The phoenix

2 Comments

I spent four hours lying in a tattoo studio yesterday. I’m turning 51 in a few weeks, and with each passing year, I notice I’m having more “F-it” moments. Like getting tattoos. Or getting divorced. Or changing jobs. Or speaking my mind. Or taking chances on myself. Or whatever else it is that I thought I was never allowed to do during my life.

This is my second go-around with my tattoo artist, Holly. I first sat with her in 2019, getting what I thought was the biggest tattoo ever. (Just wait till you see the one started yesterday!) Holly truly excels at what she does. 100% artistry. 20 years in the industry does that for a person.

What’s just as cool as her tattoos is the conversation we have during our sessions. Back in 2019, I was just starting out on my inner-child work, healing that generational trauma no one ever tells us about. She’d had her share of life shitting on her too, like we all do. That’s just what life does.

She tattooed a deer on me, which was just so symbolic of what I’d been through. And we talked about some deep stuff, which, as we all know, is what I do now. Go deep or go home. My philosophy is that we have all been so damn conditioned to not talk about the stuff we should be talking about. And when someone does talk about that stuff, it gives others permission to do the same. Holly’s on that same page…so we talk.

As of yesterday, I hadn’t seen her in over three years, and a HELL of a lot has happened, to all of us, in the past three years, right? I caught her up on all the progress I’d made in my life since then; continuing the work on myself, having more work published, hosting retreats with amazing women, taking on a new job, finding love…

And I caught her up on all the shit life dished out to me, too. Because that’s what life does.

And she had a LOT to fill me in on, too. Of course, she had to shut down during the pandemic. It’s a physically intimate setting; you’d be hard-pressed to find a tattoo artist who can ink someone from six feet away. And life handed her some shit, as well. But despite said shit, Holly being Holly, decided to have herself an “F-it” moment and start a cat rescue while the world was shut down. Thanks to Covid, the non-profit “Lucky Cats Rescue” was born in Watertown, MA. They provide “specialized foster homes to cats that need extra care and compassion and match cats with humans that need some love and light in dark times.”

These cats hit the jackpot. Follow Lucky Cats Rescue and see for yourself.

As the pandemic transitioned into our new normal, she started tattooing again, but life was different. Of course it was. This woman had survived as a small business owner when so many hadn’t. This woman had started a successful non-profit. This woman worked on healing the parts of her that needed healing and I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel the empowerment radiating from her as she worked. She shared her dreams with me. And, when you share your dreams out loud, they become a plan.

Holly’s plan is named “The Sanctuary.” It’s a place where people in need of healing, whether it’s trauma survivors, lonely elders or anyone who needs a place to just get away from it all and have a cat sit on their lap, can come and do just that. We hear so much about therapy dogs, or horses or even bunnies, but not so much about cats. And there’s a LOT of cat lovers out there, so why is this not a thing?

Actually, it was already a plan before she told me. She’s raised over 40k already! She needs help grant writing, and probably a million other things, but this woman is doing this, because it needs to be done. And the possibilities at The Sanctuary are endless. My mind was swirling with ideas, and still is. I’ll bet yours is, too…

She shared the story of a senior woman who was missing the love of having cats. She couldn’t make it up to the second floor of the tattoo studio to spend time with Holly’s cat, so she set up a small loveseat in the entryway downstairs for her. She comes to visit and lights up when this cat bounds down the stairs to see her. There’s a video of this on her IG page, and despite my not being a huge cat person, I just about teared up watching this in action. Her joy with this cat was so wholesome. And I swear, the cat enjoyed her equally as much! The woman laughed and smiled and exuded the emotional energy of a child. It was beautiful. She needed the joy of playing with this cat. As a nurse, I can completely understand the loneliness of being old and alone. I see it all the time. And as a trauma survivor and a trauma recovery coach, I also understand the need to have a place to go to where the shit of the world isn’t. We all need moments of joy.

Holly tattooed a phoenix on me yesterday. It symbolizes rising up anew from the ashes. It’s making something beautiful and strong out of something dark. It’s empowerment. It’s beauty. It’s strength. It’s me. It’s Holly. And it’s every dream and plan we have. Like the phoenix, we are unstoppable.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Nov. 12, 2022 | (lindaghill.com)

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

My nest is empty

19 Comments

My nest is empty.

