My Site

Category: Transformation

  • Labels Are Confining

    Labels Are Confining

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    I’m often asked if I am an intuitive or an empath when I ask a client a sacred question, one  that hits the heart of the matter, or that cuts to the core of what they have been working on. A questions that brings clarity to what they thought of as chaos.

    As a child growing up, I was often given labels.

    The shy one, the stutterer, the oldest, (which carried expectations) the quiet one.

    Because of this, labels have always made me cringe. I also cringed when I heard labels intended for others. In my heart of hearts, even when I was a child, I knew that I could not be defined by a label, that I was much more, and much less than anyone else’s perception of me.  It took me a long time to be able understand who I was, and it was through my grief journey that I was finally able to step fully and unapologetically into my Self.

    Even though I work intuitively, I don’t label myself “An Intuitive.”

    Even though I am able to feel how my client is feeling, I don’t call myself  “An Empath. “

    To me these are labels that confine me in a box in which I don’t fit.

    I’ve had business coaches tell me that I have to define myself in specific terms. And nothing ever resonated completely.  I can tell you what I do, and I won’t confine myself to a box that limits who I am.

    Sometimes I describe myself as a Grief Journey Guide.

    That feels spacious enough to allow all of me to show up as I do in each moment.  It also allows my prospective clients to get clarity on what that means. When I’m asked, “What does that mean?” or “What do you do as a Grief Journey Guide?”  Then I get to tell them what I do, and more specifically, what our work together might look like, because by that time I’ve spent enough time with them to feel into where they are being called.

    My work with each client looks a little different.

    Since I don’t limit myself in to a specific way to work with everyone, we are free to explore where my client is being called at the specific time we begin working together, and the course our work takes is created from there.  It all starts with presence.  I teach a present moment awareness practice called Samyama, and then we see what arises.  The present moment always holds the question that will allow my client to feel deeper into the answer.

    My work can’t be described in a 30 second commercial.  I don’t resonate with traditional marketing strategies. As a matter of fact, I don’t market my business.

    I share who I am and trust that those who are drawn to my work will show up, and they always do.

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  • How Did I Get Here?

    How Did I Get Here?

    It occurred to me that if you are a recent reader of my blog, you might not know how I got to a place where I’m able to be vulnerable about my grief journey.

    Let me take a few minutes to bring you up to date.

    All my life I’ve been a seeker. Even as a child, I always sensed my inner light, even though I was sure I was wrong. A lot of things in my early life led me to believe that I had no value.  Neighborhood kids bullied me, I was sexually abused starting at age 8, and I had a severe stutter, which affected most of my early life. Still, I had glimmers of what came through to me as my true essence. I always thought that was hogwash.

    I did a lot of work to move beyond the abuse of my childhood. By the time I had my own children, I was in touch with a semblance that inner light most of the time, yet I was still a work in progress.

    In November of 2000, my 17-year old daughter Leah died from injuries she sustained in a car accident on her way to school; she was a senior. She hit a tree, the only one in the middle of a cornfield, and had severe brain injuries. After 5 days in the hospital we had to make the impossible decision to remove her from life support. I thought my life was over.

    And it was, my life as I knew it would never be the same again.

    Shortly after she died, I received two messages. They were similar to the message I received as a child about my inner light.

    Losing Leah is too high a price to pay to not live the life you were meant to live.

    Everything you have done up until this point has prepared you for what is coming next.

    I had no idea how I was going to make sense of either of those messages at the time; however, I knew that in order to honor my daughter, I would have to try to excavate the life I was meant to live. I turned to a practice that was already a part of my life at the time, a direct experience practice of present moment awareness called Samyama.

    Samyama helped me to be with the pain of my daughter’s death, without all of the stories that went with it.

    I also already had a trusted Samyama practitioner. In those days I didn’t want to talk about Leah’s death to anyone who didn’t know me well. I was self-isolating, and staying in my pain.  It’s what most of us do in early grief.

    I found Samyama to be a powerful resource to unravel the stories that held me in a place of suffering after Leah died.

    I found that my heart could hold the pain, and teach me how to be with my feelings, which eventually began to shift them.

    I discovered that my heart is an alchemical vessel that can hold anything, no matter how big or painful or uncomfortable.

