretty quickly. What is Suzy so-and-so doing? She is starting her own business and teaching a class? She got into that school? She has two kids and never looks tired? What? Her baby sleeps through the night? She must be better/more energetic, yet still calmer/more evolved/smarter/more driven/genetically superior than me.

Before you know it, you are lost and your only company are the stories and self-judgments you have generated. You forget that you are not Suzy so-and-so, with whom you share only partially similar fields of interest. You aren't really interested in going back to school, and you don't even have a baby, much less one with inferior sleeping patterns. And yet here you are emotionally perched on a fence screaming at the top of your lungs!

So how do you get down? Start by remembering the lesson you were taught in elementary school: Keep your eyes on your own work. Say this sentence to yourself with the tone of a gentle, compassionate teacher, not of a scolding one. Consider that focusing on others may be your way to avoid focusing on yourself, but still Keep your eyes on your own work. Allow yourself to be inspired by those around you, and Keep your eyes on your own work.

Non-creepy adult that I am, I did not linger at the playground that day to see what became of the boy, but I imagine that he found his way down, one step at a time, perhaps with a supportive hand. He may have spotted something he liked and joined in on a game of tag, or he may have found a great spot to build something in the sand. But even in my not knowing, I am confident that his plight was impermanent, that he did not stay on the fence. And I am equally confident that each of our moments of turmoil has the potential to be of use to others in the world if we are as willing as that boy was to be open.