Finishing Strong

Last week, a dear friend said something so profound in conversation.  I’ve been marinating in it since.  She said, “I’m struggling to find my now.  I’m either stuck in the past or out somewhere in the future.  I desperately want to find my now.”

Can you relate to this?  I sure can—especially in this eleventh hour of 2018.  It’s tempting to camp out in what “could have been”: more productivity, success, health, passion, what have you. This temptation is then compounded by the seductive tendency to run tactics on a fresh new start right around the proverbial bend.  

You know the drill.  The diet and exercise folks join forces and broker a zillion dollar deal every fourth quarter counting on you and I to wake up January 1 after sipping on the stiff and steady cocktail of two parts bloated, one part foggy, and a heavy shake of shame.  We buy-in to the ultimate extreme makeover our resolution(s) of choice promises only to throw in the towel a week later hangry, and with the selfless support of your dearest pint: Ben & Jerry, or Stella Artois.   

It’s so predictable, right?

I believe it’s high-time we outgrow this brand of insanity. Thankfully, there is another way. Conscious living invites us into self-awareness. If we accept this invitation, we immediately enter a room full of freedom—and responsibility.  

Viktor Frankl, Austrian psychiatrist, Logotherapy creator, and Holocaust survivor, said it best, 

“Between the stimulus and the response, there is a space.  In that space, there lies your freedom and power.”  

The month of December presents us with a vital passageway—a sacred space.  Incidentally, it’s one of the tightest spaces in which to remain present and self-aware.  If we consciously choose presence, that powerful space of the here and now, as opposed to the sugar-laced trans of consumerism, I believe we will finish strong.  

“Buzz-kill much?” you ask. 

Fair enough, however, I wholeheartedly believe our most powerful, abundant lives are built with consistency, brick by brick, and experienced moment to moment.  Why?  Because if I am present in each moment, I hold the keys to reality and relationship.  By this I mean, I live in wakeful presence and respond truthfully to my desires, to my needs, and to those of others.  I also forgo the trap of extreme, reactionary living. 

Speaking of the needs of others, the Holiday season is often one of deep pain and loneliness in the hearts of many.  I’ve known this pain well.  Yet at the same time, there is this massive expectation to shine up the shell of appearance and ignore the voice of pain that hums a haunting cry for help.

When you and I narc-out in trance, we are unavailable to those needs all around us.  Likewise, we silence our own.  Needs such as connection, compassion, and rest get overrun by the loud liturgy of commerce and consumption.  

These next several weeks, give yourself and others this gift of presence.  Enjoy the heck out of them, consciously choosing to come back to the moment, no matter how often the drone of chaos calls.  Each time you make this choice, you step into your freedom...your power.  Don’t bother eliminating the noise. That’s an isolating crap-shoot. Simply cultivate an inner peace amidst the noise as you loosen the grip of control and soften the lens of extremes.  

Finishing strong looks more like staying soft than hustling hard.  

And so we celebrate the end with a conscious awareness of now’s beginning….

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

How the Light Gets In

Last Tuesday I received some tough news—a beast of a horse pill to swallow.  I bet you can relate. Suddenly, your skin starts to feel cold, the room gets blurry, and the conversation in the room sounds like that droning “wah wah” teacher talk of Miss Othmar from Peanuts.  You’ve forgotten what you ate for breakfast and aren’t quite sure if words, tears, or laughter to mask the pain is appropriate in the moment.  The whole “adulting” thing seems entirely overrated.  

After a week to digest, readjust expectations, and lick the wounds of that blow, I’m feeling much better.  Time does provide the complex salve necessary to make sense of madness. However, inthe heat of the moment, I feel a primal need to find God, and fast—to run to that loving source of comfort.  I always sense that tangible power in nature.  Thankfully, the silver lining in that day was the gift of clear, crisp fall weather to temper the stormy disposition of my heart.  I did the only thing I knew to do: I hit the hiking trails at my favorite nearby park, Radnor Lake.  This is my high church.  For two solid hours, I got lost in her music.