    I learned how to get better at feeling my feelings.

    Every time I was able to bring my feelings to my heart without the stories, I would receive blessings and grace, every single time. I was beginning to experience the alchemy of grief.

    The alchemy of my grief journey allowed me to go deeper into those old childhood wounds, and heal them more fully. My daughter’s death provided me with the initiation necessary to fully excavate that light that was only a glimmer earlier in my life.

    I found my voice through my grief journey and I learned how to take a stand for myself. I learned that when I speak from my heart I do not stutter. I learned that I can feel joy and pain at the same time; they are not mutually exclusive.  I became an author and a speaker. I uncovered that light that has always burned in my soul.

    I am living the life I was meant to live.

    Living the life I was meant to live means that I continue to be present to where life is calling me in each moment. That is the biggest lesson of my grief journey, and how I continue to honor my daughter.

     

     

  • Do You Have a Daily Practice?

    Do You Have a Daily Practice?

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    Throughout my life I’ve always been fascinated when someone talked about a daily practice.

    I imagined that their practice allowed them to be exactly the person they wanted to be, 100% of the time, especially when the person talking about to me was someone I looked up to, someone who seemed to have it all together.

    I tried many times to cultivate a morning practice of my own.

    Do you have a morning practice?

    Maybe a better question is do you have a practice that is sustainable?

    What makes a morning practice sustainable?

    I’ve strived to find a morning practice, or any practice for that matter, that I will do consistently. I was reminded recently that a daily practice is like making an investment in your self.

    • If you put $5 a week in your bank account after a time, your money will not only accumulate, it will grow.
    • If you watch a rain barrel fill with raindrops, it may seem empty for a long time, and then it’s overflowing and able to water your plants.

    In my own quest to find a sustainable daily practice, I’ve tried many things, and many times of the day.  Things like Samyama, or prayer, or writing to name a few.  Consistency has always been elusive for me, in many areas of my life. Every time I strayed from my practice  even for one day, I considered myself a failure and spiraled into days of negative self-talk for not doing what I set out to do.

    Have you ever done that?

    Over time, (lots of time) I realized that I was trying to be too perfect. One of the great lessons from my grief journey was giving myself grace when I was striving for perfection.  I have now cultivated a daily practice that is sustainable and that won’t derail if I miss a day.

    I begin (most) days sitting in Samyama,  (presence) followed by writing, followed by movement. When I have an early morning commitment, I do at least one of these things some other time of the day.  As I continue to consistently invest in my self-care in this way, I find that I can ease up on myself when I’m tempted to berate myself for skipping a day.

    The “results “ of a daily practice may not be apparent on a day-to-day basis, and maybe not even on a week-to-week basis.  Yet I’m beginning to feel the accumulative effect of my daily practice. And that right there is enough for me to continue each day.

    You may wonder the same thing, if you’ve been doing a daily practice fairly consistently.

    Is it worth the time?

    Could you be doing something more productive?

    And then you find yourself in a situation that calls for patience, and you know exactly how to access it.

    Or the answer to a prayer you’ve been saying arrives in a miraculous way.

    Scrupulous devotion to our daily rituals creates alchemy that show up as miracles.

    What have you noticed in your own life?

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  • Through the Gate

    Through the Gate

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    I took this picture on a recent walk.

    I’ve always been fascinated by wrought iron gates.

    Gates are a common image in guided meditations, in dreams, on a walk.

    For me, they represent entrances into a mysterious place, my inner realm.

    Gates have appeared at many important times of my life.

    There was a gate into the yard of office of my Samyama practitioner when I was processing early grief. (And it matched a gate I’ve often seen in a dream)

    I used to love swinging on the gate to my yard as a child. I can still remember the feeling of freedom that I felt as I was doing it.

    This gate is locked, AND it is not attached to anything on either side.

    We easily walked around it.

    Gates can represent entrance into something wonderful, or they can block passage to a place that is forbidden, (at least in some stories or dreams) or a place that we don’t want to enter.

    Maybe, if we look closer, the gates that we think are keeping us safe, that we don’t want to enter aren’t attached either. Maybe upon closer examination, there is a way around.

    Grief can feel like this sometimes.

