Tag Archives: compassion

The Grass Grows Where You Water It

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Filed under Goals, Meditation/Mindfulness

I saw this saying, “The grass grows where you water it,” and it speaks to how I’m feeling today.

It’s May 1st, and I usually would have already had my monthly goals mapped out in my mind (and on paper). But not this month. I’ve been busy living, so that’s a good thing! I’m loving my writing class, and I’ve chosen to spend my extra time soaking up all that goodness. I also went on a blogging binge last week and posted something Monday through Friday. Whew!

But (I know, there shouldn’t always be a but)…I’m having trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. In February, I did great when I followed Sharon Salzberg’s 28-day meditation challenge. In March, I focused more on my physical health, managing my chronic pain, and have made some significant diet changes (you know, I reluctantly joined the free-range chicken/organic produce/supplement-popping club). In April, I immersed myself in the Alchemy writing class. In the meantime, I’ve let the meditation slide, although I’m managing to keep the dietary changes intact. I’ve found that when I focus my attention, I’m quite capable of making changes in my life. Yet I have trouble maintaining the changes, especially while trying to introduce new things, as well.

photo by Omega Man, Flickr CC

Does anyone know how to keep everything going?  I think I need one of those really long soaker hoses, so I can keep everything watered at once.

Although I don’t have my May goals to share with you, I want to tell you this. I’m being much more self-compassionate.  I sensed it and felt it, but I wanted proof. I retook the self-compassion test and compared it to the results when I began this project (you can find the test here). My scores show I’ve made significant strides in each of the areas measured. I’m really grateful and excited about that!

I’m not even too worried about not having any formal goals this month. I’ll probably start meditating again, because as Sharon Salzberg says, you can always begin again. I don’t even feel guilty (HUGE change) for not meditating. That’s just the way it’s happened. I’ll keep working on my health and exploring ways to manage my pain. I’ll definitely keep writing. And a huge thank you to everyone who keeps reading The Self-Compassion Project. Happy May Day!

photo by Greg Markway

Coping with Chronic Illness…Compassionately

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Filed under Health, Meditation/Mindfulness

Although Toni Bernhard’s book is called How to be Sick, I found it a lovely and poignant read on how to live, regardless of one’s health status.

Toni was a law professor at the University of California–Davis when she became ill on a trip to Paris in 2001. At the time, she was diagnosed with an acute viral infection–“the Parisian flu” they called it. Unfortunately, she never got better. Amazingly, she wrote How to be Sick from her bed using a laptop. The book won the 2011 Gold Nautilus Book Award in Self-Help/Psychology and was named one of the best books of 2010 by Spirituality and Practice.

Toni has not recovered her health, but her spirit remains strong. She writes regularly for Psychology Today and generously donates her time and wisdom. I was so excited when she graciously agreed to be interviewed for my blog.

When do you accept your pain or health condition as is, and when do you keep trying new approaches?

In my opinion, we have to do both. Acceptance is not the same as indifference or resignation, which carry aversion with them. Acceptance to me is an opening of the heart to the difficulties we face and being able to say, “This is how things are right now” even if “how things are” is difficult. I try to accept how I am AND continue to pursue new treatments. But I’ve learned a lot in the past eleven years about having to pick and choose skillfully among those treatments.

First, of course is the cost. I’ve spent so much money on failed treatments that it’s been a strain on our budget. At the point when the strain outweighs any benefit I can foresee, I stop (I did this recently with the third Chinese herbalist, even though he’s one of the most respected herbalists in the world).

Second, I’ve had to learn to not just jump at every treatment option, but think about it carefully and see if it’s at all reasonable. I used to try everything. Now, I’m very careful.

So, you have to find a middle way — but to me, acceptance of how you are now AND continuing to pursue treatments are not in conflict with each other.

I have also gone through periods where I’m just too exhausted to keep an eye out for treatments. I just retreat, as if I’m in hibernation, and that seems to be good for me sometimes too.