There were no inspiring podcasts or feel good playlists on Spotify. I didn't even take my phone. Nor did I take pictures to later post on Instagram. I needed to be all in—immersed and undistracted by the false hit of social media’s temporary high.  I put one foot in front of the other, stared down creation, and looked for answers to my riddle.  I didn’t much find them.  

What I did find was far more literal if unsexy.  I noticed warning signs all throughout the park trail.  The warning signs kept barking, “Fragile Ecosystem,” followed by a slew of “don’ts” such as running, picnicking, dog walking, and the like.  In my 20’s, I’d scoff at these rules, reading them as light suggestions while running up and down the trails like a grinning, coked-up banshee.

Last Tuesday, in a more humble state, they made perfect sense.  If this nature’s trail was my Church, these warning signs had become the Ten Commandments.  

Now I’m all for mental toughness, make no mistake. The idea of training the mind to persevere in times of discouragement, and emotionally detach from circumstance in a healthy way so as not to fold under the deluge of emotion is a practice worthy of devotion.  That old victim mentality can sneak in the back door of our perspective and camp out indefinitely if we’re not careful!

Yet I do believe we must honor the fragile nature of our inner ecosystem.  We must do this by slowing down to honor our experience, feel the pain, and preserve our story with kindness and compassion.  Otherwise, we become proud, crusty iterations of humanity, bowing down to ego while abandoning true Presence.  We must stay soft—open.  

Therein lies the paradox, my friend.  It’s the constant toggling between bold action and bleeding vulnerability.  It’s the both-and, not the either-or.  When we lean into this tension, we build those tiny accessory muscles of resilience.  Resilience, over time, breeds a version of joy that outweighs happiness.  I believe true joy looks a lot more like equanimity than certainty.  

What broken pieces of your heart do you find yourself picking up off the kitchen floor these days? How did they get there? Your journey’s been arduous and I can imagine you’re weary—weathered.  No, you’ll never be able to fit all those pieces perfectly back together.  And for this you must grieve. But you must also take heart because God’s in the grieving and the healing.  He didn’t bring you all this way just to leave you.  As the brilliant Mr. Cohen says, “There’s a crack in everything.  That’s how the light gets in.”

Honor your story—your light—your pain.  It’s the only way you’ll find the courage to keep writing it.

Love & Gratitude,
Katie

A Generous Assumption

I’m a shameless fan of the meditation app, Headspace.  I know, I know, I should be well beyond guided meditation and floating cross-legged amidst the wafting nirvana of Transcendental Meditation.  Oh well, I suppose I’m quite fine in my elementary, yet devoted practice of guided meds.  

Last week I started a new pack (there are all these helpful packs you can choose from that focus on things like sleep, anxiety, change, and the like).  For some reason I was really drawn to the new meditation pack focusing on generosity.  God must have know I’d need a little extra nudge in this direction because unbeknownst to me at the time, I desperately did by about Thursday.

Each day I’d sit to meditate, Andy--the adorable British guide--dropped these punchy insights about generosity. One that stood out was the importance of practicing generosity inward to ourselves regularly before we expect ourselves to extend it outwardtoward others.  

Now, generosity is a quality and practice I highly value.  It’s right up there with authenticity, gratitude, and consistency...in no specific order.  In my research along the way, I’ve learned that the happiest, most whole-hearted people in the world practice six core things regularly: mindfulness, gratitude, vulnerability, belief in a higher power, self-care (exercise being a big part of this), and you guessed it, generosity. 

Later on in the week, I started to feel myself slowly slipping into the abyss of a judgy, resentful sludge.  You know the feeling: you’ve given someone something special, such as a meaningful compliment or thoughtful gift, and don’t get as much as a “thank you” in return.  Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Ouch! 