This week felt like a marathon. I come from a long line of procrastinators, and that gene never skips a generation. My son spent his last night at home, and even morning, packing up his life for his freshman year at college.

I have two sons, 18 and 20. Even though I’d sent one off to school already, I still surprised myself with the bittersweet emotions. In no way was I a hot mess, but there was a lot going on inside me yesterday as we hugged goodbye in his dorm room. My eyes glistened throughout the day.

No one ever prepares us for the repeated grief we experience as our children grow. It happens in the blink of an eye, and in slow motion all at the same time. I wish there was a way to know when each part of their childhood was about to end, so we could savor those last moments of holding our hand, playing games together or hugging in public. We never realize when the last hand-holding is over until it’s not happening anymore. I think we all would savor that moment with gratitude, if we knew. I suppose their independence is proof we did our jobs correctly. My sons are prepared to handle the world on their own, at least these parts of it. Still, I miss the feeling of their tiny hands in mine. Enough to cause my heart to ache a bit.

My favorite moments of move-in day were when each child hugged me…as frequently as I needed them to. It’s true when they say that kids eventually come full circle. The days of avoiding mom’s love in public are over! My heart smiles.

Parenting is an amazing process of learning to let go of our attachments, over and over again, and feeling good about it when it happens. Easier said than done. I miss those little boys. It tugs on my heartstrings to realize the childhood season of their lives is over. But I know that having an empty nest means I did my job. These young men are embarking on their journeys, and oh, the places they will go!

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Aug. 28, 2021 | (lindaghill.com)

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Father’s day coming in hot

8 Comments

It’s Father’s Day weekend, and it’s coming in hot. Get ready for your social media pages to be flowing with photos of dads. Restaurants will be busy, car shows will be attended, grills will be smoking and fish will be getting caught. Many will spend tomorrow remembering fathers who are no longer here. Graves will be visited, stories will be told and hearts will ache a little, remembering days gone by.

There is nothing like the bond we have with our fathers.

This can be true even for those who don’t talk to their fathers anymore. It could be from setting a boundary with an abusive dad. Or, maybe it wasn’t so much a boundary being drawn but a distance which slowly grew further each year, without either one recognizing what was happening until it was too late. There could have been a big blow-out fight which resulted in hurt feelings, stubbornness and resentment. A controlling partner might be keeping you from him, or him from you. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to be a dad, and wasn’t there from the get-go. You could play the scapegoat role in a narcissistic family. He might have had demons that were just too strong, or died before you could reconcile… or maybe you don’t know why he’s not with you. The possibilities are as endless as the number of this weekend’s cookouts.

How can one feel a bond to a father who isn’t in their lives? Maybe some are holding on to memories of better times, while others might cling tightly to the idea of what a father should be or could have been. For some, the bond to resentment is all that is left of their father-child relationship.

So, to those who are swimming in the complex emotions surrounding this Father’s Day weekend: I see you. I see all of it. I see the tears. I see the heartache. I see the jealousy. I see the shame. But I also see the strength. I see the accomplishment. I see the empowerment. I see the love. I see the lovability.

That’s right. I see the lovability. Because your father’s inability to father is not a reflection of you. Not. One. Bit.

So go ahead and give yourself permission to feel the very normal feelings which occur in response to the very abnormal situation of an absent father. Whether it’s grief, anger, sadness, relief, joy or peace…feel it freely. Let yourself feel the things you need to feel, say the things you need to say and do the things you need to do in order to continue on your path of living your best damn life, despite what may or may not be missing from it.

You’ve got this.

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS June 19, 2021 | (lindaghill.com)

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Sky’s the limit

9 Comments

I am a nurse by trade, but most of my days are spent doing something much bigger.

I seek out miracles.

It sounds like a long-shot, but I am successful. Every day.

It’s 11am on a Saturday, and here’s today’s miracles…so far.

1. I woke up.

We are in the middle of a pandemic. Many people went to sleep last night praying for this miracle, and did not receive it.

2. I don’t have too much pain today.

As a person with chronic illness, even a mild reduction in pain is a blessing.