    It feels like a locked gate, and we avoid it at all costs because we don’t want to go to a place that is unfamiliar. Grief can feel like uncharted territory.

    What if we find that when we go through the gate, we are greeted by a guide who will show us how to meet our grief with grace? That’s what happened for me when I when through that gate early in my grief journey.

    What will you find when you go through the gated you come across in your journey?

    You need only to be willing to enter.

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  • Reclaiming My Voice Through My Grief Journey

    Reclaiming My Voice Through My Grief Journey

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    One of the biggest changes I’ve experienced as I traveled along my grief journey is speaking up; I’ve reclaimed my voice.

    As I prepared to bring my book into the world I needed to cultivate the capacity to tell my story in the way I was being called to tell it.

    This was very daunting for me. I grew up with a severe stutter. I avoided speaking (not just speaking to an audience) at all costs. I felt shame, and was sure something was deeply wrong with me. Yet, by this time, I recognized my inner guidance. I knew what it felt like in my body, and I was being called to tell my story.

    I prepared for this calling in several ways.

    I worked with an Embodied Movement coach to cultivate the space in my body to hold my story. I found that even after all the inner work I had done through my life, my body was still holding on to remnants of old stuff that needed to be released. I was able to free up space in my body so that I could embody my story. This work was so powerful that when my coach offered her work to other professionals to learn how to incorporate it into their own work with clients, I took it, and now am able to use Embodied Movement Practices with my own clients to help them to move old feelings through, and make space for where life is calling them now.

    I joined Toastmasters, Video Mojo Toastmasters, specifically. Here I was able to not only learn how to speak in from of an audience, I learned how to create good quality videos, as well as how to create a You Tube Channel.

    I also worked with a voice and messaging coach. She helped me to speak with emotion in my voice without breaking down. Up until that time, I could tell my story, yet there was no emotion in my voice or face. It was one of the ways I protected myself from completely losing my composure. Learning how to tell my story with emotion, with vulnerability helps me to connect with my audiences.

    One of the myths of grief is that time heals all wounds.

    It’s a myth because it’s not just the time that heals; it’s what you do with that time.  Similarly, finding my voice, there were things I needed to do to use it effectively.  I learned how to embody my story, so I could tell it with vulnerability, confidence, and grace.

    Finding my voice not only assisted my to tell my story, it also helps me in my everyday life. I now speak up when I am compelled to speak. I’ve discovered that when I speak from my heart, I do not stutter.

    I’ve dismantled the shame.

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  • Everything I Have Done…..

    Everything I Have Done…..

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    “Everything you have done until now has prepared you for what is next.”

    When I heard that message shortly after Leah died, I had no idea that it meant EVERYTHING; every little thing that I have ever gone through in my entire life.  I came to that realization after a week of book events in Chicago shortly after my book launched. I kept going back to experiences from my childhood. Things like the difficulties I had with some of the kids in the neighborhood, the hard time I had fitting in at school, the mixed messages I got at home, and the fact that I had a severe stutter.

    I would find myself saying after remembering each memory, “Surely not this too?” And then I would receive the gift of that difficult experience; every, single, time.  It became so that I stopped questioning the events of my life, I knew almost as soon as something came into my awareness what it was there to teach me how it had prepared me for what’s next.

    Does this sound daunting to you?

    It did to me too when I first heard the message.  I wanted it to mean that only the helpful things were what I needed to prepare me for my next. Things like courses I had taken or practices that brought me joy.  I wanted only the “good things” to be my helpers.  If the “bad” things were also there to assist me, that would mean that I would have to pay attention to them, and I didn’t want to do that, any more than you want to do that.  I came to see that “good” and “bad” are labels that we put on our experiences. Yes, some may be more pleasurable, some more difficult, but they are all there to be in service to our awakening; our saying yes to stepping into the fullness of who we are in any given moment.

    One thing that helped me tremendously in navigating my “everythings” was presence.  When I can be present to the feelings that arise in this moment about difficult experiences I can begin to unravel the sticky stories that my head continues to spin about those experiences. Bringing the feelings to my heart to be shifted, further understood, and eventually transmuted. This is the process that I use when I work with grief clients, and it is also the process that I use with every client who is following the breadcrumbs of their “everything” in order to reclaim their lives and live an engaged life. The life you’ve always dreamed of living.