You start to realize this is happening quite often and that beautiful spirit of generosity you pride yourself in has come to a screeching halt. You now have a strange resemblance to Cinderella’s evil step sisters combined and on Adderall.  Not a good look.  What went wrong?  Why do people suck so much? Why do I even care? 

Does this sound familiar?

When this happens to me, I want to pull the reigns of generosity wayyyyy back and self-protect in the recess of isolation.  I go into scarcity mode.  I plop down heavy on the high and mighty throne of victimhood and swiftly wave my entitled wand of criticism.

Perhaps the most life-giving truth I’ve learned about generosity from Brené Brown’s work is that the most generous people are also  those with the strongest boundaries, meaning they are crystal clear with others about what’s okay and what’s not okay.  The only way we can practice intrinsic, unbridled generosity with others is to beef up our own boundaries.  Why?  Because the healthiest, most loving relationships are the ones with the clearest guidelines.  

I can only assume the best about people if I’m honest with myself and others about my needs.  If I don’t first extend generosity and compassion to myself, I will expect this need to be filled externally by someone who hasn’t the foggiest idea what I’m looking for.  

This messy brand of generosity never ends well...much like a shot of apple cider vinegar without the honey.  The good intentions don’t quite balance out the bitterness.  Without boundaries, making generous assumptions about others is tricky, if not impossible.  

Constantly overextending yourself emotionally, physically, or financially in the name of being nice, flexible, and fun isn’t really generosity after all.   It’s an attempt to “fit in” and be liked as opposed to authentic and true.   

The ones who don’t return your lovely, if not misguided, attempt at generosity are your most valuable teachers.  Learn from them. They are your constant crash-course in Boundaries 101.  

Show up to class, pay attention, take good notes, oh, and save me a seat next to you. 

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Dancing With Shadows

I grew up in the crown jewel of the deep south, Mobile, AL.  We did many strange things like take ballroom dancing in fifth grade.  Yes, you heard me, fifth grade. It was hands down the most awkward thing I’d experienced until then, and I’ve always felt at home on a dance floor.

This was different though.  Kids from a couple neighboring schools would gather on a Thursday night at 5 o’clock in a big gymnasium at St. Ignatius Catholic church and learn all the old-school couples' dances like the fox trot, waltz, and others I’ve purposely erased from my memory.  The most unbearable part of it wasn’t learning the dances, it was learning the dances with the boys.  They were hyper, smelly, and had no rhythm.  They also thought they were beyond cool.  Ya’ll, it was torture.  My favorite part of the night was when I spotted my mom’s minivan headlights in the carpool line.  She’d swoop in and pick me up and then we’d proceed to Checkers for the long-awaited chocolate milkshake(s).  I had to take the edge off somehow. 

Learning to dance with our shadow, or shameful parts, can feel just as unpleasant.  Oh you’ve got them too, I promise.  They are those parts of us we’d rather not talk about.  In fact, we try desperately to hide them from the world around us.  They are the parts of you that you swear, if someone saw, they’d ultimately reject.  It might cost you their affection—their acceptance.  You'd be exposed…and deemed unloveable. 

For so long, I tried to hide and change the fact that I was a quiet observer as opposed to the popular party girl.  Large groups of girls made me uncomfortable. I absolutely hated summer camp, gossip, and sleep-overs.  I followed southern suit and joined a sorority in college, but it was really more for my mother than for me.  Eventually, I dropped out but nearly died trying to show up and fit in.  I’d much rather hang with my older friend, Liz.  We’d smoke Marlboro lights, listen to Dave Matthews, and talk about evolved things like boys, music, and what we dreamed of doing when we “grew up.”

