Triumph Over Misery: The Beautiful Story of Ruthie Lindsey

Author Jamais Cascio once said, “Resilience is all about being able to overcome the unexpected. Sustainability is about survival.  The goal of resilience is to thrive.  I never thought I would need to know this lesson until my life was turned upside down.

-Ruthie Lindsey

Meet Ruthie Lindsey

Today’s post is very near and dear to my heart for several reasons.  Our guest blogger is Ruthie Lindsey (visit her website), a designer, speaker, stylist, and overall inspirer.  She travels all over sharing her incredible story that invites us to a high and spacious place of living beautifully in the midst of painful realities.

  I have known Ruthie now for about fifteen years and have observed from a distance her journey in and out of joy-filled vibrancy and physical/emotional pain, concurrently.  Whereas we will go months without seeing each other, every time we do, I’m reminded of something so lovely and moving.  I am reminded that there is always hope, even in our darkest nights.  She simply exudes life, style, and fun.  If you have met Ruthie Lindsey or follow her on social media, you know exactly what I am talking about.  She takes her pain and brokenness and fear; she holds it up to the light, vulnerably-courageously,  and gives it a name outside of hers.  Unmistakably, she touches the hurting hearts of countless others.    It’s beauty from ashes and that kind of beauty is simply incomparable; without need of filters.

Close to Home

My older sister and best friend, Kristen has dealt with chronic pain due to endometriosis and resulting surgical nerve damage for nearly two decades.  It breaks my heart to watch her in pain; to know she is suffering and no one can take it away from her, definitely not me.  This type of pain is systemic: when she hurts, her community and family suffer as well because we love her and desperately long to see healing.  This overcoming story not only gives me hope in facing my own nasty demons, but also for my remarkably courageous sister who has yet to see the light at the end of her tunnel.

Ruthie Lindsey’s story is not just about chronic pain, it’s about the suffering we all face in our human frailty.  It is about standing smack dab in the middle of our story, pain, loneliness, heartache and all, and writing a new ending that offers life and hope to others.  In return, our cups get filled no matter what circumstances dictate.  Hope is a hurricane of a force.  When we give it away from a place of desperate need, we cultivate sunshine in the center of our storm.  I sincerely hope you read every word of her story.  Your life will be richer for it.

The Accident

When I was a senior in high school, I pulled out in front of an ambulance that hit me after crushing my car door going 65.  I broke three ribs, punctured my lungs, my spleen ruptured and I broke the top two vertebrae in my neck.  I was told I had a 5 percent chance to live and a 1 percent chance to ever walk again.  After I was stable and off life support, they took bone from my hip and fused it into my neck by wrapping it with metal wire.  I was so fortunate to have youth and good health on my side.  After a month, I walked out of the hospital with only a neck brace.  I was able to graduate on time and I honestly went back to my “happy go lucky” life as normal.  I would occasionally get sore if I danced too much (which is often), but otherwise I was able to forget it even happened.  I felt very removed from my story.  When I spoke about it, it was almost as if I was talking about it in third person, like it happened to someone else.

A Rude Awakening

A year after graduating college, I met my very first boyfriend and we were married within 10 months!  A year into our marriage, I was walking out of a Starbucks one day, when a searing pain shot through my neck and into my head.  I fell to my knees and nearly blacked out.  The pain continued with more and more frequency, and would leave me with horrific migraines.  It was so debilitating that I couldn’t function.  I saw tons of doctors, and each time they would order a scan and an elusive black spot appeared on the film.  They simply informed me it was the magnet in the machine interacting with the wired from my spinal cord fusion.  I tried countless (unsuccessful) therapies, then was prescribed heavy narcotics for my pain.  As a result of the pain, and the medication, I began spending more and more time in my bed.  I isolated myself and withdrew from my community and my marriage.  I though of myself as a burden.  This continued for over four years, exhausting money we barely had.

After these four years of mental and emotional exhaustion, I saw a new doctor who insisted on seeing what was under that little black spot on all my films.  A $50 X-ray showed that one of the wires had broken and pierced my brain stem.  What I learned is that I am apparently the only person in the world who has ever had this.  Specialists explained the risk of paralysis involved in attempting to remove the wire, but explained that if we didn’t try, I would eventually become paralyzed anyway.  I was one wrong turn of the head away from never walking again.  Insurance wasn’t going to cover my surgery, claiming my accident as a pre-existing condition.  Two weeks later my dad informed my mother that he was going to sell our farm to afford the procedure.

