Lessons

Back in August, I had the privilege of seeing Tony Robbins live. If ever you get the chance to see him, GO! It WILL change your life.

One thing he said early on that struck me was how grateful he was for the abuse he suffered during his childhood because it made him the strong man that he is today. It struck me because I could relate completely.

Let me be super clear....I would much rather my dad be alive today and that I'd never seen the accident that took his life. But when we're faced with trauma, we essentially have two choices—allow it to destroy us or find the light and learn from it.

Some of the things I've learned from my traumatic experience....

1. Anything can happen at any time. Be tremendously grateful for what you have, where you are and what you're doing.

2. Life is short (sometimes). Take chances now because you may not have the opportunity to take them later.

3. It is ok to allow trauma to move through your body. Your body is amazing and it has automatic functions already in place to keep you safe. If you need to rock like a drug addict going through withdrawal in order to relieve your crushing chest pain, rock. You won't need to do it forever.

The lessons are ALWAYS there and they can be the greatest gifts that are waiting to be discovered by you.

My Energy Doesn't Want Me to Write

My weekdays are heavily structured, which I welcome because my calendar keeps me moving towards my goals rather than time arriving and me aimlessly wondering what I’m supposed to be doing within it. Within my week, I schedule time to write and I specify what I should accomplish, whether it’s draft two of an article, a blog, social media posts, etc.

As I write this blog post now, I’m supposed to be working on finishing draft one of an article, but my brain doesn’t want me to do so.

I’m sure you can relate, even if you’re not a writer. Everyone has this problem no matter what it is that they’re working towards. It’s common to face moments where you have things you have to do and your energy does not want to do them at all. Then the choice presents itself—schedule it for later and live with that feeling of disappointment within yourself while you watch cat videos on YouTube or push through and get something done.

While I’m one to advocate listening to your energy and doing what it wants, in situations where it involves moving your life forward, I vote for option two.

Why? Why can’t I just find a new video of Maru squeezing into a tiny box and enjoy that right now? What’s wrong with that? 

Because it’s feeding the pattern that keeps me comfortable rather than helping me grow into who I want to be.

For example, let’s go back 15-20 years ago when my PTSD ruled much of my life. Had I skipped my Movement for Actors class and stayed in the comfort zone of my bean bag chair in my apartment at college, I would have missed out on discovering how yoga changes my state of being and calms my mind. Had I stayed at home and not gone to that interview in New York City, I would never have had the opportunity to receive a massage in Sweden, which led to me becoming a massage therapist and ultimately an acupuncturist. Had I listened to my energy, which was telling me to stay comfortable in my discomfort because it felt safe and protective even though it was depressing, I would not have the amazing opportunities available to me now, and more importantly, I would never have found the happiness within myself.

And because I don’t over schedule myself, when the day is done and I feel awesome that I accomplished what I set out to do, I can spend as much time as I want watching Maru.

While my energy doesn’t like it now, I know it’ll be tremendously grateful later.

PS - This is Penny. She was with me for 10 years and crossed the rainbow bridge in 2012. She used to sleep like this. I often wondered how she breathed.

The Buzz About PTSD

Last March, The Huffington Post published an article I wrote titled “Please Stop Saying You Have PTSD”. It’s one of my favorite articles I’ve ever written, but sadly the editors at the website chose not to feature it like they had with other articles I’ve contributed, thereby limiting the readership to my circle of influence. Fortunately, it had an impact on my loyal readers and I received more feedback from them about that article than any of the dozen or so others I’ve ever written.

Within the last few weeks, I was reminded twice why I really wished The Huffington Post had promoted my article.

The piece was about my growing concern that PTSD was becoming a buzzword. Assuming, or perhaps hoping, the intention was to be sarcastic or snarky, on social media some were suggesting they had experienced PTSD after the 2016 presidential election and during the last few minutes of the Super Bowl (if you recall that game between the New England Patriots and the Atlanta Falcons was a nail biter). One person put out a piece through a major publication about how her corporate job gave her PTSD, even going so far as to include “PTSD” in the title but failing to use a single word to describe anything related to PTSD. For people like me who’ve moved through their symptoms and are now living happy lives, the evolution of the disorder into a buzzword still stung a little. I can only imagine what it feels like for someone who is currently in the darkest of places.