More recently in my late thirties, I’ve felt shame around not taking the traditional route as a stay-at-home mom.  Instead, I’ve chosen, albeit indirectly, to focus on my career, (or that’s what I tell myself and others). At 39, I may or may not ever be a mother of children. Even though the ballot’s still out, this feels a bit shameful to me.  Regardless, I build up the more admirable, palatable case that, “I’ve chosen to build out other areas of my life.” It feels cleaner—safer.  At the core, however, this is really my shadow part and her name is inadequacy.  I’ve never really cared for her.

What are the shadow parts you’d rather forget about?  Is it depression, body shame, singleness, or even sexual trauma as a child?  If so, I can fully resonate with you.  Guess what?  Just like the smelly boys at ballroom, we’ve got to learn to lean in, let go, and learn to dance with them.  

One of my favorite concepts in self-development is integration.  This feels incredibly expansive and powerful to me.  The less compartmentalized, or fragmented we are, the more integrated and whole we will become.  Just as we are made up of hundreds of different body parts, muscles, and organs, we also have so many different parts of our emotional, relational, and creative beings.  

Oftentimes in therapy sessions with clients, these parts come up.  Take anxiety for example.  Anxiety is an emotion, or part of us that can be immobilizing.  The common misconception is in order to deal with anxiety, we must numb, fix, or run from it.  But anxiety is really just a shadow part of us that needs compassion and understanding just like, say, the creative part of us.  When we stuff our anxiety and try to avoid it, we really just give it more power and as a result, create imbalance.

What might dancing with this anxious shadow look like?  Well, first we must listen to and get to know it.  This allows us to cultivate empathy for that anxious part of us.  After all, she has been working overtime for a while now to keep us performing, staying safe and “on the ball.”  

Shadow work is really a reckoning with parts of ourselves we’ve misjudged for a long time.  The payoff is wholeness—flow.  It’s realizing those parts we’ve been hiding for so long aren’t so terrible after all.  In fact, they end up being the best parts because they are the most loving, consistent teachers.  

That anxious part of you desperately wants you to see her for who she really is: someone who deeply cares about your future yet may go about it clumsily.  She wants you to sit with her, commune with her, and realize the worst thing that can happen isn’t so bad in the end because you have other resilient parts of you that can step in and take over when she needs to sit the next song out.  

Second, simply take a minute and visualize the part of you that you dislike, a lot.  Perhaps you feel guilty about this part or constantly judge her.  What does she look like?  What is she doing?  How does she seem? In the same minute, take one step towards her… then another, and another.  You left her alone a long time ago and she feels abandoned, even scared.  She knows you dislike her but she desperately longs to know you and play on the same team.  She needs you big time.  

If this feels completely terrifying, it should.  Your brain is freaking out because it has no idea what it’s doing.  Hang in there though, this is perhaps the most life-giving work you’ve ever done.  Dancing with strangers or smelly boys is probably not on your bucket list. But I bet I know what is…

To be loved…fully.

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Food, Fashion, & the Pursuit of Happiness

If there are three things I am deeply passionate in this life, they are surely food, fashion, and mental health (among other things, of course).  Along my squirrelly (at best) career path, I flirted hardcore with romantic ideas of moving to NYC and working in fashion or becoming a chef more times than I can count.  I finally chickened out because A) I love to cook, but on my own watch and for people who are nice, and B) God spoke to me through a slew of convincing nightmares after watching “The Devil Wears Prada.”  I’ve never been so terrified of Meryl Streep in my life.  

Eventually, I landed where I am today, in the armchair of psychology/mental health.  Yet I must say, the beauty and inspiration I find in cooking/hosting, as well as fashion, is something of therapy for me.  

You may guess where I’m headed here.  

Last week the human race suffered a massive loss.  I was gutted upon hearing of Kate Spade’s suicide.  Then, Anthony Bourdain’s only two days later?  I never had the opportunity to meet them, but somehow, somewhere deep down, I felt connected to them, like we might have been friends.  I loved their gumption and their wildly unique approach to business and art, and most of all perhaps, I love that they inspired us to get a little bit outside of our comfort zones and do something remarkable.