Loving Well

The night before he came to see me and tell me what he was planning to do with the farm, my dad had a freak accident.  After falling down a flight of stairs he passed away shortly thereafter from brain damage.  My dad’s sudden passing was a massive loss to my family, our community and me.  I remember lying in my bed night after night pinching myself until I bled because nothing felt real.  I felt I must be in a nightmare.  We were all absolutely devastated and heartbroken, but out of that loss something really beautiful happened.  My godfather set up a medical fun for me in my dad’s honor and money and letters started pouring in.  We would get letters that said, “Your dad sent me on my senior trip” or “your dad bought my prom dress” and your dad paid my tuition” or “your dad fixed my roof,” and on and on.  When my brothers and I were kids, whenever we left my dad’s presence, he would always say, “I love you so much, remember your manners, and always look out for the little guy.”  He wanted us to see and love the people who everyone else missed, and that’s what he did.  because he had loved people so well, this crazy amount of money was raised so that I could have this surgery.

Spiral

The doctors were able to remove the wire from my brain stem by taking bone from my other hip and fusing my neck back together with titanium screws.  Although able to walk afterward, I ended up getting major nerve damage in the surgery, and now my right side feels like it’s on fire at all times.  While recovering, I ended up contracting a bacterial infection called C. diff while in the hospital for another minor surgery.  I was so sick.  I stopped sleeping.  I had constant panic attacks and ultimately I had a full-blown nervous breakdown.  My husband was away on tour in Australia, and I had the feeling my marriage was coming to an end, which sent my downward spiral into a tailspin.  I became incapable of taking care of myself, so I moved home to live with my family in Louisiana.

Wakeup Call

My breakdown made me want to change everything.  I realized that I had identified myself with my pain for so long, so that is exactly how everyone else saw me.  Every conversation and interaction revolved around my condition.  When I would see people, they would ask, “How’s your back?” or “Are you hanging in there?” In some subconscious, gross way I found comfort in that, because it helped to justify having resigned myself to never-ending bed rest.

We teach people how to see us.  I don’t know what it was, but something changed, and I decided I was tired of people always feeling sorry for me.  If we lead from a place of brokenness, insecurity or bitterness, that is exactly who they will think we are.  But, if we lead from a place of love and wholeness, with compassion and strength, they are able to see us for who we really are.  I started to speak out loud the beautiful things I saw in people, places and experiences I was having.  I was looking for it an I was speaking it, and what’s so amazing is that as I was looking for beauty all around me I was reconnecting with my community.  The more I made myself get out of my bed and connect and love people, the less I was noticing how much I was hurting.  The very nature of pain is selfish and pulls our focus inward.  When I focused my energy outward, when I was doing things that were life-giving, things that I loved, I wasn’t thinking about my pain.

Energy Shift

The best decision I made was to wean myself off of all the pain meds I had been on for so long.  It took four months to wean myself off of the meds completely.  My marriage couldn’t survive under the circumstances, and I found myself single for the first time in a decade, and as a result of my time in self-exile, the bills were piling up.  I decided to focus my energy on doing little projects around the house to help me reclaim the space as my own.  I didn’t think much of it at first, but friends began assuring me that I had a knack for design.

The Rest of the Story

In short time, friends asked me to collaborate on projects.  I started an Instagram account and began posting the things that I was doing.  People started asking me to help them throw dinner parties, arrange flowers, set tables and decorate spaces.  I learned to say yes.  Around this time I had also started having people who didn’t know me following me on Instagram.  I started getting comments like, “You live my dream life!” And “I want your life!”  And to be honest, it made me feel nauseous.  I remembered lying in my bed for years, looking on Facebook and feeling so depressed, wishing that was me playing with my children and having all of these adventures, instead of lying in my bed hurting all the time.  I needed to give people a context for my joy.  I ended up writing out my entire story and sharing it online.  I remember feeling so vulnerable and exposed when I hit publish, but I knew I needed to give everyone the full scope of what was going on.  The truth was, my circumstances had not changed.  I was still in pain every minute, I was handling a divorce and I missed my dad every day, but I had learned to live differently.

We so often think, “I will be happy once I get, fill in the blank (that boyfriend, a certain job, a husband, baby, that house, etc.).”  But those things won’t fulfill us, until we ourselves are fulfilled.  I learned to find contentment despite my hardship.  And unexpectedly, I discovered that exposing myself made me feel less vulnerable.