How do you have self-compassion when you’re feeling sick and tired?

I always tell people that the single most important thing they can do is to be kind to themselves. I look at it this way. We control so little in our lives, but the one thing we can control is how we treat ourselves. I see no reason for us not to be as kind and gentle with ourselves as we can be. It’s not our fault that we have health problems. We’re in bodies and they get sick and injured. It will happen to everyone. This is how it’s happening to us. I’ve had so many people write to me and say the single most important thing they got out of my book was to give up the self-blame and forgive themselves for being sick or in pain. Many people have said they didn’t even realize they hadn’t forgiven themselves until they read How to Be Sick. Those emails always touch me so much — just to know I’ve been of help to them.

I really think it helps to speak to yourself with words of self-compassion — to find just the right words for the moment: “It so hard to be sick yet another day.” I said to my husband yesterday, “I’m sick of being sick.” But, instead of “feeding” that thought with stories I spin: “I’ll never get well.” “I’ve been cheated of eleven years of my life,” I’ve learned to just let myself feel “sick of being sick” and speak to myself kindly about it. It’s natural for that emotion to arise so I try not to make it stronger by feeling it with worse-case-scenario stories. Instead, I’m just gentle with myself until the emotion passes — as it will.

How do you deal with uncertainty and unpredictability that goes along with chronic illness?

I use what I call “weather practice,” which I describe in my book. It was inspired by the movie, The Weather Man, which takes us inside the meteorologist’s craft where we see that the weather is unpredictable and ever changing. I use this as a metaphor for life. It helps me hold painful physical symptoms and blue moods more lightly. I can’t predict when they’ll arise but I know for sure that they’re just blowing through, like the wind. It makes it easier to wait them out. It applies to what happened yesterday when I suddenly got that “sick of being sick” feeling. I wasn’t expecting it to descend on me but it did. So I let it be there, knowing that it was an arising and passing mood. Sometimes, I do something particularly nice for myself — put on a movie — until the mood passes.

I also like to remind myself that uncertainty and unpredictability can work in my favor. We assume they’ll be a source of stress, but they could also mean that something unanticipated but wonderful is just around the corner. So, I like to remember that these two can be our friends.

How do you pace yourself (not doing too much on good days, then paying for it later)?

Now you’re asking about something I’m not very good at doing. I get off the hook a bit because my symptoms are pretty consistent from day to day — relentless you could call them. So for me, it’s not a question of overdoing it on a good day v. a bad day, but of overdoing it when something I enjoy is going on — like my son and his family coming up for the day from Berkeley. I try to pace myself but usually overdo it anyway. Then what do I do? Self-compassion again! There are some limits to which I can’t stretch myself, but visiting in the living room for longer than I should is one of them. And so I do it, and accept that paying the consequence was worth it.

How do you deal with anger?

I’ve been angry about my inability to be with my family more than I can. Sometimes, I do have to leave the living room and it’s hard to listen from the bedroom to all the laughter and good times I’m missing. But I’ve learned that getting angry doesn’t get me anywhere. It certainly doesn’t allow me to visit longer. All it does is increase our suffering.

Anger will arise. Don’t be upset with yourself for getting angry. It’s a natural response to your situation. The question is, how can you respond skillfully to it so as to minimize the suffering it causes. Here’s what I do. I note that it’s there, often by labeling it, “Feeling angry” or “This is what anger feels like.” I don’t get angry at myself for being angry — that’s just a judgment that makes the anger worse. In fact, I try to treat it like a guest I know well — an uninvited one perhaps, but still a guest. I find if I do this, it doesn’t fester and grow stronger. Then I look for what’s behind the anger. Almost always it’s some form of desire — I’m not getting what I want or I’m getting what I don’t want. It’s that “want/don’t want” I refer to in the book.

