The Quote That Made Me Become An Optimist

photo credit: kieferpix

I used to be a pessimist. If you spend two minutes chatting with me or scrolling through my social media profiles, you’d never guess this in a million years. I used to see nearly every circumstances in a negative light. Years ago when my boss discovered someone had placed a full cup of tea at the bottom of a wicker garbage can at the wellness center where I worked, my response was, “people are stupid.” Sure that was a dumb way of disposing a full cup of tea, but I had uttered that sentence so often that it rolled off my tongue without me considering what my boss might think.

For much of my early twenties, I didn’t bother trying to go out to meet a guy. I assumed they were all pigs.

I thought money was the root of all evil, because as I worked hard to save for a down payment for a condo, I kept chasing the amount I’d need thanks to the rise in prices from the real estate bubble in the early 2000s. I had to live at home with my mom because I couldn’t afford even a small apartment.

Time with friends always involved gossiping and complaining. I thought Chicken Soup For The Soul was the stupidest book ever written and I mocked people for reading it. Fairly tales seemed ridiculous and I thought anyone who had success must have cheated or stepped on someone in order to achieve their fortune.

This negative mentality resulted after I developed PTSD. I was twenty years old, and up to that point, life was pretty rosy and happy. My world was turned upside down after I witnessed a tree fall on my father during a fast moving thunderstorm. He passed away a day and a half later. The anger that resulted became the undertone to my emotions, sometimes bursting out uncontrollably over the most mundane things but mostly living deep below the surface where its influence was just enough for me to become the pessimist that I’d never been before.

Life sucks, then you die. Money is evil. People are stupid. This was what I thought constantly. I didn’t think I was being pessimistic. I thought I was being realistic.

It’s hard to believe that watching an episode of Dawson’s Creek started my journey back to being an optimist. I noticed in the background of a scene in Dawson’s bedroom a quote on the wall: Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. It took me by surprise. I stared wide eyed at the screen hoping I’d see it again to make sure I read it correctly and so I could jot it down word for word. It was the first time I’d ever seen a suggestion that one’s happiness could be a choice. I went online and discovered it was said by Abraham Lincoln.

I kept thinking about that quote. I started to wonder if the years I felt unhappy after my dad’s accident had been partly my choice. I knew not everyone was stupid, but why was I saying so? I knew money could be used for good, but why did I think it was evil? Why wasn’t I celebrating my peer’s accomplishments instead of bashing them to others?

I didn't want to be living with my mom. I didn’t want to constantly feel like everyday tasks were a burden. I didn’t want to continue feeling stuck in this pattern that wasn’t giving me much joy.

From that moment on, I worked on seeing the glass as half full rather than half empty. Abraham Lincoln’s quote became my daily mantra, and I’d think about it all the time. I’d catch myself saying people are stupid and immediately I’d feel embarrassed and silently promise to myself to not say it again. I put effort into dating, trusting that guys with good intentions existed. I began to feel gratitude that I could afford my bills, or that I even had bills for things that most people in the world lived without, even if some months were extremely tight. I stopped gossiping. I committed to no longer complaining. With effort, the optimistic mentality that I had chosen became an effortless lifestyle and is now my identity today.

What’s even better is my anger that was a part of my PTSD is no longer an undertone to my emotions. When things go wrong, I start thinking of solutions rather than dwelling on the problem. When loved ones pass on, I remember the many wonderful moments rather than wondering why they had to be taken too soon. Finding the silver lining is not always easy, but for me it’s worth the effort.

The way I see everything now has resulted in me having a life that brings me joy despite my PTSD symptoms that have lingered over the last twenty years. I own my own business and it affords me a lifestyle that makes me comfortable. I found a guy with good intentions and fell in love with him. We’re celebrating our sixth wedding anniversary this month. I have amazing friends whose aspirations I admire and whose support I appreciate. I laugh more. Most mornings I wake up early and feel excited about my day. Not every day is perfect, but I have way more good days than bad.

I never chose to have PTSD, but I am boundlessly grateful that I chose a mentality that now serves me well.

Words

Last Saturday, I participated in a book club discussion about Peace with Trees that was hosted by a friend of mine. I knew no one else in this book club and I didn’t know what to expect. It was the first time I had discussed my memoir with a group of people and the experience was amazing. Much of the feedback I have received early on in my book’s journey was from family and friends, and though I appreciate hearing “your writing is wonderful” and “I loved your story” from people I know, I was super curious what people who don’t know me at all thought. Thankfully, their feedback was the same as what I’ve been hearing, which is every writer’s dream.