Living to Thrive

Suffering is one of the things that unifies humanity.  At some point or another we all experience loss.  Sometimes, feeling hopelessness can give us a new lens through which to see the world because we learn to be more empathetic to those around us.  Now when I interact with someone suffering from heartache, loss or unendurable physical pain, I immediately have common ground to stand on with him or her.  I would never wish what Iv’e experienced on anyone, and I know that there are plenty of people with even more harrowing personal stories, but if telling my story of overcoming anguish helps just one person feel like she or he is not alone in despair, then at least what I went through had a purpose.  It took a long time, but I finally found myself.  It’s not the version of a life that I fantasized about as a child, but it’s better, because it’s a life that I earned in triumphing over my misery.  I’m proud to say I learned resilience from the unexpected, and now my mission in life is to thrive.

Beautiful Lies: Sexual Abuse & Body Image

The Backdrop

One of my absolute favorite things about my work is getting to witness and hold space for clients’ awe-inspiring stories. It has forever changed the way I see strangers walking down the sidewalk, buying groceries, or getting coffee in the Starbucks line. Now, I like to see those people as walking miracles carrying remarkable stories, oftentimes stories that are overlooked or brushed aside.

Today’s story is a perfect example brought to you by one of the most courageous people I have ever met, Suzanna Hendricks. Suzanna is an Event Producer who was on staff close to 3 years with non-profit organization Invisible Children. She moved to Nashville to build an event production and experience design team for the common good called KAIO. in 2014 and recently relocated to Austin, TX to join the staff of the IF:Gathering team as the Development Manager.
As you can see, Suzanna does really cool stuff to effect change in our culture. Yet her greatest weapon is an unbelievably kind and generous heart coupled with a boldness to champion justice, truth, and love in every room she enters. Yep, she’s a badass.

She graciously offered to share her story today in order to shed light and hope on the stories that you might share: stories of sexual abuse, shame, and a resulting shattered body image. Shame is loudest in isolated and dark places. Today, my prayer is that Suzanna’s vulnerability and courage will start a conversation for those of us who feel trapped, silenced, and powerless in our stories of shame.  Let’s dive in.

A Lost Identity

A piece of my identity has always been rooted in shame for as long as I can remember. As people we all struggle with aspects of our identity. Yet as women, I believe we can walk through the world with an acute different standard and deep hidden pain. I’ve learned in this past decade of life that its when we expose to the light things either caused by or perpetrated in the dark, we are set free.

The women of my family are stunningly beautiful.  Beauty that both stills and draws people to them; a kind of rare magic filled with adventure and powerful energy. But our legacy read storylines of abuse, assault, rejection, abandonment, and my greatest one, shame.

Glimpses of Truth

As beautiful as my family is and as often as I have graciously been complimented for similar beauty, the truth is I never saw myself equally lovely.
Who me?

My first memory of being told I was beautiful was at age 14. It was artist Toby Mac who kindly looked at me in a receiving line post show and said, “God wants you to know that you are very beautiful.” I walked out of that building and my heart exploded with all sorts of joy. Beautiful! Me? Wow!

Thinking back after years of healing I wonder why I was 14 before my first memory of being told I was lovely or beautiful.

That truth about myself didn’t last very long. The greater narrative was that I was a victim of sexual abuse and a youth in painful transition with an absent father and younger siblings who were incredibly beautiful. They were called “Princesses” growing up; I was referred to as “Pumpkin”.
I don’t know the exact moment I lost a sense my identity of worth or equality, but go missing it did.

Body Shame

Ingrained in the expectation of perfection and stemming from both sides of my family, thin equals beautiful not healthy. Numbers on a scale were of the highest importance and beginning intros to most “hellos” during family time. It’s that type of narrative and mindset that leads many to eating disorders and self harm for not “measuring up”. I also grew up learning that our outward appearance if tended to well would draw in the attention of men, something to strive for: that feeling of being seen and adored.

Growing up I was always fuller figured. I hit puberty early, inheriting many noticeable family traits of my beautiful aunts on my fathers side, (aka a large chest). I quickly began feeling the unwanted attention of young and old men, immediately becoming uncomfortable with my body.

Those feelings of body shame were perpetuated deeply by own abuse, and later learning of nearly a decade of sexual abuse inflicted on my older sister by our father. There were other tales of violation: women close to me who were abused and stripped of power. Matched with the thoughtful concern of others as to my weight and opinions on what I should or should not be doing, my worthiness and feelings of shame eroded any truthfulness of my own value or beauty.