Just finding the desire that’s the source of the anger often loosens its grip on me, because I know, deep down, that we simply can’t fulfill all our desires and that if I continue to be angry about it, it will only make me more miserable and, in the end, won’t get me what I want. So, with this awareness that anger is present and that it’s because of a desire I can’t fulfill, I just let it be. Just sit with it. Just let it be until it gradually changes, weakens, and passes out of my mind. This is one of the ways in which the law of impermanence can be our friend!

Again, I’m so thankful to Toni for sharing her wisdom.  

To soak up more of Toni’s inspiration, click here.

There’s Always More to Say

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Filed under Writing

I highly recommend this course!

I’m taking an online writing class called Alchemy: The Art and Craft of Writing. The course is full of juicy stuff, but today I’m going to share what I wrote in response to a “writing prompt” (you write anything in response to a phrase provided by the teacher). The best part comes at the end with my teacher’s comments.

The prompt:What I want to say…

What I want to say is that I’m sad for myself how I turn something that was supposed to be “for me” (this writing class) into something that’s not fun (Oh yeah, why am I surprised? I’m the person who skipped the chapter on fun in The Happiness Project…) As I was reading part of the lesson this afternoon, I began to cry. (Again, why does this surprise me? I seem to have no shortage of tears.) My thoughts go like this: Why am I even taking this class? There is already so much great writing out there. The world doesn’t need another blog, or even another book. We’re already on information overload. Everything I might say has probably been said before.  I can argue with myself as I’m writing this, but the fact is, my initial reaction to many things is one of pessimism, of defeat. It’s always one of why I shouldn’t be doing something. I shouldn’t be taking this class because it’s frivolous. I shouldn’t be typing at the computer when it increases my pain level. I should be making dinner for my husband who works full-time and provides us health insurance. I should be getting more out of the class. I’m not putting enough into it. I should be commenting on other people’s writing more. This is B.S. (I don’t really cuss, but maybe I’ll start someday). I don’t really think these things are true. It’s just so automatic to go down this path. The grooves in my brain are deep. In a second I go from a cheery, “Oh, I’ll look at the computer to see what’s going on with my writing course today” to a tearful “I’m no good. I’m in pain. I shouldn’t be doing this right now.” No wonder the last therapist I saw asked me in the first ten minutes why I wasn’t on a mood stabilizer! Interesting how this week is on Using Your Voice and I’m trying to silence mine. I’m going to post this now without editing or looking back, but I think (No, I know) there’s more to be said.

My teacher, Jenna McGuiggan, wrote this in response: 

Barb, well I do cuss, so let me help you out for a minute: BULL SHIT to those naysayer gremlins in your head! (I’m really truly hoping you laugh here and are not offended.)

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings here. I understand so very well the feeling of defeat that there’s nothing new under the sun. (Even the author of Ecclesiastes in the Old Testament of the Bible was bemoaning that fact!) And yet… there is only one of me. And only one of you. And no one sees the world like I do, or like you do. People don’t stop reading books or essays or blog posts, even if it’s all been said before in one way or another. And we shouldn’t stop writing, because until we write it, it hasn’t been said by us, in our unique way. Besides, writing is for you as much as for other people. I want people to read what I write, and I hope that they like it or are touched by it in some way, but I’ll always write, even if no one reads it. I write because it’s how I make sense of the world. I write because it makes me feel whole and more solid. I write because there is pleasure in having written.

May you acknowledge your pain and fear and doubt, and may you find a way to move alongside it, through it, and past it. I know you can.

Acupuncture Barbie

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Filed under Alternative/Complimentary Medicine

photo by Deborah Leigh via Flickr

As I wrote about in a previous post, Befriending the Body, I’ve experienced pain on a daily basis for many years now. I’ve tried all the conventional approaches: physical therapy, steroid injections, and two back surgeries. For the most part, I’ve made peace with the pain and just assumed it would be something I would deal with forever. Yet there was always a nagging voice inside me that said I owed it to myself to explore more options.