    I’m often asked to describe presence, and I can spend a lot of time talking about what it is. I’ve written a lot about it and have done several videos about it.  Because presence is a direct experience practice, until you experience it for yourself, you will not really know what it is.

    I am offering a Zoom call for you to experience presence. You can register here.

    I will guide you in the present moment awareness practice that I teach my clients and use in my daily life.  Yes, it’s helpful for  grief AND for everything else. (There’s that word again!)

    If you would like to experience presence for yourself and learn how you can begin to incorporate it into your daily life, I invite you to join me on Friday, April 16, 2021 at 1:00 PM Central Time.

    Let me know if you have any questions.

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  • There’s More Than One Way to Get to the Park

    There’s More Than One Way to Get to the Park

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    I’ve been receiving the following message in my morning meditation:

    “Show up unapologetically as yourself in everything that you do.”

    There was a time when that would have sent me down a rabbit hole or into a tailspin. What if “they” don’t like the fullness of who I am?  (Who is this mythical “they” anyway?) What if that’s not really who I am and I am really a fake?  What do you mean you found gifts in your grief journey!!???

    Have you ever had similar thoughts?  What I realized is that those thoughts are just that – thoughts or stories. In the past those stories have kept me from showing up fully as myself. I’ve done a lot of inner work to untangle those stories.  One thing I discovered is that;

    I needed to accept myself fully,

    I needed to accept the gifts that I received on my grief journey,

    I needed to sit with all of those questions that threatened to dismantle me before I felt comfortable bringing the fullness of who I am into my work and into every aspect of my life.

    As I write this I am reminded that there are many ways to achieve our goals, many roads to enlightenment.

    My grief journey was one of those roads for me.  I started down that road a long time ago as I worked to untangle and deconstruct old wounds and learn to live more authentically.  It was my grief journey that provided exactly what I needed when I needed it to continue on that road and step more fully into who I am.

    That reminds me of a story about Leah that I included in my book; There’s More Than One Way to Get to the Park. I’ll share it here for context.

    More Than One Way to Get to the Park

    When Leah was a child, she often did things her own way. When she was reprimanded in school, or compared to others, I didn’t want that to be a damaging experience for her. I wanted to show her that everyone’s experience is valid. She loved to go to the park near our house. The fastest way was a straight shot down 145th street. One day on our way there I took a different route. We started out in the opposite direction and went up and down streets on our way there. Leah kept asking me where we were going, and I said, “To the park.”

    “This is not the way,” she said.

    “Let’s see what happens,” I replied.

    We continued on our way, and soon we arrived at the park. She looked at me with excitement and ran to play. The next few times we went to the park, we took a different route each time. Sometimes it took longer, and we saw things we may not have seen going another way.

    The next time she complained that she was not doing things the way other people were, I told her that just as there was more than one way to get to the park, there was more than one way to learn math, or spelling, or even to get dressed. Then we’d search for a way that worked for her. That seemed to calm her fears that she was different than other people. She eventually learned to embrace her differences, and I am thankful that I was able to help her do it in such a simple way.

    I continue to use this lesson myself. Whenever I question my path, I always remind myself there is more than one way to get to the park and each path is valid.

    When you are questioning your own path, I offer you this wisdom from Leah and me.

    There’s more than one way to get to the park.

    When you take a look at your own life, what are some of the opportunities you have followed as you learned the lessons you needed to learn to become the person you were meant to be?

    Have you ever considered that everything you have experienced in your life have been important to your growth?  I didn’t either until I received the message shortly after Leah died that

    “Everything I experienced up until that point had prepared me for what was coming next.”

    At the time I thought it was only helpful practices like Samyama or other practices that supported me.  As I traveled further down the path of my journey I realized that it meant EVERYTHING, even the most difficult parts of my life.

    At first, I didn’t want to accept that fact.  How could difficult parts of my life serve my growth?  The answer seems obvious to me now, at the time though, I didn’t want to let those painful and difficult parts of me in. I wanted to push them away and concentrate only on the “good” or “positive” parts of my life. What I’ve learned is that all of my experiences, throughout my entire life, contain lessons that are valid for me only, and yours are valid for you.