I’m no Elizabeth Gilbert or Brené Brown, so I didn’t expect my point to reach the masses even if The Huffington Post had featured my article, but I’m bummed to see that PTSD’s buzzwordiness is growing.

Earlier this month the media released pictures of President Donald Trump, House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi and Senator Chuck Schumer sitting together in the oval office allegedly working out a budget deal that apparently leaned a little left than right. House Republicans got wind of the meeting and probably felt clever when they told each other “PTSD is bad”, meaning a “Pelosi, Trump, Schumer Deal is bad”. They did get one thing right….PTSD is bad.

Then this morning I opened up my email and saw my daily Google alerts for post-traumatic stress disorder. I opted in to get these so that I’d have access to the latest breakthroughs and news about PTSD so I can share with my followers on social media. One headline from a blogger indicated that serving on the PTA at her child’s school gave her PTSD. I'm not a parent, but I can totally respect that raising children is difficult and that drama tends to exist between parents who have opposing views on what’s best for their kids, but I couldn’t even bring myself to click on the link and read that article. Unless the unthinkable happened at a PTA meeting, perhaps a shooting or a sexual assault or a tornado ripping off the roof, I’m not buying it.

For those of you who get what I'm saying, you can probably stop reading at this point. But for those of you who don’t understand what the big deal is, please keep reading. When someone overdramatizes their stress and labels it PTSD without having been diagnosed by a mental health professional or without truly knowing what the disorder is all about, you disappoint someone who’s really suffering. And I’m sorry to tell you this but you can’t use the excuse that people are too sensitive….because part of the problem is that one of the symptoms of PTSD is oversensitivity.

I’ve been in stressful jobs. I was stressed after the election. Being a New York Giants fan, meaning a fan that really would never root for the New England Patriots, the last half of the Super Bowl was stressful to watch. As much as stress sucks, can’t you appreciate that stress is nothing like having PTSD? Can we all agree that PTSD and every other mental disorder, or even disorders in general no matter their origin, should never be a buzzword?

The Ripple Effect

At any moment, or perhaps at every moment, we have a choice, and our choices can start a ripple to create either positive or negative change.

A few weeks ago, Mike and I went to Cliff’s for ice cream. For those of you who are not familiar with western Morris County in New Jersey, Cliff’s is an institution. They make their own ice cream and on most summer evenings there's easily dozens of people waiting to order. It’s absolutely worth the wait.

It was spur of the moment, and we decided we’d take my car and Mike would drive. When we pulled up, we saw the place was packed. It had rained really hard a few hours before, and a stretch of parking was flooded, which made it seem even busier with not as much parking available. We circled around a little before we found an angled parking spot by the picnic tables in the back of the property.

Before continuing, I should mention that Mike is a car fanatic. Wherever we go, he tends to park his car as far away from others in order to avoid dings from opening doors, shopping carts and whatever else that may come from people being careless. He has said that he generally hates parking lots, but he also hates valet, so unless he’s willing to stay home all the time (which thankfully he’s not), he deals with it.

I should also mention that I really love my car. It’s a 2011 Subaru Legacy. I bought it used from a dealership because it was only a little over a year old and it had low milage. It has climbed steep hills in the snow to get me home safely. It has provided me tremendous savings because it’s so fuel efficient. It also has cool upgrades that the first owner installed, such as nicer floor mats and puddle lights under the doors so I don’t get my feet wet when stepping out. It’s closing in on 100,000 miles, it has a few minor scratches and it’s approaching some sort of major repair that Mike has warned me about, though I couldn’t tell you what it is. Regardless, I love my car and I’m bummed that likely in a few years I’ll need to replace it.

Mike tucked the car deep into the angled parking spot at Cliff’s and skirted it away from the car next to us. There was a tree on the other side, so no car could park next to it. Another one of Mike’s strategies—find an end spot and park as close to the edge to avoid any possible contact with the car next to it.

We walked up to the front of Cliff’s and found the shortest line in front of the eight windows that each had a teenager taking orders. These kids knew how to hustle, because we only needed to wait about five minutes before we had ice cream in hand and smiles on our faces. Since all of the benches and picnic tables were wet, we decided we’d enjoy our ice cream in my car….even though that generally goes against Mike’s rule of eating in the car, but perhaps since it was my car and not his, it was okay.

It was about 9:00pm when we finished. The gentleman that Mike is, he took my cup and left to go toss our garbage. Just then, I remembered a cute picture of my cat Gizmo that I wanted to post on Instagram. I pulled out my phone and tapped on the app just as Mike was getting back into the car. He started the car and I was in mid-post when we heard a loud BANG and I felt myself jostling forward. Of course, I screamed.

Because I was so engrossed into my post, I didn’t know what happened at first. Then I realized we weren’t moving. Then the dreaded realization that my beloved car was hit. I didn’t want to know the damage.

Just as I got out, I saw the black car that hit my back bumper pulling away. “HEY!” I yelled in my female warrior voice, which tends to come out in heightened situations and which was nearly followed by my newfound female warrior body, which felt ready to leap onto the car to stop it from leaving the scene. “Get back here! You just hit my car!!”

A tiny voice squeaked from the driver’s side window, “I know! I’m so sorry! I’m just going to park.” She pulled ahead into her space.

The voice sounded young. I noticed the Kyleigh’s Law sticker on the license plate. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s a small bright orange/pink sticker that’s placed in the upper left corner of the license plate and it indicates a new driver. This law came to be when a young girl named Kyleigh, who lived just a few towns away, was killed in a late night car accident where she was the passenger in a car with unexperienced drivers. Just after I noticed the sticker a young girl timidly got out of the car along with her equally timid friend. The driver nervously approached me.

“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. What information do I give you?”

Mike was already shining a light from his phone onto my bumper. Amazingly, there was no obvious dents, cracks or scratches. He felt along the bumper. “There’s no damage,” he confirmed.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl kept repeating.

Immediately, the warrior in me calmed down. Thankful that no one was hurt, neither car was damaged and the girl was apologetic, this is roughly the conversation that followed.

“You’re a new driver?” I asked.

“Yes, I just got my license a few months ago,” she replied.

“It’s ok. I’m sorry I yelled at you before,” I said. “I thought you were leaving. The good news is we’re all ok and the cars are ok. Next time just be a little more careful.”

“I will,” she assured me. “Again, I’m really sorry.”

We helped her back out of the parking space and she slowly rolled out of the parking lot.

Just as I was getting back into the car, a voice came from the car next to me.

“She was probably texting,” an older man said to me through his rolled down window, his wife watching from the passenger seat.

That made me pause. “Did you see her texting?” I asked.

“No, but you know at that age….” he reasoned.

Now I found myself advocating for this teenager, who was out with a friend getting ice cream at 9:00pm on a Saturday. There’s so much worse she could have been doing.

“You don’t know that. She merely backed up into my car,” I sternly rationed. “It called an accident for a reason. I remember when I was seventeen I wasn’t the greatest driver.”

“That’s true,” said the man’s wife. “I guess we were all that age at some point.”

“Exactly.”

Mike drove us home without incident.

The next morning, I told my friend Lisa about what happened and she reminded me of the ripple effect that occurred that moment. She believes that thanks to my reaction, this teenager may carry herself differently when she finds herself in similar situations, and perhaps the older gentleman may be less judgmental about young adults. I could have continued yelling at this teenager and gone off the handle, but what would that have led to? Unnecessary drama.

And frankly, there’s WAY too much drama already in this world.

I’d rather put out ripples that are rational and calm than ones that are dramatic.



PS - This picture of Gizmo is what I was posting on Instagram.