3. My children are happy (as far as I can tell) and safe.

Research statistics on addiction/bullying/foster children/suicide. Too many parents pray for this miracle which has been given to my family.

4. I am sharing company with a man who authentically shows up for me every single day.

I am only capable of receiving him because I learned how to show up for myself first. Anyone who follows along with my journey understands this miracle.

5. I have learned to allow space for opinions that differ from mine, at least for today.

To be able to craft a well-written response to a political comment, then delete it before posting because you remember that you don’t have to show up to every debate you are invited to is a miracle. At least for today…

It’s 11:45am. The sky’s the limit, my friends. What’s your miracle?

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Friday Reminder for #SoCS & #JusJoJan 2021 Daily Prompt – Jan. 9th

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

In the corner

14 Comments

“Nobody puts Baby in the corner.”

Indisputably the BEST line from Dirty Dancing. It’s goosebumps material. For the random outlier who hasn’t seen this movie, it’s the climax of the film. Baby is a teenager who is kept under her father’s thumb, living her life based on his expectations and, more so, his restraints. She was trained to live quietly and appropriately in the shadows. Patrick Swayze’s character is the dance instructor at their summer vacation retreat and stands up to her father using this line. They then dance the dance of a lifetime, her father realizes the error of his ways and everyone lives happily ever after.

I always end up feeling a surge of energy at that line, and more often than not, will clap or pump my fist in the air with some sort of verbal affirmation. “Damn STRAIGHT nobody does!” or, “Hell YES!” I can’t help it. It’s an automatic reflex. This scene is what fairy-tales are made of. What woman hasn’t daydreamed about an attractive, sensitive, talented man standing up for her? Regardless of gender, I think we can all relate to how good it feels to be noticed and validated. Knowing that someone thinks you are worth standing up for can bring a tear to your eye.

I spent the better part of a lifetime daydreaming about a scenario like Baby’s. I don’t need to anymore, because someone DID rescue me from the corner I’d been assigned to my entire life. That someone was me.

I’ve since used my validation skills like a superpower to rescue others from the corner. If the stars align, they use that experience as a stepping-stone to learning how to validate themselves. Or, at least, that’s what I hope happens. As a home care nurse, I have the unique opportunity to see my patient’s family dynamics in their natural habitat. It always fascinates me to see family members delegating their loved ones to sit silently in the corner of their lives, without even realizing that this is what they are doing. More often than not, it never even occurs to the person assigned to the corner that stepping into the center of the room is even a possibility.

Many dysfunctional family dynamics have been a part of my patient’s daily lives for decades and are way beyond a quick pep-talk from a nurse. One episode of validation is not going to substitute for marriage therapy. But, you’d be amazed at how effective a conversation can be, in regards to making someone feel worthy. Even if it’s a quick chat that normalizes an eighty year-old woman’s emotions. She may opt to continue sitting in the corner, and that’s absolutely her right. But, there’s nothing like seeing an old woman’s eyes sparkle because she finally feels “seen.”

Do you ever notice anyone delegated to the corner? Consider letting them know you can see them. You might like how it feels to have a superpower.

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s “Stream of Consciousness Saturday”

 

The Friday Reminder for #SoCS & #JusJoJan 2021 Daily Prompt – Jan. 2nd

 

Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Soul box

3 Comments

Can you remember how old you were when you started putting things in the box?

I was nine. My parents divorced and I put the uncomfortable feelings of rejection and fear and insecurity in the box. I held on to the shame, though. It’s too bad you can’t control which ones you stuff and which ones you allow to permeate through your entire sense of self.

And no, I had no words, at the age of nine,to describe what I just wrote. I had no idea the box existed. Or the emotions. I just knew I felt horrible. Bad. That’s how the box works. No one ever taught me otherwise. There’s no manual for the box.

I stuffed some more in there when I was thirteen. Similar emotions to the ones from four years earlier. I used to say thirteen’s trauma was way worse than nine’s, but it doesn’t really matter. That box weighs the same, no matter what you put in it. No point in comparing stories. A heavy box is a heavy box.