    In the weeks to follow I’ll be sharing some of my “everything.”  In the mean time, what is your “everything”?

    What parts of your story do you want to hide or run away from?

    What would it be like if you gave all of those parts of yourself a seat at the table and gave them a voice?

    What would they say to you?

    If this sounds scary to you, I understand.  Nothing could strike me with terror more than a part of myself that was difficult to love.  What I learned though is that all parts of ourselves need and want to be met with love.  When I began to listen to the parts of myself that I didn’t want to love because they weren’t as desirable as other parts, I began to heal those parts of myself.

    It’s easy to love yourself when you are having a good hair day.

    What about all of the other times?

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  • Our Journey to St. Paul

    Our Journey to St. Paul

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    I took some time during the past week to do some deeper reflection on the past year and everything it brought up for me.

    There is no doubt that 2020 held many difficulties for all of us.  What I noticed for me is the disruption of pandemic affected me on a personal energetic level.  I felt remnants of things that I thought I was done with swirling around in my face.  Old childhood wounds, parts of myself that I didn’t like, voices of judgment.

    In the past I may have wanted to ignore, or get rid of the uncomfortable things.  This time I got curious, I had the time to get curious. For many years I had been “trying to slow down”  In 2020 I actually did it, our of necessity.  The message I continued to receive was that,

    “Now it the time to attend to everything that has been clamoring for your attention all your life.”

    That seemed like an insurmountable endeavor, and yet moment-by-moment I was able to meet everything that arose.  I gained a new perspective on presence.

    This moment here, and now this one.

    I’ve been dancing with presence and present moment awareness for a long time.  It is what I turned to early in my grief journey to help me navigate the rocky waters of grief. It is the foundation of my daily practice as well as my work with my clients.  How was it possible that I had more to learn about it?  And yet there was, there always is, because the present moment is always new.  There have been times that I have tried to figure out how it works in my head.  When that happens I struggle with the concept of what present moment is.  I tell myself if I can just figure it out logically, I’ll have a much better explanation of what it is and how it works.

    And while I am in that struggle, I am not being present.  Huh.

    This year we traveled from Raleigh, NC to Minneapolis, Minnesota in an RV to meet our granddaughter.  Upon returning we decided we were being called to move to Minnesota to be closer to her and to be a part of her life.  My initial thought there was that we would take about a year to do it slowly, there was a lot to do.  I talked to a friend who is a stager and a couple of realtors to get a better understanding of what we had to do.  It seemed even more overwhelming, and I was sure that waiting until spring of 2021 was the sane decision.  And then I got present.  I asked deep in my heart what was needed.  I’ve been doing this a long time, and I recognize my intuition when it arises from my heart and soul.  I received guidance to set up an appointment with the realtor we decided to work with. It was September 27, 2020.  We thoroughly talked about the steps needed to do to get ready for an open house.  She told me that she thought we could be ready for an open house on October 24th.

    My mind was waving its arms, (metaphorically!) saying things like, ”That’s less that a month away! “  “That’s impossible”  Your crazy if you think you can do all that in less then a month.”

    And then I heard myself say, Ok, let’s do it.

    My mind was incredulous.  I didn’t ignore them, I brought them into my heart, let them be heard. I found this helpful in helping those voices to calm down; they felt heard. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t doing what they told me to do.  They only wanted to be heard.

    On December 27, 2020 we were sitting in our new condo in St. Paul MN.  We moved in on December 11th.  I can honestly say that I am not carrying any remnants of overwhelm from the activities we did to get ready to move, of buying a new condo, and of physically moving here, taking 3 days to drive over 1600 miles to snow country in the winter.  My prayer of a snow and ice free move was a welcome gift.

    After we moved, we spent the first week unpacking boxes and getting organized full time. We got our new home to a place of livability. We still had lots of boxes to unpack and new homes to find for our belongings, but we also made time to continue to settle in, which for me meant listening to what I need in each moment.