Reverse Psychology

I saw how beauty could cause both great celebration and harm so I subconsciously took an alternate route than most with those same emotions. Instead of working hard to meet the cultural and familial standard, I shut down the possibility of being harmed, or at least tried like hell to protect myself by decreasing my physical activity paying little attention to what I ate. Concurrently, I began to feel rather sickly but ignored it assuming I was being punished for my apathy. The scale rose and my self worth plummeted.

All along the way in my early 20’s, no one ever asked if something was wrong or if I was depressed or ok. I don’t blame them, we’re conditioned to think that weight is a result of apathy, or laziness instead of digging around for potential pain below the surface. In defiance to the judgement, I’d drink the coke or added extra sugar to my coffee, subconsciously furthering my deteriorating health. Every time my weight was talked about or suggestions were made to “fix the problem”, a part of me died.
In hindsight, I think it was the only thing I felt in control of. Shame has low blows, and its onslaught of internal warring was constant.

Shame says
See, you’re not beautiful enough as your are.
They don’t mean it when they tell you that you’re beautiful.
That person is only attracted to you because of your personality
No one is ever going to want you this way, but at least they can’t hurt you.
You’re not in shape enough to take that adventure, or do that hike, or keep dancing.
If they aren’t attracted to you, Suzanna, they won’t hurt you. You’ll never be what they expect, why try?

Does your heart hurt reading those lines? Mine does too. Because those lies trapped me for so very long.

To stay safe, I let myself go. I let the feeling of failure become king.

Hustling for Acceptance

But, I found that if I loved people well, poured myself out in service or kindness, smiled brightly, and applied the makeup expertly, I was accepted regardless. So, early on I took that knowledge and worked myself into an exhausted sick mess. By my mid-twenties I barely recognized myself: overweight, puffy face/eyes, fatigued, depressed and so much more. It got so bad I could barely get out of bed to drag my sick body to the doctor. When I did, I learned that for close to 5+ years I’d been struggling with Hypothyroidism and had critically low levels on all fronts combined with other intense damage.

Light Shines Through

Within a few months of steady medication – I began to come back to life. It’s been nearly three years since that diagnosis and a long road of self evaluation and healing.

I’ve lived most of my life hiding from the potential that I actually was a beautiful woman; that I could be wanted. Because the lie whispered to me early on was that if I was wanted, or desired, that opened me up to a high chance of pain and abuse.

I learned to compensate by increasing my charm or finding ways to “wear my weight well”; trying to blend in.

Too Unsafe to Succeed

Looking back, it’s really astounding in the all of years of side look stares, comments, and judgements no one ever asked why?  They assumed it was because I didn’t care or that something was wrong with me, but the truth was I cared so much that I wouldn’t fight for it. Because at the root I felt rejected and unsafe; and there was no way in hell I was going to perpetuate that. The hardest truth of it all is that I did perpetuate it, but in a quite opposite sort of way.

I can’t even tell you how many times over the years I have walked into a room and looked for the best way to make sure I appeared to “fit in”. The best angle of a chair, or path of least resistance to a crowd, not sitting in between very slim people or obsessively checking my clothes to make sure I was “put together”. When I would catch someone’s judgmental stare I’d smile sweetly back, challenging them to judge me. It wasn’t until they’d turn their head that my eyes would lower and I’d let the pain flood my heart.

The Journey Out of Lies

The past five years have been a journey of emotional and spiritual healing, and now its time to reclaim the physical part of me. To find strength and health beyond what I’ve ever experienced. I am not putting pressure on myself through this season, but challenging myself to be braver, authentic, and honest.

We all have our battles; the lies that prevent us from living in freedom. This has been mine. This road may take awhile; the important ones usually do. Yet as you find the courage to start facing the giants and slay them with the truth of who you really are, you encounter new ones, but also a strength you didn’t know was there.

Power in Numbers

I am thankful for the amazing people that surrounded me in this season. They have spoken my worth, beauty, and strength over me, lifting me with their words to greater places of wholeness more than they could ever know.

If I’ve learned anything these last years as I’ve worked through a mountain of pain and depression is that having people and God in your court are game changing. I no longer accept judgement as fair or deserved treatment, or take words, even well intended ones, as truth if they cause harm.

It looks a hell of a lot of self compassion, and hard work.

So, to any of you who have been stripped of your true identity through sexual abuse and all it’s aftermath: reach out for support, keep being true and mindful of how you feel, be gracious to yourself, work hard at your wholeness, and treat yourself as you would your best friend.  Know that you are beautiful.
——————
If you or a loved one is currently suffering from abuse of any kind, please reach out. You can do that completely confidentially here. You are not alone.

Love,

katie

xoxo

The Stories We Tell

When we deny our stories, they define us. When we own our stories, we get to write the ending.

-Brené Brown, Rising Strong

I’m about to tell you something you may not have considered about yourself; perhaps something you are completely unaware of.  Despite being introverted, extroverted, highly entertaining, or completely terrified of public speaking, this truth remains. You ready for this?

You are an excellent storyteller.

That’s right. You are an excellent storyteller!  Now, this may look a little different from the quintessential, Garrison Keillor archetype you envision; but it’s true. You make up stories all day long every day and tell those stories to yourself, albeit subconsciously and involuntarily.  These stories directly affect the decisions you make, the relationships you build, the behavioral patterns you lock into, and the emotions you experience.

Lessons from a four-way stop

Consider this: when was the last time someone rubbed you the wrong way? This can be someone you know well or merely a frustrating experience with a total stranger. For example, Monday I was headed to the office and pulled up to a four way stop in my neighborhood. Mind you, I was off to a great start: Coffee in hand, morning workout behind me, NPR rocking, I even had time to blow dry my hair which is rare. It tends to be shove down some breakfast or blow dry my hair, you know? Breakfast always wins. I love breakfast. Anyway, life was good and the morning gods smiled upon me…

I did not have the right of way. The SUV that did was stopped at the stop sign, about to proceed normally through the intersection as I waited to go next. All good.  Well, an older gentleman in a fancy silver sedan pulled up to the stop sign on my right, in line to go after me. While the SUV made its way through the intersection, I noticed the guy to my right  violently flailing his hands about and passionately yelling with an angry edge and plenty of volume, all while looking directly at me across the way as if I had just insulted his mother in really bad taste.

What the ?? Who is this guy and why on earth is he pissed at me? I immediately began telling myself a story that went something like this: Here I am minding my own business and obeying traffic laws while this angry person wakes up on the wrong side of the bed,  apparently feeling the need to go postal on me and ruin my morning. What’s the deal? What have I done? Is he CRAZY?!? Am I CRAZY?!?

Despite total bewilderment due to this unfounded attack, I sped off in a huff and had a bad attitude for the next hour. Whoa.  Not only am I a storyteller, I am apparently a pretty competent one!

Power Play

Okay, so what’s the point? How is this newfound identity as storyteller a crucial piece of awareness in our daily experience?  There is incredible power and creative license that accompanies the role of storyteller.  While we have minimal control over other people, world events, changing paradigms; what happens to us, we have total control over the meaning we appropriate and apply to them.

The story I tell myself about what is happening around me is the color I choose to paint life’s canvas with.
My road-raging friend from Monday may have been on speaker phone with his wife (God, I hope not) or perhaps just received some devastating news and saw me as a worthy, temporary, and safe emotional punching bag.  I will never know.

What I do know is we create narratives in the absence of information in order to complete a circle of certainty. As humans, we are hard wired this way. Our brains need to connect the dots in order to file away some semblance of meaning.  Its pure biology…survival.
In Brene Brown’s Rising Strong, we learn about a neurologist and writer called Robert Burton who explains that “our brains reward us with dopamine when we recognize and complete patterns.  Stories are patters.  The brain recognizes the familiar beginning-middle-end structure of a story and rewards us for clearing up the ambiguity.  Unfortunately, we don’t need to be accurate, just certain.”

Narrative Therapy

I believe this innate hardwiring we have as storytellers explains our ongoing cultural fascination with narrative; the most epic of enactments: good vs. evil. (Insert your favorite trilogy here; or Star Wars, duh.) Stories are sustenance promoting physiological, ideological, artistic, and civic viability.
As a writer and therapist I truly love facilitating this process in my work through narrative therapy.
In narrative therapy, we create stories about ourselves that redeem, empower, and promote healing. Despite our broken and disjointed past, the narrative approach enables a new co-authored story to set the stage for a hopeful reality. When we live out of a worthy self-concept, the story of our life takes on significance and abundance.

The Edit

What stories are you telling yourself today?  Chances are, there are some really compelling ones that you like to listen to a lot.  What kind of experience do these stories promote? This week, I challenge you to observe, write down, and edit them if they do not serve your process well. This is where the fun begins, my friends. This is where we get to drive that storytelling ship into hauntingly beautiful and uncharted waters. Pick up your pencil; your time is now.