After wrestling with sadness, anger, and confusion for a solid week, I think I know why the mack truck of this news hit me so hard: I too, know the desolate, lonely corridors of self-destruction.  In the throes of my own crippling depression, self-loathing and a seriously jacked up belief-system pushed me to the edge of this life, photoshopping out any inkling of hope.  I didn’t have the rational mind to reach out for help in those times.  Thankfully, I had enough people around who did and could carry my frail heart into truth and light.

Left to my own devices though, I’m not entirely sure I’d be here today without them.

I’m certain you or someone you know has had a similar story.

Now, in my rational, healthy mind, I’ve learned to practice (and love) asking for help.  Hell, you’d know it all the way in Seattle in less than a minute if I stumped my big toe.

However, the fact is depression can very much be a fatal disease.  This logical ability to reach out and “ask for help” simply isn’t baked in.

Last week reminded me why I do what I do.  It is why I keep showing up every week to write these silly posts that may never even be read.  I don’t care; the conversation must go on.  It is why, in the end, you and I must not only hold space for the hurting around us but proactively reach out to those who can’t due to the silencing, eternal trans of suicidal depression.

In tennis, there are these things called unforced errors.  They are missed points due to avoidable mistakes.  I grew up binging on televised tennis tournaments with my big sister Kristen, who was a tennis champ herself.  We bickered over clothes and things a lot, but you better believe, when Wimbledon came around every year, we were strangely harmonious.

Andre Agassi (the crush of our lives as we knew it then) would miss a shot, double fault a serve, or get flustered by Pete Sampras’ clever drop-shot—fair enough.  However, an unforced error was simply a waste.  Those were avoidable.  

I think of suicide as the ultimate unforced error, the ultimate loss.  Unlike the game of tennis, you can’t come back and redeem yourself in the next tournament of this life after the loss of suicide.  There’s no do-over.

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary feeling.  No feeling is final.  You and I get the math here, yet for Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, math didn’t matter.  I suppose they felt there was no other choice.  We shouldn’t judge them or assume to know what it felt like to walk around in their very visible shoes.  

I want to leave you with this thought, or conviction really.  

Success, fame, wealth, even the pursuit of what we are passionate about and think will make us happy and add value to the world is smoke and mirrors if we are building it from a place of ego.  By ego, I  mean our false self—who we are when we’re manipulating circumstances around us to make us worthy or significant.  This self is motivated by fear and scarcity.  When we live out of ego as opposed to a loving presence, we will never be satisfied, even after we think we’ve “arrived.”

I’m an evangelist for doing what you’re passionate about and creating a life you love.  I write about this a lot and coach people who are on this journey in my work.  You know what though?  It’s all a lie if we are not first and foremost convinced of the truth of who we are as opposed towho the world tells us we’re supposed to be.  This truth comes from a bigger story, a more profound love.

We must stay tethered to connection: connection to Love, Truth, Healthy relationships, and Community, and to the Authentic essence of who we are if we want to truly be successful—known.  

Last week, we lost two iconic industry leaders.  They made a final, fatal decision based on only a small, painful part of a much bigger story.  For all we know, they “had it all.”  That narrative came to a screeching halt.  

Depression can feel powerless, like there aren’t any other options.  What a terrible, if not convincing lie.

Lovely, you are powerful.  You are worthy.  You are beautiful.  You have the incredible ability to cultivate happiness in the now, without contingencies and red tape. Perhaps best of all, you get to write the next hopeful chapter.  

Remember this; you are the ocean.  You have complex waves of emotion.  They build and break.  They crash and wash.  They wane.  They shine.  They move.

They will never overcome the power of your depths though.  You are Love.

Love & Gratitude,
Katie

P.S. If you or someone you know is battling depression, reach out.  Despite it being the opposite of what feels normal or comfortable.  It is our responsibility to be the voice and hands of those that aren’t able to use them due to their disease.