    We explored our new neighborhood when the temperature was above 30.  We found the closest entry into the skyway so we can walk when the temperatures are in the single digits. We found our neighborhood co-op and became members.  We envisioned what our new life would look like, each of us writing about what we need daily, or weekly. We purchased new furniture to fit our new space and organize our books. And most importantly we saw Arya,(and Peter, Christine, & Marlowe)  a lot.

    We saw Peter and his family more in the last month than we did all last year.  We love all the possibilities that come with living close.

    About 2 years ago we began a conversation about building a tiny home in Peter’s backyard. At that time, we envisioned spending the summer months there, and at the same time spending more time with him.  We talked about what that might look like, both physically and emotionally. Dan began designing tiny homes, and we talked about what we wanted in a new home, choosing a final design.  We were in the process of looking at a few possibilities for the backyard project when Arya was born.

    And then we met her.

    After that, there was no question that we would move to Minnesota full time so we could know her, and be a part of all of their lives.  That meant a change in plans. For me, a tiny home was out of the question if we would be there in the winter.  We decided to revisit a dream we had early in our marriage. We found a condo in downtown St. Paul in a walk-able neighborhood. We are on the 32ndfloor, and have a beautiful view that includes the Mississippi River, as well as sunrises and sunsets. Our condo fits our style and our simplified life.

    We are adjusting to our new lifestyle. Dan retired, and is getting used to a new rhythm. I’m continuing to do my work; and listening to where I’m being called next. We’re both enjoying spending more of our days together, and exploring our new city.

    All of these changes were able to happen because we were present to our feelings throughout the process.

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  • 20 Years is a Long Time

    20 Years is a Long Time

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    We marked the 20-year anniversary of Leah’s death earlier this month.

    20 years.

    That fact is enough to stop me in my tracks.  20 years is a long time.

    That’s what I thought when I first began to mark 20-year milestones; 20 years since I graduated grade school and high school, my 20-year wedding anniversary, 20-years since my mom died, and my dad, and so many more. Those milestones now have many more years added to the time that has past.

    20 years since I last saw Leah’s precious face in person, and felt her hugs; that’s a lot for my head to grasp.

    The week leading up to this anniversary was intense. We were in negotiations with both the selling of our home in Raleigh, and the purchase of our new home in St. Paul, MN.  We’re packing and doing all the things necessary to ensure an organized move.

    Dan retired after a 41-year career.

    It was election week.

    Mercury was going direct.

    With all of these activities swirling around in my world, I turned to presence like never before. The only thing that kept me grounded was to breathe deeply, come into my heart, listen deeply to the guidance I always receive there, and act (or not act) from a place of Divine Wisdom. I was guided more often than not to just be. That seemed counter intuitive to me in light of everything clamoring to get done, and yet it was exactly the right guidance.

    Each time I tried to write about what was happening, nothing came. I chided myself for not following through on my commitment to share my experience of going through this time. And each time the message was clear, not now.

    On Sunday, November 8th, we had a Celebration of Lives to mark this anniversary, via Zoom. Leah requested a party this year; she let me know that she missed all us as much as we miss her. The celebration was exactly what we needed this year.
    Many of our family and friends joined to remember Leah, as well as their loved ones. I’ve been sitting with and basking in the energy of that gathering as I’ve been continuing to sort, and purge, and pack.  I’m aware that I am also grieving this move, and I’ve not wanted to give in to it because I want to get more done first. And that reminded me that “waiting until” is something I’ve done all my life, and it’s at the root of all perfectionism.  See if any of these statements ring true for you.

    If I wait until I am the perfect weight, then I can wear cool clothes, or …..(this has changed throughout the years depending on the circumstance)

    When I retire, then I’ll have time to dance or paint, or write poetry.

    When I get my life in order, then I’ll be able to be a better partner, or mother, or friend.

    When I have more time, then I’ll tend to my grief.