The Exquisite Practice of Self-Compassion

A couple weeks ago, I sat down with my friend and fellow therapist, Andy Smith of Hoperidge Counseling. It seems each time we catch up over coffee and discuss life, therapy, music, goals, etc., I leave feeling fully inspired. Collaboration is truly something valuable as it opens the proverbial wardrobe door into a Narnia-like place; one full of ideas and possibilities unseen thus far.

With so many moving parts forging full-steam ahead, my daily experience was housed in a state of somewhat contained chaos.

I had been feeling pretty stuck at the time, and not just in a professional sense. With so many moving parts forging full-steam ahead, my daily experience was housed in a state of somewhat contained chaos. Creatively and personally I was swimming upstream.  I don’t remember saying those exact words over coffee, but I am guessing my scatter-brained dialog and late arrival gave it all away. Plus, Andy’s had plenty of experience graciously observing and drawing out what’s really going on under the surface of countless clients in his work. Whatever the case was, we started in on this topic of self-compassion and man did it intrigue me.

Andy and I talked about some of the influential books we had read in the past year or so and he mentioned Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of being Kind to Yourself (purchase here), by Kristin Neff, PhD. As soon as I got home I ordered it.  It was an easy sell-what with Andy’s recommendation and Brene Brown’s endorsement across the top of the front cover boasting “A transformative read”. Done…in just two days I could devour it thanks to Amazon Prime.

This book has truly proven transformative, indeed. To be honest, I’ve grown a bit tired of self-esteem. Don’t get me wrong; self-esteem is vital for maintaining a positive view of ourselves and our experience. But it can be flimsy. It doesn’t cultivate the core infrastructure needed for honest, loving relationship with self and others as well as “wholehearted living” to borrow Brene’s term. Self-esteem feels like a fad diet of cabbage soup and egg whites (you’re welcome), while self-compassion introduces a much more balanced and satisfying approach.

Neff explains, “Although thousands of articles had been written on the importance of self-esteem, researchers were now starting to point out all the traps that people can fall into when they try to get and keep a sense of high self-esteem: narcissism, self-absorption, self-righteous anger, prejudice, discrimination, and so on. I realized that self-compassion was the perfect alternative to the relentless pursuit of self-esteem. Why? Because it offers the same protection against harsh self-criticism as self-esteem, but without the need to see ourselves as perfect or as better than others.”

We can go through the motions of gazing into the mirror and repeating “you’re beautiful” thousands of times and being intentional about self-care from week to week however the deeper understanding and acceptance of our frail humanity could still easily go overlooked. Self-esteem is a piece of the puzzle, but if it does not extend from the embrace of all those glorious imperfections that mark our story, we have shown up a day late for the ball.

I love the word exquisite. I loved it even more after looking up the actual definition. Merriam Webster tells it like this:

a :  marked by flawless craftsmanship or by beautiful, ingenious, delicate, or elaborate execution <an exquisite vase>

b :  marked by nice discrimination, deep sensitivity, or subtle understanding <exquisite taste>

Self-compassion is truly exquisite. Unscathed by the flashy trends of pop psychology, it is a deep, spiritual work, nuanced with an invaluable and delicate kindness. Not only this, but it requires a “subtle understanding” of our shared human experience, wrought with all kinds of success and failure.

Most of you reading this are easily moved to compassion for the loved ones in your life who suffer. Hell, you probably even experience this for countless others you don’t personally know. For example, take the horrific terrorist attacks in Paris and more recently in Brussels. I’m certain you didn’t hear the news and smugly mutter under your breath, “Well, they probably deserved that injustice”. Unthinkable. My hunch is you felt deep sorrow and were tweaked with anger upon the news of these atrocities.

If we are familiar with suffering, and we all are, why is it so difficult to extend this same grace to ourselves? Our circumstances may not be as extreme or newsworthy; however, the harshness with which we treat ourselves is tragically epidemic. What if instead we sit with an observing eye of our unique experience, witnessing that very real inner struggle, and offer words of understanding and compassion?

I hope this new spring season will inspire you in your own Exquisite Practice of Self-Compassion. If you want a great place to start, take the free Self-Compassion test here!

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

xoxo
As always, I value your feedback! Thoughts,  feelings, and ideas are most welcome…This is meant to be a conversation starter