I tossed a towel over the box so it wouldn’t be staring me in the face. Stuffed it deep into my soul and kept myself busy with other things so I wouldn’t notice it. I always knew it was there, but if I made my life busy enough, or hazy enough, I could forget it was right inside me, even if for a little bit. You don’t notice things so much if you’re numb.

I wasn’t even aware I was putting things in there. Only in hindsight can I tell you about this. That’s just how it goes. I don’t make the rules. No manual, remember? It just is what it is.

It’s no different than putting a box in the corner of your living room and leaving it there for a few decades. Eventually, you become so used to it being there, you don’t even notice it anymore. It becomes a normalized part of the scenery.

Until something happens, like maybe you rearrange your furniture. Then, it sticks out like a sore thumb, and you say, “That ugly box has been sitting there forever; I’m getting rid of it.” If only it were that easy with the soul box.

I rearranged my life a few years ago, and boy, did I suddenly notice the box. I couldn’t believe I’d normalized the weight of that thing for almost my entire life. I had become so used to it, I almost forgot what was in it. No wonder I was so tired. Lugging that thing around, letting it determine my life.

I had to rip it to get it open. I clawed it open till my fingers bled while walking through a firestorm. No, not really. That’s just an analogy for the pain one feels when opening the soul box. Everything I had stuffed in there oozed out, like a can of crescent rolls. Can’t fit that stuff back in there once you open it. It was everywhere. Messy.

I let the contents go. Sounds so simple. It’s not. But it is. It’s both.

I’m so light now, I can fly. Soar, really.

Sometimes, I catch myself tucking something in there again. I think it’s human nature. The key is to be aware it exists. Know we all have the box, and it’s OK that we want to put things in there. Learn how to walk inside there and learn how to get out. Be comfortable with the mess, so you aren’t afraid to clean it out. And instead of normalizing the weight of it all, we need to learn how to normalize the lightness of an empty box. Normalize the release of emotions. Experience them, and let them go instead of ignoring them and stuffing them down. Society needs to stop normalizing the stuffing of the soul box.

Wait, did I just write the manual?

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Dec. 26/2020
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Magnet for the marginalized

9 Comments

I spent most of my younger years trying so hard to be cool. I desperately wanted to fit in, to feel normal. But, the harder I tried, the more different I felt. The other kids knew it. As much as I tried to keep my secret from them, and even from me, they knew it. I was different.

Life continued, with me watching from the sidelines. Marginalized. Things happened. Experiences shaped my perspective, and even changed the trajectory of my life. That’s what happens to all of us, our experiences become the filter through which we view life. Good experiences give you a great view. Bad experiences, well…

Eventually, I escaped the sidelines. Somehow, I fabricated a better version of me, and no one caught on that the old me was still inside. I finally appeared to fit in. No matter that it didn’t feel that way to me. I was fine with the illusion.

Fast forward a few decades: I dropped the illusion and uncovered the real me. I put in a shit ton of work on her, and didn’t care about fitting in anymore. Funny, because that’s when I developed the most authentic relationships of my life. Go figure.

Of course, we all know that letting my light shine was a bit too much for some, so again, I was marginalized. It stung. But that’s ok. I’d outgrown them, anyway. It’s just a sad story, now.

Revealing the real Jami meant she could do anything she wanted. That’s what authenticity is, right? On top of the world. Badass mom. Best friend. Superstar nurse. The sky’s the limit.

But what I found I wanted was to connect with people who were like the old me. Or, the current me, depending on who you are asking. The marginalized. I was drawn to them like a magnet. Volunteering for the most difficult to love patients in my work life. Connecting with lost souls, hoping my offering of validation would allow them to be seen.

People just want to be seen, without having to earn it.

I spent a good year caring for a patient named Bill. No one else wanted to. His house was dirty. He was dirty. He didn’t care. Well, he didn’t seem to. He swore at most of the nurses and turned a lot of them away. He was the kind of guy most would roll their eyes at when they got assigned to him. But, for some reason, he liked me. And even though he never did anything I instructed him to do, I enjoyed taking care of him. I pretended his house wasn’t a mess. I pretended he wasn’t a mess. Or more so, I overlooked those things. They didn’t define who he was. They were just symptoms of something else. Like a fever.