One woman who sat next to me said something that struck me. She mentioned that she loved that my memoir was easy to read and that she didn’t have to refer to a dictionary at all. Though I am college educated and can hold my own in a game of Scrabble, I can’t say with confidence that the vocabulary I use in my writing matches what’s typically found in articles within The New Yorker. I also can’t say that choosing to present my story in a simple, easy-to-read manner was necessarily a conscious choice. However, as someone who doesn’t care for overly graphic descriptions or using fancy schmancy words for the sake of sounding fancy schmancy, perhaps my natural way of writing favors ease over complication….mid-century modern over chotchkie-filled Victorian, tomato soup over vegetarian 15 bean stew, beach vacation over Disney….you get the picture.

As someone who has struggled with PTSD, ease is something I value.

At a PTSD support group gathering that I went to last year, someone mentioned how reading books can be difficult because certain words or descriptions have triggered him. Many in the group agreed. I can totally appreciate that. I tend to avoid reading books and watching shows and movies that have a lot of violence. That was a consideration I had while writing Peace with Trees, and knowing that likely I’d attract a dual audience—those with PTSD and those without PTSD—, I went slightly out of my comfort zone in describing the moments that followed my dad’s accident….emphasis on the word slightly.

I thought of this when that woman at the book club noted my writing style, which made me think of something uncomfortable that happened over an email exchange the week before. I friend connected me to a writing coach who wanted me to talk about my writing and publishing process with her clients. We were to hold this event at a local wellness center. The owner of the wellness center suggested posting the event on their calendar. The writing coach noted that doing so may attract people with PTSD to learn more. Initially I agreed to do an event that combined both audiences, but I had second thoughts knowing that the two audiences have very different needs. We compromised and agreed that my PTSD talk could be a good lesson in speaking to one’s platform for the writing clients. We then went a little back and forth with the event description, with my final description beginning as follows:

“After developing post-traumatic stress disorder from witnessing a tree fall on her father in 1997, Susannah has been living peacefully with her PTSD since 2011.”

My description drew a favorable response from the owner of the wellness center. The writing coach took the liberty of editing it and suggesting we use or don’t use whatever we want. Her’s started off like this:

“When she was twenty, Susannah watched a tree crush her father.”

I don’t need to include the full text from each description, but know that the first sentences from both set the tone for how each one reads.

For those of you who have read Peace with Trees, you know that the tree didn’t actually “crush” my dad. Though I could have simply explained that, especially since I value doing things with ease, what was more important to me was conveying to this writing coach that when it comes to my events I am extremely careful when it comes to the words I choose in all of my messaging, and the last thing I want is for words to trigger anyone. I also noted that even with all of the work that I have done on myself, that sentence even triggered me a bit. I though about that support group where we shared how reading a book can be challenging. I thought about those I’ve connected with online who have shared with me that leaving their home is difficult. I thought about the audience member who walked out of my last event because I touched a nerve in her, which thankfully later I learned was a good thing. I deeply appreciate the increased sensitivity many experienced with PTSD. I can relate to that. It was that important to me to briefly explain to this writing coach why I wasn’t okay with using her version.

I had hoped she would agree with using my version and we could proceed, especially since she initially said we didn’t have to use it, but instead she wrote what seemed like a defensive email that graphically described several of her own personal traumas. She said knew PTSD intimately. I could not get through that portion of the email, not because I didn’t have compassion for what she’d experienced, but because the vivid detail was not something I wanted as part of my psyche. I also found it unnecessary for what we were trying to accomplish—writing copy for a flyer. I didn’t know how to respond because I didn’t know if her response was genuine, passive aggressive, a cry for help, trying to one up my trauma, trying to one up my writing style or something else. What I did know is I didn’t want to hurt her with however I responded. Because she ended her email acknowledging that our writing styles were so different that she preferred to bow out of the event, I chose to say that I was sorry she had made that decision.

I’m not saying that I’m more righteous in how I communicate with my audience. I’m not saying how she writes is wrong and should be corrected. I think what’s most disappointing is her choosing to walk away. However, the bigger lesson here is words have energy. I sold a copy of my book to someone yesterday and I watched her read the back cover. I saw her reaction to reading, “she stood on the front porch of her childhood home and witnessed a tree fall on her father during a fast-moving thunderstorm.” Her gasp conveyed to me that the energy came across.

On the shock spectrum, I’m never interested in inducing a response that’s any bigger than a gasp.

I Thought I Was Symptom Free After 14 Years With PTSD

photo credit: Image 1:27

I developed PTSD in 1997. I thought I was symptom free since 2011 until I was working with an editor on my memoir. My editor also happens to have PTSD and has written about her experience in various magazines. She assisted me a lot in my publishing journey, but where she helped me the most was when she’d point out areas in my manuscript where she didn’t understand my actions at the time, or perhaps how I had described my behavior. It forced me to look within, to better understand why I did what I did, and the running theme that lingered with each section that didn’t resonate with her was unresolved anger.

I thought I was a positive person. I had no idea anger still lingered within me. In the weeks and months that followed my traumatic experience, I found myself screaming at strangers who “did me wrong,” which usually meant they accidentally overcharged me or they didn’t mean to bump into me. The anger would explode out of me as if it had been contained by a bubble and a simple mistake caused it to burst. It felt beyond my control. In hindsight, it was misdirected anger I had over what had happened and it lived just below the surface of my being. At the time, anything could have set it off.

It took me years to be able to get good at recognizing the feeling and to train myself to make a better choice. Eventually, I no longer experienced rage at mundane mistakes, and I thought I was on my way to leading a life with a positive mindset. Then my editor pointed out those sections of my book that didn’t make sense to her, which made me think deeper. To my surprise, I was still angry….angry over missed opportunities, angry that my early twenties weren’t fun, angry that I had to put dreams on hold for a long time.

I am so grateful my editor’s remarks directed me towards this one symptom that I hadn’t faced. There were moments along my journey to living peacefully with PTSD that looking back still irritated me a lot. There were people, not related to my trauma, I had villainized in my story without giving them any redeeming qualities. The truth is none of these people were bad to the core, yet I had depicted them as being awful with no redeeming qualities. Once I reflected deeper and imagined myself in their shoes, I was better able to meet them where they were at and recognize that my unresolved issues still caused me to look back at these memories with anger.

 As I rewrote sections of my memoir and began to own my behavior, I let go of the guilt and shame that came from acting and feeling the way that I did. As I released that burden, I noticed the positive outlook I thought I had got brighter. I saw more beauty each day. I felt more excited about my friend’s accomplishments. Colors seemed brighter, sounds more musical. I found myself visualizing new and exciting dreams for my future that made me want to get moving faster in the morning.

As peaceful as my life is now, I am amazed that I continue to discover more layers to my PTSD, and how releasing those seemingly subtle layers makes each day even better.

The Difference Between a Flashback and a Bad Memory

Photo by Prixel Creative

As a writer and public speaker who aims to bring hope to those with PTSD, people often share with me stories about their traumas and their effects. The sentence structure is typically the same; “This bad thing happened to me and then later on something related to that bad thing happened and it made me think about the first bad thing so now I have PTSD.” 

I follow up this statement with this, “That’s awful. Were you diagnosed by a mental health professional?”

“No,” is what typically follows.

Usually I suggest people do that, especially early on so that they can learn tools for coping with PTSD, something I wish I had done twenty years ago when my PTSD developed. I’m often met by resistance with this suggestion, which makes me wonder if perhaps they feel they don’t need help from a professional or what they’re experiencing is not that serious.

I think these kinds of conversations have arisen thanks to PTSD becoming familiar. Twenty years ago when my journey first started, PTSD existed, but it wasn’t talked about like it is today. Thanks in part to veterans needing assistance after returning from the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, plus the numerous natural and man made disasters that have occurred, our society has been forced to learn more about PTSD. In that need to know, information gets misunderstood and PTSD becomes as common as a buzzword.

I remember people posting on social media that they were experiencing PTSD after the 2016 presidential election. Then months later during the Super Bowl when the Patriots came from behind in a stunning turn of events, friends of mine posted how this was reminding them of the 2016 presidential election and they were experiencing PTSD from that night. Then an article with “PTSD” in the titled popped up on LinkedIn, though not a single sentence in her article substantiated anything related to experiencing PTSD. I’ve seen social media posts about being startled by something like a fire alarm and feeling PTSD as a result, and when I suggest to the person posting that they take care of themselves, often the reply I see is “well, I don’t really have PTSD….I suppose I shouldn’t have said that.”

News flash….none of these examples actually relate to PTSD. 

As my contribution to helping stop the misuse of PTSD, let me explain the difference between a flashback and a bad memory as simply as possible, which seems to be the basic misunderstanding of what PTSD is really all about. A flashback feels like you’re actually re-experiencing a traumatic event, whereas a bad memory is merely a reminder. Flashbacks are a symptom of PTSD. Bad memories are not.

I’ll give you an example of a bad memory that may appear like a flashback that I recently experienced. I was cleaning my windows at my house, and as I sprayed the cleaning solution on the window, I got a whiff of it’s odor. Immediately, I remembered washing outhouses at Girl Scout camp. I hadn’t thought about Girl Scout camp in decades. I loved Girl Scout camp, but one component of camp was a chore had to be done every day. Our group was divided into smaller groups and those smaller groups rotated doing these chores. Outhouse cleaning involved going to one of the outhouses at camp, cleaning the toilet seat, restocking the toilet paper and filling the water jugs and replacing the soap for hand washing. Because camp was during the summer, the smell was awful. As I sprayed my windows, it reminded me of the smell of the cleaning solution that we used to clean the toilets and memories of cleaning these outhouses came to mind. However, I still felt the same as I continued cleaning the windows.

Now allow me to explain a flashback. My worst one occurred during an unusual October snowstorm in New Jersey in 2011, fourteen years after my initial traumatic experience. My husband and I were sitting in our living room without power. I was reading a magazine using the last bit of light that refracted from the overcast sky. After about ten inches of thick, heavy snow fell around our house, I heard that sound that immediately took me back to my traumatic experience. It was the sound of a tree ripping apart. As a large tree that borders our property with our neighbor’s fell, I felt like I was back on the porch of my childhood home re-experiencing my traumatic event. I went into panic mode. My heart rate increased, my hands started to sweat and I barked at my husband a mile a minute. I also shook a little and I felt a constant undertone of anxiety that sometimes peaked for a week. Thankfully after seeing a therapist a few days later, that’s been the last flashback I’ve experienced. 

Does this help you better understand the difference?

Quiet

Photo courtesy of Brimstone Creative

During my last vacation, on day one I found myself sitting on the beach staring at the fronds on a nearby palm tree. I noticed their shape, the way they moved with the breeze, the light that illuminated between them. Even though there were so many other things I could have been doing that I love, such as swimming and snorkeling, all I wanted to do was stare at my surroundings. Though I wasn’t wearing a watch, I’d venture to say that that palm tree took my attention for at least 15 minutes.

Right up until we left for vacation, most of my days were rather noisy. Like most people probably do, I squeezed in a lot of work beforehand so that things wouldn’t be waiting for me when I returned. Normally, I have a work/life balance that keeps me feeling productive and joyful at the same time, which took me years to figure out and I’m so grateful that I have. Because many patients wanted to see me before I left, and because I wanted to accommodate them, my days were longer than usual. Add on top of that the effort I was putting into my writing career and other business ventures, plus packing, bill paying, cat boarding and all the other things I like to have in order before going away, I had significantly more tasks crammed into long days than normal. My strategy was to rest on the plane since I knew I’d be exhausted by that point.

I didn’t think those days were particularly noisy per se, because the tasks I was doing I do on a regular basis, but just not all at once. It wasn’t until I sat on that beach and stared at nature did I notice how much my mind was craving quiet. For months, I was looking forward to seeing the fish and coral as I snorkeled, which I like to do every day I’m away. In that moment, I wasn’t interested in doing that. I didn’t even want to think about anything, not even what activities I wanted to do while on vacation or what book I wanted to read. I didn’t even want to think about when I wanted to leave the beach to get ready for dinner. All I wanted to do was stare at nature and admire it’s beauty.

I remember when my PTSD was at its worst and my mind felt very noisy from flashbacks, anxiety and general life stressors that usually come from transitioning into adulthood. Because it was 1997 and society didn’t talk about PTSD like we do today, it never occurred to me that spending time outside looking at nature may be helpful.

So regardless of whether or not you have PTSD, if your mind is feeling noisy, I highly encourage you to go outside and sit in nature. Look at the things around you. What sounds do you hear? What does the fresh air feel like as you breathe it in? Are you able to do this without thinking random thoughts? If not, are those random thoughts helpful or distracting? If they’re distracting, can you commit to a consistent practice of observing nature and see if you can attain that quiet mind you’re seeking? 

An Open Letter to the Students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School

photo courtesy of Prixel Creative

It’s been nearly a month since February 14th, and I’m specifically choosing to refer to that day simply by its date and not what happened, not for the purpose of ignoring or diminishing what occurred that day but so that those of you who are struggling the most aren’t stressed by the words I write.