    When I first started to dismantle perfectionism in my own life, I had to take a long hard look at these statements.  Why couldn’t I wear cool clothes before I reached a perceived number on a scale that may or may not be realistic?
    Why can’t I dance, or make art, or write poetry now?
    And grief, what if I make time to be with my feelings of grief as they arise?  That is what I teach, and I’m beginning to allow myself to grieve my move. I’m not just leaving a home that we love. I am also saying goodbye to friends, and to professional relationships I have cultivated.  I’m saying goodbye to warmer weather, and to my identity here in Raleigh, among many other things.
    Even after all this time, my first reaction is to push the grief away to “get things done.”  What I know is that allowing my feelings in, and to let them be here until they move through will allow me to be more productive in the long run.
    Grief has taught me to slow down and to listen deeply. When I do that, I can get curious about my first reaction, and see what is underneath. Usually it’s what really needs attention, it’s what I’ve been avoiding with the excuse that I’m too busy to tend to that now.
    Presence is my practice, and it’s here that I connect with my heart.  My head may not be able to grasp 20 years, my heart doesn’t have to grasp it, it can hold all the feelings that arise now and as I continue to move through this time.

    Grieving is an active pursuit. Even allowing my feelings to be here as they are is an active choice.

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  • Finding Joy, Even in Grief

    Finding Joy, Even in Grief

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    Is it possible to find small moments of joy when we are grieving, or when we are living through a pandemic?

    Each year when I enter into the portal of Leah’s death, it always takes me back to November of 2000.
    I remember how I felt when the police came into my office to escort me to the hospital.
    I remember how I felt on the drive to the hospital, and when I found out what happened.
    I remember seeing her for the first time, and my uncontrollable shaking.
    I remember how I would grasp on to each gossamer thin thread of hope that she would return to us.
    I remember leaving the hospital for the last time.
    I remember every detail of that time. I think that is why I am reluctant to enter this time each year; I know I will be taken back to events that I wish were not a part of my memory.
    They don’t come in linear progression. They come in flashes throughout the days and weeks leading up to November 8th.
    This year they are tempered with a new understanding of my life and with a new relationship with Leah.
    Each year when I review these occurrences; I receive new insights. Each year I am able to unravel more and more of the pain and anguish that still lives somewhere in my body.

    This year I’ve been noticing the similarities of living in 2020 and my grief journey, and grief in general.

    I’ve noticed that the stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, are some of the same feelings we’ve been feeling throughout the past 7 months.
    These stages aren’t linear; we don’t finish with one before we move on to the next one. (I used to think that was true before I traveled my own journey.)
    You may find yourself spiraling back around to these feelings time and time again. What I found for myself is that when I allow the feelings to be here and allow myself to feel them, they shift; they are not the same each time they come back around. That’s what I mean when I say that each year my experience of this time of the year is different.
    We can look at the grief we are feeling this year the same way. Look at all of the stages of grief, and at where and when you’ve experienced them this year.
    Back in March, we were in denial, surely this wasn’t serious, and it would blow over in a few weeks. And then the whole world closed up, and our lives completely changed in an instant in ways we could never imagine.
    That’s what happened to me when Leah died, that’s what happened to you when you experience a death, whether it is the death of a loved one, or another kind of loss, like the loss of a job, a relationship, a way of life, your identity, or the ability to have coffee with a friend.

    Think of how you cycled through these emotions since March, how you are still cycling through them.

    What have you learned about yourself?
    Where have you grown?
    What have you discovered no longer serves you?

    The difficult times of our lives provide doorways into some of our greatest transformations. Each time you experience one of these stages, and all of the emotions that come with them, how have you changed?

    What are you still holding on to?
    What do you wish was the same as it was before?
    These are all questions that I encountered as I traveled my grief journey. When we know that we are experiencing grief, we know that there are ways to meet it, and we can find a way to move through it in our own unique way. Everyone grieves in their own way, there is no one right way to grieve, and there is no one right way to process 2020.
    David Kessler, a renowned grief expert has just written a book called Finding Meaning, The 6th Stage of Grief. It is possible to find meaning, purpose, and even joy again after loss. Sometimes we find the breadcrumbs of meaning, and it’s enough to give us the faith to continue to cycle through our feelings yet again.
    It’s been almost 20 years since Leah died. This is the 20th time I have cycled through my own experiences. I still am brought to my knees at times. I will never get over the death of my daughter.
    I will continue to honor her and myself by saying yes to where life is calling me in each moment. Even in a pandemic we are being called. Even in a pandemic we can find meaning. Even as we grieve we can unearth the jewels that are the blessings and grace that give us the courage to continue.

    To find the blessings and grace that lead to Joy.

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