I looked him in the eye when we spoke. I complemented him on his taste in music. I laughed at his jokes. I didn’t rush through our visits. I treated him like a human being, not a burden. He felt seen.

I wasn’t pretending. I did see him. No one will ever feel unseen around me, because I know what it’s like to be invisible. I may be a badass mom and a superstar nurse, but I identify as marginalized. The people who made me feel this way did it to punish me, but the joke’s on them. It’s actually a gift. It keeps me humble while I change the world, one little interaction at a time.

This post was written in response to Linda G Hills Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Dec. 19/2020
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Maximizing by minimizing

16 Comments

2020. This was supposed to be THE year. The year I held my first retreat. The year I gave a TED Talk. The year I graduated from college at the age of 48 and finally took all the little side gigs I’d been doing, like writing and speaking and recording my podcast, and maximized them into something big. I remember telling my friends, referring to my laser-sharp focus on my goals, “2020 is the year for clarity!”

Instead, Covid happened. Everything was postponed. My retreat, my TED Talk, my speaking engagements, my podcast. Luckily, I DID graduate. And instead of doing those things, I kept working. Unlike most of the world, I worked even more during the height of the pandemic. I’m a nurse, so…

My last post on here was in April. I suppose that’s the side effect of nursing during a pandemic. The post was me writing about all the emotionally reactive feelings I was having about the virus, and people’s responses to the pandemic. Kind of like everyone else in the country, I was scared, and people were pissing me off. I suppose triggered is the more correct way to say it. We are all human.

I’m not as reactive anymore. I think if you do something enough, even if it’s scary, you get used to it. Complacent, even. I’m at the point now where I feel like “you do you, I’ll do me,” and that seems to get me through it. Through the pandemic, through the election, through my own personal battles.

I’ve been maximizing my time, and my life, by minimizing what I have to do. This includes tasks as well as thoughts. I’ve started minimizing my personal belongings. I became certified to teach meditation. I say “no” to things I don’t want to do. I’m enjoying every bit of conversation with my teenage boys while they are home. I’ve lost my FOMO (“Fear Of Missing Out). I don’t try to change people’s minds anymore. Well, not as often. I’ve come close to mastering the art of surrender. I know gratitude. I don’t waste my time arguing anymore, though I will speak my truth. Someone dulls my sparkle? I move on. Well, most of the time, at least. Remember, I’m human.

You are, too. So, cut yourself some slack. Even if you think you don’t deserve it.

Turns out, 2020 IS the year. In the midst of loss, tragedy and fear, I’ve found joy, peace and accomplishment. And love. Anyone who has followed my blog will understand my struggle with love. I’m amazed at how this year has been a joy for me, despite the tragedies. Like how life grows new after everything’s been burned down by a forest fire. The phoenix rising from the ashes. A mosaic made from broken tile. The Japanese art of Kintsugi, which fills cracks with gold, to make something broken beautiful. You get the gist.

I’ve seen neighbors helping neighbors. Communities uniting to support each other. People shopping local. First responders kicking ass. Teachers stepping up, despite being scared. Single acts of kindness changing someone’s entire perspective on life. The down-time has allowed for connections which we are usually too busy for. These are everyday miracles. It’s time to start noticing them. 2020 is still the year of clarity.

Beauty and joy are everywhere, even in the middle of a pandemic. Sometimes, you just need to minimize your thoughts, and everyone else’s, in order to maximize what’s right in front of you. Clarity. It’s yours for the taking. And for the giving.

What’s your miracle today?

This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s “Stream of Consciousness Saturday”

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Dec. 12/2020
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

A joint effort

25 Comments

Nursing is different now.

I am a Registered Nurse. 16 years now, and I’ve seen a LOT of things. I’ve shared space and air with tuberculosis, swine flu, MRSA, scabies and bedbugs. I’ve watched life enter this world, and one hundred times over, I’ve watched life exit. Strangely enough, there is beauty in both of those things, sometimes. If it’s done correctly.