I’d read some research on acupuncture, and there seems to be some scientific basis to support its use in chronic pain. Although I live in a fairly small town, I’d heard about a physician here who had trained with Dr. Andrew Weil, a well-known alternative medicine “guru” and best-selling author of many books on wellness. One of my friends had been to Dr. Christopher Link, and had taken her daughter to see him, too.  She gave Dr. Link rave reviews, and I decided it was worth a try. What did I have to lose?

Once I decided to go ahead, I waited four months to get a “new patient appointment.” I figured he must be good as it took so long to get in.  I’ve now seen him three times, and there are many aspects to my treatment plan that I’ll write about in other posts. I had my first acupuncture treatment last week, so that’s the subject for the day.

First of all, I had a mini-breakdown the few days leading up to the treatment. I worried about the financial aspect. This is all going to be an out-of-pocket expense. Am I going to be wasting my money? Mostly I worried it would be just plain weird. I had done some more research and found some people had emotional reactions to acupuncture. I talked to my friend about it and she did say that acupuncture can “release a lot of energy.” That didn’t sound like a good thing. When I hear stuff about “energy work” I get turned off. I also didn’t like thinking about the very real possibility that I’d cry somewhere along the line. Ugh.

I had worked myself up into such a state, I called to cancel the appointment, but the receptionist talked me out of it.

The night before my appointment, I meditated. An image came to mind of a picture I have hanging in my office. It has a quote on it that says: “Sometimes your only form of transportation is a leap of faith.” I don’t readily trust doctors, but I took this as a sign that I should give Dr. Link the benefit of the doubt.

At my appointment, he first came in and asked how I was doing. I offered a brief “okay” before I launched into a list of questions. I think I was mostly trying to prolong things. I thought maybe we’d run out of time. I even suggested that he was probably running late and we could do the acupuncture at my next appointment! Silly me 🙂 Finally, I asked, “Do I have to believe this will work for it to work?” He said definitely not, and then he told me about research studies with animals that proved expectations had nothing to do with acupuncture’s effects.  He shared with me that he had been skeptical about acupuncture at first, too, and he added that he didn’t know for sure whether acupuncture would help me.  I appreciated his honesty.

The actual treatment wasn’t too bad. As always, my anxiety ahead of time is much worse that the actual event. I didn’t want to look at the needles, but I’m pretty sure he put at least two in my ear and I’d say about ten in my arm and hand. Then a TENS unit was hooked up to the needles, and a heat unit was directed to my arm. I felt like I was a ham being baked.

Next a nurse put a call button in my hand. I asked, “What is this for?” She said, “To call if you need anything.” What? I was going to be left? I was doing okay until this point. I guess I had missed the part that the needles are left in you for a period of time. I was going to be in a room all by myself with needles buzzing away in my arm. The nurse asked if  I wanted some music, and I said no (music would be more likely to make me cry). I did ask for a blanket for my feet, which were freezing cold. I was proud of myself for being assertive and asking for the blanket.

During the treatment, I tried to do some breathing meditation. I imagined Sharon Salzberg’s voice from my meditation CDs telling me to simply notice the breath. I didn’t have to change anything–no need to try to breathe slowly or deeply. Just follow the breath in its natural state.  At times my attention was drawn to various points in my arm where the needles were. There was one place close to my armpit that was a little uncomfortable. Otherwise, there was no discomfort–mostly just  strange vibration sensations. I heard a timer go off and the nurse came back in. I imagined I was cooked to perfection. She said I looked flushed. She said Dr. Link had told her that was a good indicator that your nervous system was actually being reached. I didn’t say the room was just hot and stuffy, but that’s what I was thinking. She told me I could get off the table, but I felt a little bit paralyzed or something. She must have noticed an odd look on my face, and she said to take my time, that some people feel a little dizzy afterward. When I was telling Greg about it, he said, You were probably really relaxed.” I informed him that I was definitely not relaxed! (This was serious, scary stuff.)

I made it to the front window, paid for the treatment, and got instructions to drink a lot of water, and take it easy.

I went home and looked at myself in the mirror. Could I see any marks where the needles had been? Did I still look flushed? No, and no.

It was hard not to evaluate whether anything had happened. As pessimistic as I usually am, I actually thought I felt “more space” in my shoulder area. This experience of “more space” extended down my arm into my hand, and lasted all that day and the next day, too. I even forgot to take my Extra Strength Tylenol, which I take religiously.

Now if I could have only ended this blog post here.

A few days after that, the pain was back. I thought to myself, “Well, yeah, the first day I stayed off the computer–one thing I know aggravates my pain. Of course I felt better.” Even the second day, I was still trying to do less on the computer. “Maybe I just need to stop typing so much, then I wouldn’t need this stupid acupuncture!”

I didn’t expect one treatment to magically cure me. I’m going to keep going, at least for a little while. Dr. Link said we’d be able to evaluate after about 4 treatments what kind of response I was having. And I don’t know if it’s related, but I have slept really soundly since the acupuncture treatment.

As I’ve thought about this whole acupuncture thing, it dawned on me that it’s really not relevant whether it “works” or not. The point of this self-compassion project is to learn to be gentle with myself, regardless of the circumstance. Sure, it would be great to not be in pain all the time. But it’s not mandatory for happiness. Just two and a half months into this “project” and I already feel better equipped to deal with whatever life brings. Pain or no pain. It’s all good.

This, too.

Posted
Filed under Meditation/Mindfulness, Self-Acceptance

From Pinterest

I’d about worked myself into a full-blown worry attack. There are a lot of things up in the air right now in which timing is key and I don’t have control of many of the variables. I felt crabby, and I craved a big bowl of New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream. My inner rebel kicked in and my self-talk sounded something like this: “I should meditate, but I don’t want to meditate. I’m sad the 28-day Meditation Challenge with Sharon Salzberg is over, and I probably won’t be able to keep the practice going on my own. Who am I kidding? I’m not the meditating type!”

Before I could go much further (as if that wasn’t far enough), the words popped into my mind, “This, too.”* Now where did that come from? The words came to me in a quiet, kind tone of voice, unlike the critical tone I’m so accustomed to hearing in my head. I can’t believe it. Only a month of meditating and I can’t even indulge in a good worry episode? This was new for me. I felt a gentleness with myself that hadn’t been there before. My worries were still there, but I felt some space…a little more room to maneuver. The quiet voice continued:

Things end. This, too.

Things aren’t in my control. This, too.

I don’t want to do things, even when they’re good for me. This, too.

I worry. This, too.

I laid down on the couch and took some deliberate deep breaths. I said some lovingkindness phrases for myself and others. And then I took a nap.

This, too.

*I’m sure I’ve heard the phrase “This, too” somewhere. I’m getting paranoid that with all the reading I’m doing, that others’ words are seeping into my consciousness and I don’t know to whom to attribute them. Whoever came up with this phrase, thank you. It’s a really good phrase.

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Unique and the Same

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Filed under Meditation/Mindfulness, Therapy

I’ve had ideas swirling in my head all day. My thoughts seem random, yet connected. I’m not sure how to express them in a coherent fashion, yet I feel compelled to write.

I was talking to Greg about how sometimes I want to feel unique and special.  And yet, at other times, I want to feel I’m not alone. This dilemma makes me recall when I’ve been in therapy and the therapist tries to “normalize” my experience by saying, “I think everyone feels that way.” Sometimes this can feel validating, and at other times, it feels dismissive. Why is this?

Greg said it reminded him of a poster he once saw that says: “Remember that you are unique, just like everyone else.”

After this philosophical discussion, we ate dinner, not really talking. Thank goodness I’m married to another introvert who is comfortable with silence.

I still couldn’t figure out what I wanted to write, so I went downstairs to walk on the treadmill. I watch DVDs while I’m walking, and I’m on Season 2 of Mad Men. In the episode I was watching, Don Draper is having marital problems, and he is visiting with an old friend who offers some sage advice: “The only thing keeping you from happiness is the belief that you are alone.” What a great line! I thought this was surely a sign I needed to go upstairs and get busy writing.

Still, nothing came. I decided to do my meditation practice for the day.

This is week 4 of Sharon Salzberg’s Meditation Month and the focus is on Lovingkindness meditation. In this type of meditation, you focus not on your breath, but on certain phrases such as: May I be safe; May I be happy; May I be healthy; May I live with ease. You then extend these phrases (along with heartfelt intention if possible) to someone in need, then to someone you may know only casually, then to someone who you find difficult, then to people everywhere.  (For more details on this type of meditation, click here).

The person who popped into my mind when it was time to think of someone who may be in need was a previous client of mine. She had a child with a very rare and complex health condition. The condition wasn’t visible to others, so she was often given standard parenting advice that simply did not apply to her situation. Well meaning people would say things such as, “That’s just normal teenage stuff” or “You just have to use tough love.” These statements, meant to help her feel less alone, actually did just the opposite. She often told me she felt isolated from others, and that she was “crazy.” She seemed to feel better in our sessions when I found a way to validate her experience that, yes—her situation was different and unique. Somehow, paradoxically, that is what helped her feel less alone.

Looking back on it now, I wonder if I could have done more if I had helped her realize that somewhere (although not necessarily in her peer group), there are other mothers with similar challenges, going through similar painful circumstances. Would that have helped her feel less alone? It’s so easy to second-guess myself, but I  really don’t think I would have done anything differently.

Well, I’ve thoroughly confused myself further, and probably you, as well.

If I can come up with any take-away points, they’d be:

  •  Life is hard. It’s okay to acknowledge that fact.
  •  We’re all in the same boat.  We all want to be happy. We all want to suffer less and be at peace. It’s not always easy to find that place. I’m learning that meditation can help.
  • We’re not alone, even when we think we are.
  •  I need to use the word “AND” more. We are unique AND we are the same.
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Yo Soy (I Am)

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Filed under Poems, Self-Acceptance

Jody

How many of us have parts of ourselves that we don’t like? Maybe a part of our appearance (My thighs are too fat)? A part of our heritage (I hope I don’t turn out like crazy Aunt Jane)? Or a part of our personality (I’m too quiet)? Disowning any part of ourselves can be damaging. I think the subtitle of The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene´ Brown says it all: “Let go of who you think you’re supposed to be and embrace who you are.”

My niece, Jody, recently told me about an assignment she had for a class in college. They were instructed to write an “I Am” poem. Apparently, that was about the only guideline they were given. It was very unstructured and loose. She gave me permission to share her poem. I love it, not only because she’s my niece, but also because it’s such a great example of looking at all aspects of ourselves with a nonjudgmental, accepting eye. This is just how it is. This is who I am.

I’m planning on writing my own “I am” poem. If you write one, feel free to share it. Oh, and I’m sure my niece would appreciate any comments!

Yo Soy

I am curly hair that people use to categorize me.

I am the city girl stuck in a population of one-thousand.

I am the salsa heels that dance all night as if I’m still in Mexico.

I am the race with no ethnicity.

I am off-brand clothing among Sevens, Coach, and Marc Jacobs.

I am the only Jew in a rural town.

I am high-top sneakers from a resale shop.

I am the life-changing trip to Israel at age 16.

I am the passion to travel and master new languages.

I am the positive voice in a room full of negativity.

I am an ally for all people because I feel we are all connected.

I am the girl that values herself more than how boys see her.

I am the dreams that can and will be reached through hard work and dedication.