While I titled this as an open letter to the students of your high school, who the media have highlighted as the force that will finally produce the change in gun control laws that our country desperately needs, who celebrities and people of influence have praised for your courage, sharpness and articulation, truthfully this letter is not for all of you. This is for those of you who are afraid to go to sleep at night because you can’t imagine having another nightmare. This is for those of you who don’t feel like you can ever step foot in your school again. This is for those of you who feel ruled by your anxiety all the time. This is for those of you who are haunted by random flashbacks from that day. This is for those of you who might be wondering why February 14th is affecting you seemingly more than your fellow classmates and you wish it wasn’t. 

You….I’m writing this for you, and I want you to know that you will be okay.

How do I know this? I was 20 when I developed PTSD. I won’t get into my traumatic experience because you don’t need to read and be exposed to more trauma. I’m now 41, and I’m okay.

I’ve been okay since 2011, which means that I dealt with symptoms on and off for fourteen years. I have a lot of hope that you won’t suffer nearly as long as I did because our society knows a lot more about PTSD than it did back in 1997 when it started for me. As weird as this may sound, up to that point the only exposure I had about PTSD was watching Brenda Walsh develop it after being robbed on Beverly Hills, 90210. Seriously. The internet was in its infancy. There was no such thing as texting. The ability to spread information was not what it is today. Back then, people didn’t know about PTSD as much as we do today.

Today, we have so many different therapies, from counseling to riding horses to surfing to painting. There’s hiking excursions and yoga retreats. There’s connecting with others through social media and there’s MeetUp groups. And these are all designed to help not only people diagnosed with PTSD but also their family members, their friends and anyone else experiencing similar symptoms.

These resources came out of necessity, because people like me didn’t have these when we needed them. We created them ourselves. I had to find my way out of my disorder, and thankfully I did, but it didn’t have to take me fourteen years had I had the resources that are available now. It doesn’t have to be that way for you either.

With effort towards taking care of yourself as well as leaning on those who want to help you while they manage the balancing act of supporting your growing independence that comes with being your age, you can move through your symptoms. I get that it may seem like you can’t see see yourself having a day without symptoms. Right now, that’s normal. That will ease up.

As I’m hoping you can tell from my letter to you that I am here to help you, but undoubtedly I am not enough for what you need. When you are ready, there is a large community of people who understand what you’re feeling and what you’re going through. That community will help you when you are ready and will listen whenever you need to be heard. 

And we will never lose hope that your life will be amazing and created by your design, even if you can’t see it now and even if you want to run away from thinking about it.

We got you.

Symptom Free After the Storm

Last Friday, the area where I live experienced a bomb cyclone. As someone whose PTSD resulted from a storm, any kind of weather event with the word bomb in it doesn’t exactly sit well with me. I decided to stay home that day and keep myself occupied with things I enjoy doing, namely cooking, writing, puzzles and reading.

Initially, the forecast predicted a lot of rain and 1-3 inches of snow in the afternoon. When I looked out the window at 8:30am and saw that the snow was falling fast, thick and heavy, I knew Mother Nature had other plans.

I noticed how the snow stuck to trees and utility lines and it reminded me of the October snowstorm of 2011. That was the first major snowstorm Mike and I experienced in our home in Randolph, NJ, and naively we had been excited about hunkering down and watching the snow cling to the colorful leaves that remained on the trees. We ignored the warnings that snow on these leaves would lead to falling trees and limbs. That excitement quickly turned into fear, damage to our house and no power for nine days. I suffered the worst flashbacks and anxiety since my PTSD first developed in 1997. Those symptoms and others lingered until I saw my therapist. 

Up until that 2011 snowstorm, any kind of severe storm put me on edge, and many times I’d experience flashbacks to my traumatic experience. Thankfully, I managed to move through this past bomb cyclone completely symptom free. This was the first major storm where I was able to do this.

And though I was reminded of that October snowstorm, I didn’t feel like I was reliving it.

How did I get here? For years, I was extremely vigilant about storms and hollow trees. When springtime came, I’d think of it as “thunderstorm season” and that I just needed to get through the first few storms and I’d feel better, like riding a bike for the first time in a while. Even though I was highly functioning and very good at hiding my symptoms, the life I really wanted to live didn’t manifest until I put in the effort to get better, which didn’t happen until I started writing my book in April of 2013.

Before writing Peace with Trees, I could tell someone about my traumatic experience with shakiness in my voice. Having written my story over a dozen times, I can now stand in front of large groups and walk people through my trauma, my symptoms and how I moved through them.

And thanks to that effort, last Friday was just another day, even though we lost power and a tree fell on our property. Amazingly, Mike and I didn’t even know this tree fell until we looked out the window the next day. Had I not written my book, I’m certain my symptoms would have flared up significantly because of this storm.