Being a nurse right now is different than anything I’ve ever experienced. Not just because this virus is something so new, something that doesn’t contain anything that we’ve ever been exposed to before which causes us all to be susceptible to it. Not just because it has the capacity to collapse health care systems due to everyone getting it at once. Not just because it’s killing our economy. Not just because it’s killing health care workers. Not just because our government is so unprepared and lacking in providing us with what we need to be safe. Not just because it’s killing multiple members of the same families. Not just because so many people have to die alone… that is not doing it correctly. There is no beauty in that kind of death.

Not just because I’m a nurse with an underlying condition which causes my immune system to be compromised. Not just because I have to take my shoes off outside my home before I come in, then disinfect everything I touch after work so I don’t infect my children. Not just because I worked the first few weeks of this pandemic with no mask at all, entering homes in which I have zero control of who comes and goes, or the cleanliness of it, or who is answering honestly when I ask if they’ve been in contact with someone who carries the virus. Not just because I now wear the same single-use cotton surgical mask for 6 patients, and have a donated N95 that will not fit properly, but it’s better than nothing. Not just because even though I screen patients for symptoms before I enter their homes, I still have to cross my fingers that they don’t come down with a fever the NEXT day. Not just because I became sick this week, and spent 3 days wondering if I had caught it, despite my hands being cracked from so much washing. And not just because the nasal swab for Covid 19 is so uncomfortable, it feels like they are almost touching your brain.

What’s most different about being a nurse right now is that there are people out there who don’t believe that any of what I said is as bad as I say it is. There are still people out there who are against fighting this thing. Concerned about their rights being taken away by not being able to go to the beach when they want. Thinking it’s a government conspiracy designed to take down capitalism. Or a conspiracy just to control us for whatever reason. There’s still people out there who are angry that Covid deaths are being reported in the news. They call it fear mongering. I’ve seen people, even a rural doctor in Montana, accuse doctors of falsely writing down Covid 19 as cause of death on death certificates. Many people wonder why we aren’t focusing on the people who recover, and only reporting those infected or the deaths. Some even hint around that the urban areas affected the most by this virus are hurting so badly because their city is “dirty”, without a single comment in regards to the sadness of such loss of life.

Listen, I get it. Well, part of it. We are ALL freaked out by this. We are ALL negatively affected by this. And we ALL respond differently. Because we are ALL human. This crisis has resulted in a lot of fear. Some fear dying. Some fear poverty. Some fear isolation. Some fear loss of freedom. I’m sure there’s a lot more fears that I’m blissfully unaware of.

But… as a nurse, as a person who spends almost every day NOT socially distancing from the sick people in my community, as someone who has held the hands of dying people for over 16 years…it feels like a slap in the face to hear and read these types of comments. Not just to me and the other health care professionals who feel like they are putting their own lives in jeopardy, but for the families of those who have lost their lives to this virus. Would you ever complain about the news reporting the number of drunk driving fatalities? How crazy would it be to hear someone report how many people LIVED after drinking and driving? Should we stop reporting how many women die from breast cancer and only focus on the one’s who don’t? These people aren’t saying “stop trying to scare me with all this mammogram talk…it’s fear-mongering.” They are only saying it about this. Because it’s affecting their lives and they are afraid. Of course we are trying to scare you. This thing can kill you, and we have no proven treatment, no proven prevention, no vaccine, no medication and no immunity. The only thing we can do right now is what we are doing… isolating. And that’s likely why the numbers are lower than projected, because the isolating is somewhat working. Yes, “flattening the curve” prolongs the length we have this danger, but that’s the point. Hopefully, it will save more lives that way.

This is a joint effort.

I am well aware that we all respond differently to the same scenario, based on our perceptions. Based on our experiences. That’s our filter. It’s our lens of life. It’s what separates us from robots. I’m all for having your own opinion. I’m all for freedom of speech. And I completely understand what it means to be emotionally reactive to a stressful event. I’ve found myself behaving that way just this week, even though being reactive is something I’ve intentionally been working on ridding myself of for quite a few years now. Hey, I’m human, too. But not once have I said that people losing their income, economy statistics, and businesses closing… is falsely exaggerated. I have never said it’s “no big deal” that someone lost their job.  Just because I’m still getting paid, doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting. And though I do put life above all else, it does not mean I don’t have compassion for what you are going through. But, I do think the potential for financial recovery is there, whereas there is no recovery from dying.

So, to the people I’m referencing… just stop it. Stop telling me you have no concern for me or my family, or my colleagues or their families, or my patients or their families. Stop telling me you don’t care about people who live in urban areas, who have underlying conditions, who live in countries with socialized medicine, who are old and might die anyway. No one is disposable. No one.

People who have lost someone they love, are reading what you say. I can’t even imagine how that makes them feel. Above all else, this crisis is revealing the true capacity of empathy within our society. And the majority of it, has been heartwarming. Donations, complying with social isolation, reaching out to strangers with offers of help. Offering online services, for free, just to help people mentally cope with the isolation. Melissa Etheridge plays a free concert for us on Facebook every single day. I’ve had members of the community thank me for my service, like I’m in the military. It blows my mind. There’s so much good-will in our society. It makes my heart smile. So, these outliers who I’ve described, really shouldn’t affect me the way they have, but they do. I’m working on not letting them affect me, and just focusing on the positive, on doing my job, on keeping my family and community safe. Even the nay-sayers. And though I’ve exchanged some difficult words and had to put some people outside of my circle this week, I’ll still send positive energy their way, and pray that no one in their lives gets harmed from this virus. I will not say “I told you so.”  Because no one is disposable. I just have to do it from afar. That’s how I take care of myself. Nurses need care, too.

Yes, nursing is different now.

This post was written in response to Linda G Hill’s SOCS

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS April 11/2020
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail

Unpacking my soul

6 Comments

I’m one of those people who goes on vacation and doesn’t unpack their suitcase until the next trip. Or, until something essential is needed from the bag. I still haven’t unpacked two of my beach bags from last summer. At this point, we are getting close enough to the next summer, so why bother? Is it laziness? Maybe. Or maybe it’s efficiency. Maybe I’m just prioritizing. Some unpacking is more important than others. Like unpacking parts of my life that don’t belong with me anymore.

Have you ever unpacked your soul? I have. I didn’t realize how much baggage a person could hold on to throughout a lifetime, until I started unpacking. Emotions, resentments, unhealed childhood wounds, negative thought patterns, toxic relationships (friends OR family who just can’t seem to lift you up)…the list goes on and on. The soul is a hell of a big suitcase.

Unpacking your soul isn’t for the weak. You are so accustomed to the weight of it all, the heaviness becomes normalized. It’s difficult to let go, even when you can clearly see that what you’re holding on to, isn’t yours to hold. Prying your fingers open after a lifetime of gripping is painful, like they are breaking, so most of us change our minds and keep holding on, because carrying the weight around is a familiar pain that we are used to. Who wants to feel like they are breaking, just to let something go? Trust me…YOU do! I’ll tell ya… once you make the break, the lightness of it all is heavenly. Heavenly.

I’ve been writing in this blog for over three years now. Processing. Growing. Healing. Taking two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes, a dozen steps back. Or sideways. I’ve been working out my “stuff” in here. Trying to figure it out. Trying to rewire. Trying to learn how to let go, let be. Sometimes, just trying without knowing what I was trying for, but doing it anyway. Sometimes, giving up. But always starting again.

I haven’t “had” to write in here too much lately. Do you know why? Because, I did it.

I figured it out.

The lightness of it all is most definitely heavenly. I’ve unpacked almost all of it. I’m not sure we are ever truly “done” with the unpacking… the healing. I don’t even think that’s the end goal, after all. I think our purpose for being here is to understand that the goal is to simply be aware enough to know what needs unpacking. Then, being brave enough to try.

I’ve unpacked a lot, and even though I’m not completely empty of it all, I’ve unpacked “enough.” Enough to allow peace into my life. To allow happiness into my life. To allow LOVE into my life. This is more than enough. My soul is smiling now. I am light.

Do you feel heavy, in places? Is your soul smiling? What do YOU need to unpack?

This post was written in response to Linda G Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday. It’s funny, because I just recently realized I’ve been calling it Stream of “Social” Consciousness Saturday for years now. I suppose that’s fitting for most of what I write.

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Feb. 8/2020
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedinmail
%d bloggers like this: