If you don’t rely on anyone, they can’t let you down. That philosophy served me well for decades.

But now that my own setback has extended into months, I’ve taken a stab at learning how to ask for what I need. If I don’t figure it out, the coming weeks will be too annoying/lonely to bear.

To be honest, I detest asking for anything. When it comes to personal pain, I prefer to work alone. So. I started from square one and workshopped the concept. Six weeks in, here’s my step by step.

 

    1.    Avoid it. Assume that if people didn’t spontaneously do the thing you need, there is no hope they ever will and hence, no point in asking. Believe in your bones they wouldn’t get it right in any event. Harbor resentment against the very people who haven’t met the needs you’ve chosen to keep secret. If you ever do ask, choose folks you know are wholly incapable of showing up, thereby reinforcing your original theory.

For years, I chose unavailable partners and friends who were takers. People guaranteed to ditch me when I needed them. This habit solidified the belief that people suck so who needs them? Banging my head against the wall in this way eventually got old so I have stopped doing it. (Mostly.)

 

    2.    When no one reads your mind about what you need from them, tell them off.

Making dinner while on the phone with a friend, I lamented how mainstream medicine treats women.* “I am still in the diagnostic phase, yet I will be cut open. How is that possible in 2022? If men had breasts, it would be better, guaranteed.”

“It’s not going to help you to rail against the medical system,” my husband chimed in from across the room.

“Who asked you, oh my God. I’m pissed. It’s called being human. Try it sometime,” I fumed. When I got off the phone, I told him he had no right to tell me how to f-ing feel.

3.    Realize that before asking anyone for anything, you must first take care of yourself. Included in that is feeling your feelings. Begin to recognize when emotions arise. Allow them to flow. Notice that when they aren’t pushed away or stored up, they don’t detonate later on. Learn that sometimes when you don’t process your feelings, they come out as different emotions—fear can be expressed as anger, for example. If you don’t process your feelings, they may also be directed at others. (See #2 above)

Yesterday on my walk I wished so hard for a parent capable and willing to come take care of me during the scary times. The thought of going without one for this experience brought tears to my eyes. In the empty streets of the early morning, I sobbed my way down the road. The feeling passed. I felt lighter. Just this one insight alone is worth this entire thing.

 

    

4.    Practice asking for what you need in small ways. To prevent anticipated work interruptions from your family, maybe try a sign on your door.

My work feeds my soul and it has become even more important to me right now.

5.    At a time when you feel grounded and centered, try asking for what you need out loud. Assure the scared, sensitive kid inside you that it really is acceptable both to have needs AND to ask for them to be met. You will be just fine. If you are like me, the closer the person is to you, the more difficult the conversation.

While my husband laced up his running shoes, I took a breath and let it out.

“I have tried to ask for what I need and so far, it hasn’t gone that great. I’m going to keep trying and hope it comes out right on one of these attempts. So, here goes. I don’t need advice. I don’t want pity. I just need you to believe in me—that I can handle it. You don’t have to say anything. When I have moments of being scared, angry or whatever, just be there. If you feel the need to talk me out of the feeling I am having, please don’t. Your urge to shut me down is about your comfort, not mine. Okay?”

He smiled.

 

    5.    After you ask, surrender the outcome. If people don’t give you what you have specifically asked for, it’s just information. When you have been super clear and they cannot deliver, it’s not about you. It may be that they are having their own moment. Perhaps they are not your people. Either way, it’s okay. Tell that uneasy part of you who will take this personally to keep going, keep taking up space as yourself. The world needs you.

For me, this one is tricky. If I have worked myself up to ask only to get shot down, it’s mildly soul crushing. I’m just not used to it yet. It happened recently with a friend and I am still trying to let it go. So much work left to do, honestly.

6.    Bonus tip for anyone with a friend or loved one going through something: ask the person how you can best support them. Do not offer your own or someone else’s war stories or condolences. No one wants to hear I’m sorry your life is f-ing terrible. That’s what they want the least. They may be too focused on holding their sh!t together to stop you from putting your foot in your mouth so take it from me, ASK.

Here’s an example, “what can I do for you right now? Do you need to vent or can I help in some way?” Before you offer feedback, check in with them. A friend reached out yesterday to ask how I was doing and asked to share a similar experience. Before she told me, she checked in to see if it was okay. I told her that carrying my own unfolding story is challenge enough, I didn’t have room for hers just now. I felt guilty saying no. We’ve been conditioned to prioritize other people’s comfort over our own. I told her how much I appreciated that she asked first. After we said goodbye, I was so proud that I had taken care of myself. (yay)

 

It’s uncomfortable not to know what to offer someone in pain. We have all been in that position. But you know what asking is? That’s what love looks like. It’s deep respect for the other person. Anything else is about making YOU feel better. It has nothing to do with them.

When we learn to love ourselves and each other better, we feel more connected and truly seen. We get the sense that it’s all going to be okay. Take excellent care of yourself.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: How are you at asking for what you need? Do you find it hard? Are you a lone wolf like me?

P.S. I’m all trained up on Martha Beck’s Wayfinder tools and I’ve started a personal coaching practice. I have an introductory package, maybe for you. If you have begun to do some work on yourself and are looking to level up, I invite you to schedule a Discovery Session. Email me at elizabeth@elizbethheise.com.  For more information on these methods and to sign up for this newsletter, go to elizabethheise.com. You can also come find me on the socials on Instagram @elizabethheise.coach and Twitter @heiseelizabeth1. Thanks for joining me!

*This is a real thing that I don’t want to gloss over. And, since once a lawyer always a lawyer, here is my evidentiary record:

“A 2019 analysis in Denmark, for example, found that in 72% of cases, women waited longer on average for a diagnosis than men.”  https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/gender-bias-in-healthcare#ending-gender-bias

“I’m not sure how we end up in a place where there’s 20-odd years of data pointing to how important sex differences are in health and disease and there’s not more attention to this across all fields, disciplines, journals, and so forth. No one wants to call it sexism but where else is it okay to ignore the basic facts?” Dr. Paula Johnson, Executive Director of the Mary Horrigan Connors Center for Women’s Health and Gender Biology at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/apr/30/fda-clinical-trials-gender-gap-epa-nih-institute-of-medicine-cardiovascular-disease

“The study [of a female sexual dysfunction drug Addyi] enrolled 92 percent men for a drug intended only for women.” https://medicine.yale.edu/news-article/a-drug-for-women-tested-on-men/

“According to the Mayo Clinic, fewer than 1 in 10 residents in family medicine, internal medicine and gynecology told the clinic they felt “adequately prepared” to manage the care of patients in the various stages of menopause. Add to that the well-documented bias against female patients — one that exponentially burdens women of color, as well as trans, intersex and nonbinary people who experience menopause — and a vast information vacuum persists.” https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2022/04/28/menopause-hormone-therapy-nih-went-wrong/

More than 1 billion people worldwide will be in menopause by 2025. Today, there are 55 million in the United States alone, nearly 75 percent of whom report not receiving support or treatment for its effects. This database provides doctors in your area who have sought special certification to help their patients manage menopause. http://www.menopause.org/for-women/whats-an-ncmp

 

 

It is widely claimed that in 1899, the head of the US Patent Office urged President McKinley to shut down their operation because, “everything that could be invented has been invented.”

Sounds ridiculous, right? I thought so too, so I looked it up. The only evidence of this statement appears in a humor magazine from that time. Somehow it became attributed to the patent guy.*

Obviously there will always be new discoveries in every area of life. But when it comes to our own health, we’d like to know everything up front, thank you very much.

After reading about my health mystery these last weeks, some of you shared your of own close calls. The vivid details suggest those memories remain fresh. I do hope that the one lasting fact from my four biopsies, three mammograms, two MRI’s, and the month in limbo, will be that it added up to zero cancer.

 

Despite a second benign pathology report, we are still in the diagnostic phase, according to my oncologist. How can this be? Some masses are more benign than others, apparently. Mine are considered “radial scars.” I had never heard of such a thing, but evidently twenty percent of this type of mass contains an underlying malignancy. Unless you examine the whole thing, the possibility remains. So, the seemingly conclusive results I’d gotten excited about guarantee nothing. Surgical removal and a full biopsy is next. I’m experiencing mild shock as I really believed I was done. I even drank three margaritas.

So what could I possibly learn in month two of Who Has Cancer Bingo? Remains to be seen but for starters, trust and vulnerability are taking center stage. I am no fan of either.

That may sound crazy since I clearly have no problem disclosing all the personal details in this very forum. It may look like vulnerability. Take it from me, it is far easier to duck behind a keyboard than to talk to anyone face to face. I am terrified of people saying anything that will scare me or cast my situation in a negative light.

I illustrate my point with the example of the person closest to me, my dear husband. When this all began a month ago, he tested positive for Covid. The vulnerability phobic in me was relieved he couldn’t talk to me or touch me. All alone in quarantine during my scariest moments with extra responsibilities and no support? That tracked. Your people will only let you down and leave you when you need them the most. Welcome to my comfort zone.

When my doctor called, the trust phobic in me considered rejecting her advice out of hand. I feel perfectly healthy. I am not a statistic. It’s organic, non-toxic central over here. Doesn’t she know I meditate?!

“What if I don’t do it?” I asked.

“That would not be my recommendation,” she said, refusing to spin any nightmare scenarios with me. Okay, she is pretty great.

 
not her but you get it

When we first met, I talked a big game about trust. Now that we are at the cutting stage of our relationship, I am side eyeing the whole arrangement. Allowing anyone, no matter how highly trained, to wield a sharp instrument over my most tender bits is a level of faith that strikes me as entirely unreasonable. I have a few weeks to learn how to do that.

So here we are. With trust and vulnerability to guide the path forward. There is no way out but through.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: What is your comfort with vulnerability? How about trust? 

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Happy reading!

*An 1899 edition of Punch Magazine offered commentary entitled “The Coming Century” wherein a “genius” enters a patent office and asks, “isn’t there a clerk who can examine patents?” A boy replied, “Quite unnecessary, Sir. Everything that can be invented has been invented.” Somehow this statement was attributed to Charles Duell, head of the patent office at the time. But also, how is that funny.

 

No matter what, life is uncertain. But when you are curious, you are unafraid. You aren’t filling your body with stress hormones that, and we all know this by now, could for sure kill you. As a culture, we are driven by fear and obsessed with control. Today, I make a pitch to embrace uncertainty and cultivate a life of calm curiosity instead.

Also, interpersonally speaking, expressing curiosity about other people instead of thinking you know everything about their intentions allows you to really see them. It helps you live in reality instead of in your head which, for a lot of us, can be quite unpleasant. Lastly, curiosity gives you access to what your true self needs to live a happy life, simple as that.

How can I be so sure? Because an experience this week brought it all home to me in a way that was unmistakeable.

For about a month now, I’ve lived in the uncertainty of a health diagnosis so scary we speak its name only in whispers. Honestly, I am too superstitious to even write it. Since I still haven’t yet received any definitive news, I’m not even going to call it over here. Luckily, I’m not a doctor or I’d have to mime my patients’ test results. From the start of all this, I knew if I stayed curious instead of devolving into fear and self-pity, I’d pick up some gold nuggets as a souvenir to take with me.

I’d waited weeks for a diagnostic test I understood to be extremely painful and hours long. I’d heard your body goes into fight or flight and that you come out feeling like a bus hit you. My very kind doctor offered the good drugs to disconnect from the whole thing. Fully expecting something cool to happen, I wanted to be in command of my faculties, so I resisted the temptation.

If I had my head right, I could stay out of fight or flight, so I started prepping weeks ago. The energy work was key. If you aren’t into that, do yourself a favor and try it. It’s also widely understood that when you change your energy, you change your life. It’s easy. I walk out in the sun, visualize white light beaming down through the top of my head, shooting down my body and out through my feet, continuing to the earth’s core. Then back up the same path and out again. I do it until I feel sparkly. Then, I bring in the light, turn it pink for love and send it out to everyone who pops into my head. The giving is the receiving—this benefits me too. At the end, I keep some pink cotton candy light just for me.

The plan was to allow my right brain (the present, calm, connected side) to take the lead on this experience. That part of our brain is stimulated by emotionally stirring music, singing, poetry, dance, and laughter. Friends who’d asked what they could do to help have been sending jokes, which I am enjoying. I sang in the car everywhere I went. Some nights, I danced while I prepared dinner. If a piece of poetry showed up, I read it.

 

 

The morning of the test, I got up at 5:30 to meditate and exercise. I’d show up to The Miami Cancer Institute with the highest possible vibes. I stashed my journal in my One Story At A Time tote, Linda Carroll’s amazing charity. She gives me great mom vibes which I really needed. I wore my light blue Zia T-shirt to remind me of the beautiful skies over New Mexico and my white Birkenstocks that had caught a bit of the black paint my son used in the garage a while back. All dressed up like a vagabond hippie, I was ready to go.

 

Here in the exam room, I am present for whatever this is going to be. I lay face down on the MRI platform, arms awkwardly positioned overhead. Within moments, strain in my shoulders sets in. My breasts are compressed in a vice just one blip before they are crushed completely. There I remain for so long it feels like time gives up and leaves the room without me.

 

Instead of being with the pain, I visit my favorite Royal Poinciana in full bloom. The nurse holds my hand. “I am okay,” I tell her. “I am going to the ocean.”

“Standing here, I have been all over the world,” she says and I am sure she is an angel.

I relocate my beautiful tree to the seaside and give myself a comfortable chair—the MOST comfortable, soft, supple leather. And San Diego weather. No bugs. French pug puppies play in a pile next to me. My friend’s kitten Mei Mei and her cat friends frolic in the grass. A great book opens in one hand and a wonderfully tart, sweet lemonade shows up in the other. A gorgeous grand piano for my older son to play Chopin appears nearby. My baby son does tricks on his skateboard without getting hurt in front of me. My daughter flops down next to me to tell me all about her formal last weekend. Her descriptions are so funny the laughter gives me an abs workout. Mark brings Starbucks and sits down to enjoy the soft breeze and watch our kids together.

Pain radiates down my shoulders. The poinciana limbs reach down and pull me in, the flowers and branches somehow cushioned and comfy. I feel better. The seagulls line up at the shore and take off into the brilliant blue sky.

A woman’s voice, a doctor I have never met and can’t see, begins to speak. Expect a pinch, then burning. If anything feels sharp, I need to know right away. Match your inhales and exhales. Only through your nose. You’re doing great.

As I stare down at the polished white floor, she pierces my skin with three incisions and injects a billowing cloud of anesthesia. I can tell she is kind and trying to work quickly. We will go back into the machine and then I’ll start the biopsy.

A few loud, searing minutes in the tube and back out again. Three stabs and an internal vacuum. We are going back into the machine to make sure I got all the spots I intended, she says we like she’s coming with me and I believe her.

With noises blaring, my mind runs a memory of a bike ride through the streets of Paris, along the Seine. The morning sun dapples a sparking path across water as I slice through the cool morning air.

I am whisked out of the tube.

How are you doing, the doctor asks. “I’m good.” And I am.

I have been here too, she says. I think God gave me cancer so I could relate to my patients. No family history, nothing. I think it was all the worrying about my kids.

“That third one,” I say, in a muffled voice.

THE THIRD KID, I can’t believe you just said that. YES. Ok, one last time, back in.

The shoulder pain intensifies. And then a voice.

Forgive Everyone. They are all perfect exactly as they are. What they are doing isn’t meant to hurt you. They are just being themselves. It isn’t about you. Most importantly, forgive yourself. 

Tears fall from my eyes and I try to confine the sob just to my head. I bring the healing light of the universe into my shoulders and through my body. I relax. As long as I can hold onto the light, the pain stays away. I try my best to retain it.

The machine pulls me out again and the team immediately flips me right side up. One nurse on each side compresses a breast to stop the bleeding. There is a lot of it.

I lay eyes on the doctor’s kind face for the first time.

“In the last few minutes when I couldn’t take the pain a voice spoke to me. I knew it was God.” I told her what I heard.

The doctor nodded and her smile reached her eyes above the blue mask.

“I let everything go now,” she said. “I had a conflict at Thanksgiving. My son’s girlfriend, not fiance, girlfriend, insisted he stay with her family instead of joining ours on a trip to South Carolina. Instead, they came up on Friday and spent the weekend. My son told me she was worried I would be pissed off with her the whole weekend. He assured her it was over. As a strong, Cuban mother, that’s not easy but it’s what I do now.”

______

Now that I am home in my soft leather chair writing this, I ask myself, was it God or the projection of what I believed God would say to me in that moment? Why can’t it be both? It’s the answer coming from within. Only we know what will serve us. We all carry God energy. It is the force for good in each of us.

This is my most important message, one that will save me from holding harmful negativity. I am super sensitive and sometimes assume people are doing things to me, not just living their lives. I take things personally. Apparently, it’s bad for your health. Message received.

Thanks for coming with me. Pretty cool, right?

Wishing you the best of health and to love yourself just as you are,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: How can you stay in the calm, curious part of your brain today? What helps?

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Happy reading!

 An Ode To My Girls

 

And by my girls, I mean my breasts. Ahead of this next biopsy where even more of you will be taken away, I thought we should have this chat.

It occurred to me that I have treated you the way I have treated myself—with not enough love. I say this with as much self-compassion as I can muster because it’s not like I meant to. Just conditioning, I suppose. What’s done is done and I vow to do better.

 

When you didn’t look good enough for the world’s gaze, I squished you with some figure-enhancing silicone cutlets. I push-upped, padded and waterbraed you, trying everything short of cutting into you. It’s only now that part of you is already gone—and more still to go—that I realize you were perfect exactly as you were.

Back in college, I bragged about not even needing a sports bra to go running and sometimes even did that. You needed support and I denied you. I forced you to toughen up. It makes sense that the doctors describe you as fibrous and dense. There was no other way to survive me.

At the beach, I covered you up in 1920s style bathing costumes with the false belief that you weren’t pretty enough for a bikini. Sorry about that. My Brazilian friends tried to talk to me, but I didn’t listen. When all this is over, I promise to get you a cute swimsuit. You’ve waited long enough.

At our first meeting with the lactation consultant, she told me an improper latch had turned you into hamburger meat. Honestly, it barely registered. I believed everything, absolutely everything, should hurt and I should shut up and learn to bear it better. When she suggested ways in which the baby’s dad, who slept soundly mere inches away, might be of help, it surprised us. We’d been so well trained to have me on duty 24/7 literally destroying myself.

Especially you, Lefty. No one notices I don’t think, but you were always the smaller one. The yoga instructor said ‘we mother from our left side.’ There was less of you to meet the demands. You needed even more care to do a hard job for which you didn’t feel adequately prepared. Despite that, you mothered with everything you had and still do. You are now the one the doctors are worried about.

 

I didn’t know that 1.7 centimeters of tissue would be removed from you, Lefty. For a small breast, I note the difference and of course, you feel it too. I’m sorry no one prepared us for that. So much for informed consent. I wrote to the female physician who performed that last biopsy. Perhaps she will take it to heart and other women won’t have to make this discovery on their own once the swelling goes down.*

After that procedure, I was told by the techs to expect 3-5 days of mild discomfort and then nothing. But you continued to hurt. Sharp, shooting pains. I didn’t want to upset anyone or acknowledge it myself, so I didn’t say a word. Again, well-practiced.

Instead, I feared the worst about you and kept it to myself. Only when the kind surgeon mentioned that I should expect exactly these symptoms did I release one muffled sob. I didn’t want her to think I was one of “those patents” who had no ability to control her emotions.

 **

Ahead of this next biopsy where now three bilateral masses will be sampled, I want to say thank you. I’m sorry for how I treated you. And Godspeed to you in this second, high stakes test, girls. You were always enough and after this is all over, you will still be enough, no matter what. I appreciate you hanging in there, literally. I love you and I will miss you.

_____

And finally, I offer us all a bit of grace from Divinity Professor Kate Bowler who begins by saying, “if you are like me you feel guilty and weird when you have needs, so here is a little blessing to take what you need.”

The feeder is empty again, and no one is claiming that the birds are greedy for taking what they pleased.

Look at how the fat pink flowers are weighing the end of each branch, sucking nutrients into each velvet petal. How selfish.

Nature hungers, takes and needs, God, why can’t I?

Blessed are we learning to take what we need. Sleeping past our alarms, reaching for another helping. Staying a little longer, when the evening is unwinding.

Blessed are we, ignoring the rising anxiety that our needs are somehow silly because we have survived this long without the pleasures of this wanting.

God let these needs be the good sign of the greening of my life.

______

If we ever want to love and be loved well by others, it is up to us to love ourselves well enough first.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: How can you take better care or yourself emotionally? Physically? Spiritually? We deserve better. All of us are hard on ourselves. 

*Let me just take a hot second to address you, Diagnostic Center For Women, with your nearly all-women staff and doctors. Your front desk needs a pep talk. None of you looked me in the eye, either time I visited your offices. You claimed not to have received my prescription and said you’d refuse service even though it was my doctor’s office who sent in the script and scheduled the appointment. You sent the lady ahead of me away because her doctor allegedly didn’t send her biopsy script in either. Make a phone call, it wouldn’t kill you. But it might kill her. Also, DCFW, may I call you that since we are so close now? The biopsy physician did not inform me that I would definitely miss the breast tissue she would be taking. Like literally. 1.7 centimeters is a lot to remove from a small breast. That’s .669 inches. Imparting such information is legally required informed consent, if you want to get technical about it. Women are not cattle. Also, you mentioned, super casual like, that you would insert a titanium marker inside my body, mere seconds before you did so. You are leaving something inside me forever. SAY SO. In sum, do better. Acknowledge us. As women, many if not most of us already discount and deny ourselves as it is. Stop being part of the problem.

**Thanks for the sketch, Erica.
Your are an awesome breast friend.

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Happy reading!

 

One morning a week, I take a brisk walk to a public patch of mini roses growing wild on the roadside. The heady aroma and tiny bundle I bring home makes this a favorite ritual. Over the last months, however, this gift to myself has become something else.

At the stop sign just beyond the rosebushes, a line of cars wait to cross. I avert my gaze to avoid the hot plunge of regret that comes when I spot the decals on each bumper. The trick hardly works—I know they are there. This street leads to the lovely little school where my son was kicked out a few months back. I blame myself for letting it happen.

Making fresh anguish from old news does me no good, especially now. Covid finally caught up with my husband and he feels like hot garbage. I am standing at the door of an alarming diagnosis. Our house is in lockdown with dishes and laundry piling up. All just for me.

 

It wasn’t so many years ago that I’d wake up to a feeling of dread every day. Then, I’d match the feeling with a thought about what I had done wrong or what bad thing someone had done to me. Next, I tried to go back and fix it in my head. Shockingly, it never worked. After a huge shift in mindset, I don’t do this to myself anymore. It has changed everything.

I now have tools to weed out painful thoughts when they spring up. If you spend time ruminating over the past or obsessing about the future, I’ll share what helped me this week.

Waking up in the morning, I get in front of the uneasy realization that I have some STUFF going on right now. I intentionally take over the self-talk before it begins. Instead of allowing my mind to default to worry, I play a positive mantra over and over. My simple favorite is, I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay.

That may sound looney, but trust that I am training my brain to spend more time on the right side, i.e., the peaceful, creative side, not the fight or flight left side. I won’t ruin the present moment with angsty thoughts about the past or future. These days, meditation, exercise and a gratitude practice ensure a positive start to the day. If worry pops in, deep breathing and a mindfulness exercise put me back in my body. It works.

 

Last night during dinner prep, I wondered why I blamed myself for my son’s predicament. As I chopped broccoli flourettes, Oprah and Michael Singer’s May 11, 2022, podcast interview played in the background. They discussed his new book, Living Untethered. He says the only time we are bothered by what other people do is when it triggers old pain we haven’t let go of inside ourselves.

That rang true with my son. When the school so easily tossed him out, I felt deeply wounded. Definitely more than the situation warranted. It brought back the rejection I had experienced at his age. Back then, I blamed myself. Kids naturally make themselves wrong as a survival skill. Blaming the adults is far too dangerous territory. Now that I am an adult, I realize that attempting to controlling my environment or other people is impossible–even making the attempt brings me misery.

Singer teaches the only way to get past this is to make a regular practice of letting go. By doing so, we find our way back to our true self—the part of us who is always calm, despite the storms.

“Letting things go” didn’t make sense to me for a long time. It sounded like somehow agreeing that what had happened to me was nothing so I should just forget about it. Let everyone who had failed me off the hook. As if.

Now I understand that holding onto a painful past ruins the present. Right at this moment, I feel like the scary unknown of my health is allowing me to release old pain I never felt safe enough to process. At times, I am suddenly gripped by sadness. Instead of pushing it away, I let myself cry. I have Pearl Jam and carpool to thank for stirring that ancient pot of emotion. I will let it go, one teary-eyed post-drop off at a time.

Singer had a few gold nuggets that I will take with me on this unfamiliar road. When thoughts that fight with reality come in, I will consciously correct them. This shouldn’t be happening to me. I am so healthy, WTF. Who should it happen to then? Illness happens. We trust our caregivers and we get through it.

 

As for my son, I didn’t have it in me to spare him the consequences of his actions. An older, bigger boy hit him and ran off. My son found him and hit him back. Only one kid was punished. It wasn’t fair. But just like the mother hen who won’t help her baby chick poke his way out of the shell because it may kill him, I resisted the urge to fix it. Giving him the false belief that when life treats him unfairly, his mother will solve the problem won’t serve him now or ever. If he belonged at that school, he’d still be there.

The next time I take my rose walk, I will run a positive mantra in my head and not leave any space for regret to take root. It will be something like this: I am meant to live in peace. Everything is exactly as it should be. My son is on the path that is meant for him. And I am too.

When you intentionally fill your mind with peaceful thoughts, you will cultivate a beautiful life.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPTS: What helps you keep cool during stressful times? How does spirituality play a role if at all?

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Happy reading!

 

Accepting my husband’s offer to come with me to the doctor made me feel weak. But I knew it was better to have another set of ears at a time like this. Emotionally it seemed doable on my own, though. I had navigated far worse alone.

Mark and I entered the elevator behind a woman with sparse white hair seated in a wheelchair. The older man pushing her leaned down.

“You okay, Mom?” She nodded.

Without warning, my throat caught. We arrived at our floor and the doors parted. It was as if this same pair had multiplied—older women in ill health being steered around by others—all on their way with an air of reverence and resignation.

We followed the signs to our waiting area. Beneath enormous round light fixtures riddled with tiny spheres, we found seats. For the interior design of a breast cancer clinic, the metaphor was almost funny.

Being in this place made the stakes clear. People showed up here because they didn’t want to die. And I was one of them. Tears spilled over and soaked into my mask.

Mark asked what I was thinking about.

“Nothing. I’m just feeling what it’s like to be here.” After half a lifetime of running from hard emotions, I finally let them in.

The jarring effect of all this shouldn’t have surprised me. The time lapse from routine check-up to Miami Cancer Institute had happened in fast forward.

I’d been putting off the mammogram. The need for all natural everything ruled it out. My midwife suggested having one as a baseline along with thermography.* Every year, the thermogram report landed in my inbox: “low risk,” the latest one two months ago.

 

For me, the roots of alternative choices run deep. In my home growing up, goldenseal and honey fixed a sore throat. Babies were born at home. Halva was the only candy bar we kids bothered to ask for at the store. And by “store” I mean co-op. These choices connected me to my home, to my mother, to an uncomplicated time before anything bad happened to my family. Natural options gave me back that sense of safety.

When I switched out of my midwife’s busy practice, my new doctor recommended a mammogram. At my next annual visit, she asked about it again. When I admitted I hadn’t gone yet, she left the exam room and asked her staff to schedule the exam for me.

I am not quick to put my faith in doctors. When I looked for someone for my college-bound daughter, Dr. Karmin came highly recommended from patients and friends alike. Jane loved her. It just made sense to see her myself.

When I asked who knit the soft, colorful booties on her stirrups, she said, “I did. I want my patients to be comfortable.” Anyone who cared that much deserved to be trusted.

I went for the mammogram.

Stepping out of the shower a few days ago, the screamy caps of DIAGNOSTIC CENTER FOR WOMEN flashed across my phone. I snatched it from the dressing table and played the voicemail. The soft-spoken radiologist asked me to return the call on his cel. My body stiffened.

I stepped out into my backyard buck naked and tapped in the number. A three centimeter mass with “spiculations” had caused concern. He ordered a biopsy.

The procedure was scheduled immediately. They pulled a good size sample. Negative results were found to be “discordant” with the features on the images. The radiology staff conferred and recommended re-biopsy or excision of the entire mass.

And now here we were, waiting to see the Chief of Breast Surgery, a former colleague of Dr. Karmin’s. I was glad Mark had come. Waiting alone would have been hard.

Dr. Mendez introduced herself and asked about my health, my family, my work. She wanted to hear what I understood of the situation. Then she walked me through it herself. She needed more information. A benign pathology report and the jagged borders of the mass didn’t match up. An MRI with contrast would show whether there is blood flow to the area, which she referred to as “vascularity.”

“It sounds mysterious. Obviously, I would prefer not to be an interesting case,” I said.

“But we are all different. It is our differences that make us beautiful,” she said.

A surgeon who views her job that way is exactly the right person to be doing it.

“No matter how it turns out, going through this changes you. On the other side, you are not the same.”

We left the office with complete confidence in her.

She was right about what this does to a person. In the short time I have been in this liminal space, I feel it. From the second I received that first phone call, my life snapped into sharper focus. In these brief couple of weeks, I have realized some things:

1. I can be okay with not being okay. If I allow myself to be human, I will have the capacity for extending that grace to others. People may unwittingly say hurtful things. The more I accept myself, the more capacity I will have to see their good intentions.
2. I don’t have to tough it out on my own. As my friend Erica reminded me, I have people now. I can accept a kind offer of support. I can ask my husband to come with me. If you are reading this, you probably care too, so thank you.
3. My dear friends who have gone through this with courage and humor are wonderful guides and I am so lucky to have them. I don’t have to open myself up to the opinions of the whole wide world.
4. I can ask for what I need. It isn’t pity. It isn’t hearing I’m sorry. Or how hard or scary it must be. I am managing my “what ifs”. Whatever this is, I know it is meant to happen exactly this way. As my smart friend Lisa says, “breast cancer is a highly treatable disease.” I have a team of brilliant women in my corner. The one who will make the calls carries the name of my own brilliant daughter Jane. Tell me that’s not magic.
5. We are all beautiful. This process will simply show me more of who I really am.

Thank you in advance for sending me good thoughts. I know I am going to be just fine.

When you stay curious and calm, allowing yourself to be fully human, you get the sense that it’s all going to be okay. Even when it’s not.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT:

Have you had an experience that made you present to your life unlike any other? What was it like? What did you learn? Have you hung on to the lessons?

* In case you aren’t sure what thermography is, here’s how I learned about it. Not that I endorse them, obviously: https://www.drnorthrup.com/best-breast-cancer-screening-tests/

 

 

Unsolicited advice feels like criticism. 

Man, that one hits. In my personal life, I have most assuredly been guilty of this. I have given it and received it and it sucks on both accounts. My hope is that my writing does not come across as criticism of you, dear reader.

If it has, I offer you my sincerest apology. My intention is not to tell you how to make choices in your own life but rather to share my own conundrum and chosen path through it. In the event you run into a similar problem, my mission is to provide useful tools to find a way out. Not the only way, or the best way, just a way. I am a wayfinder, simple as that.

 

When I ask the questions at the end (the writing prompt), that is meant as an opportunity to discover an insight of your own. There is one expert on your one wild and precious life and that is you. Asking yourself questions, not taking a poll of other people, is the only way to your truth.

If you are a regular reader, you might be wondering why this “Friday Story” is rolling in on Saturday afternoon. Well. At 8:46 on Friday morning, I received a phone call that changed the whole story. I must have had a sense it wasn’t over. This piece usually goes out first thing. For some reason, I couldn’t wrap it up. Then the caller quite literally told me it was not over.

I admit to feeling some level of relief that I didn’t have to share that story yet. Why? Because the decisions I made are definitely not the norm. In my social circle, my past choices around this are unlike anyone I know with the exception of maybe one or two others. I was concerned about being judged.

 

When this has happened in past stories, I sometimes receive feedback about how I should have done better and how I could make different choices in the future. To these folks, I have taken the time to explain my thinking and provided further facts. I have defended myself. While I totally appreciate readers sharing their thoughts, my aim is to serve as a jumping off point for your own insights, not to invite you to convince me to live my life differently or to regret the past. If it had been the right thing for me to do at the time, that’s exactly what I would have done. As Byron Katie says, defense is the first act of war. I don’t wish to be at war with anyone, not even with myself.

The lawyer in me does love to be right, however, so I have engaged in a back and forth with readers whenever the opportunity has presented. Here is what I ask myself and you: what would be possible if you didn’t have to be right? What if you could openly listen to someone else’s perspective and just let it be their perspective? It doesn’t mean you have to take it on, nor does it mean they have to accept your version. It just means you are able to hold space for someone else to be who they are.

That may be all we ever really want in this life. For someone to be silent long enough to hear us out, resisting the urge to offer suggestions. To actually listen and understand what we are experiencing. To get it right. To ask questions to make sure we are understood. To be curious. To be the compassionate witness for what is happening inside us. And, when we are totally done sharing what we have to share—you will know because you’ll have asked if there is anything else—to assure us we are okay and loved just as we are. We resist the urge to say this is just like someone else I know and this is what they did. We didn’t ask for that. When we want advice, we ask. Unsolicited advice feels like criticism. 

So that is my message today, dear reader. You do not have to defend yourself. If people disagree with you, that is their right. You do not have to fight with them. (If you are a lawyer you kind of do, but not in your personal life, Mark Heise, and all you attorneys out there. Love you!)

The Friday Story I allude to will likely come out in the next week or two. When it does, you’ll know it. It’s a hard story to tell and it’s been difficult to live. I’m still living it. When it is over and all my lessons are learned, I will happily share them with you.

Until then, I wish you peace in making the hard decisions in your life and good people to support you through them. I am lucky to have those people.

Know that ultimately, enlightenment feels exactly like freedom.

When you make choices that are right for you in the moment and you do better when you know better, you get the sense that it’s all going to be okay.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: Do you hesitate to share your decisions for fear of being judged? Who are the safe people in your life to share what is true for you?

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up and feel free to share with friends who might be into it too. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Thank you for reading!

 

You are not alone.

I don’t know who else needs to hear this, but I sure do.

The recent holidays had me throwing my customary pity party. I reserve such occasions to ruminate on my fractured family of origin and how my kids don’t get to enjoy relatives coming together for celebrations. With divorced parents, the onus is on us siblings. It hasn’t gone well. By scrolling through friends’ elaborate Seder tables and Easter egg hunts, I can wallow. I realize these aren’t actual problems, but at this time of year, I can’t be stopped.

Making my own family traditions has been complicated by an atheist partner who doesn’t share my desire for festive, spiritual practices. He has other fine qualities but he has no interest in this. It’s impacted our kids’ beliefs as well. My father had a similar attitude about the holidays even though he was the experienced Jew, my mother the convert. When my Jewish stepmother took over, I don’t recall celebrating anything.

Feeling alone becomes more acute for me during holidays, but to be honest, it’s been my “emotional home” for as long as I can remember. As a kid, there was no place for my outspoken, true self—only a tight slot for the pleaser, the fixer, the one who didn’t require attention. I avoided the hard feelings that resulted. Instead, I saved it to my holiday file and have rationed out a little bit of sadness every few months since then.

While I don’t talk about any of this with my own family, I’m certain they have picked up on it. Energy is matter. My daughter has voiced this same painful thought. I wish our family would come for big events. Kids are perceptive. I would like to free this space for something new.

If you have an old pattern you’d like to change, let’s try it together, shall we?

1.  THE FOUR AREAS OF HUMAN EXPERIENCE

To know what we can control and what we can’t, it helps to understand this basic cause and effect. Our circumstances shape our thoughts, our thoughts create our feelings, our feelings cause our behavior.

Most of the time, we have very little control over our circumstances. We waste time wishing things could be different instead of accepting what it is. I did this with my parents for ages. The circumstances in my family of origin—marital discord, divorce, abandonment, estrangement—were beyond my control. Still are. My siblings have other priorities in addition to triggers from our past. We each live entirely separate lives. Maybe not always but for now, this is it.

From these circumstances emerged the thought I am alone. Hence the sad feels. When I am upset, I tend to close myself off from other people, which makes the alone part a real thing. The truth is, I am married to a great guy with three beautiful kids, have special friends, wonderful work colleagues and you, dear reader. But the thought caused the feeling that created the behavior. My thoughts did that. Powerful stuff.

We often confuse feelings and thoughts when we say for example, I feel like you don’t understand me. That is not a feeling, it’s a thought. A feeling state originates in the body and must run its course. When we don’t allow ourselves to feel, the pain is simply deferred and prolonged. I didn’t allow myself to feel much as a kid. That sadness didn’t go anywhere.

2. FEEL THE FEELS UNTIL THEY ARE ALL OUT

There is no moving on from anything until we let emotions out. The old ones from decades ago totally count. I never processed the pain from the original blow. Back then, I didn’t feel safe enough.

Now that I realize there’s no way around it, I make it my business to find ways to release the feelings. Whatever helps you access stored up feelings, by all means, do that. Music can reach that hiding place inside of me. Especially if there’s a story behind the song. Those televised talent shows like “America’s Got Talent” and “Got Talent Global” often have their performers share how they overcame great odds to pursue their art. Usually there is a proud relative there with them—that always makes me extra weepy, sitting there wishing I had a parent show up for me like that. I can almost cry the whole way through the song. My body always wants to stop before its all out though so I still have to work on this.

Another great way to release old emotions is in the latest episode of Martha Beck’s podcast The Gathering Pod, Episode 81. She does a visualization of welcoming back past selves who felt they didn’t have a place to belong. Each of those parts are asked to rejoin our compassionate witness self which is our one true home. I’ve done it several times. It helps release all the avoided feelings from former versions of you that were too afraid to let their guard down.

3. QUESTION THE PAINFUL THOUGHTS

This thought of mine—I am all alone—is so ingrained in me, it’s hard to even think of myself without it. But I am reminded that our thoughts are not who we are. Our true self is the awarenessbehind the thought. Choosing to identify with this thought—I am all alone—has been my way of taking childhood pain and converting it into lifelong suffering.

So. This thought about being all alone may have been true at times, but it isn’t anymore. And I now realize I am the one who knows what my life truly means. It can be about the wounds or it can be about the insights, my choice. As Hemingway wrote in A Farewell to Arms, “The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” I can focus on where I am stronger.

These are my gifts:

No matter what the set back, I never give up.

The limitations of other people to show up for me do not dictate how I treat them or myself.

No matter where I am, I am home.

I have a spidey sense of what is a safe situation for me and what is not.

The feeling of not belonging helps me see other people who exist in the margins and be a voice for them.

Suffering made me a stronger, more compassionate person.

I have transformed my own pain into a way to help others heal.

I have the courage to speak the truth even if it’s uncomfortable.

I can be relied upon.

I have an abiding faith in a beautiful future.

The truth is, we are all connected. At any time, we can reach out to the good people around us.

Turning the holidays into an opportunity to focus on what I don’t have isn’t what I want my life to be. From now on, every holiday will be about gratitude because I literally have EVERYTHING.

OKAY. I feel so much better now. Turns out, we don’t have to believe our painful thoughts. They are designed for suffering and we don’t have to go along with it.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: is there a painful thought you can get rid of once and for all? 

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up and feel free to share. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Thank you for joining me.

 

 

It would seem that no matter what your lot, you have reason to worry right now. Trying times.

My mom friends and I often read each other’s tea leaves for signs of trouble with our kids. Over the years it’s become reflexive. We’ll get on the phone and before we check in about how the other is doing, we’ll volley back and forth with reports of each child. Books and articles will be recommended to manage each stage with the requisite care.

Recently, a dear friend texted a piece about the dangers of Covid boosters for children, urging me to read. My body refused. I texted her back: no recreational worrying. 

But who am I kidding. I totally do it. And I have taught my kids to worry too. I recall when my firstborn was a high school freshman. We had a meeting with her college counselor who brought up my daughter’s first “B.” She’d already fretted over it plenty.

“Just so you know. Your friends are not getting B’s.”

We had hired her to guide our daughter and provide some straight talk about the process. We didn’t anticipate her ramping up the anxiety about Jane’s future. I should have pushed back but instead, I said nothing. The idea of alienating her and not having professional advice was a much bigger worry back then.

Now that my sons are entering territory not previously covered by my perfectionist daughter—and it’s a lot of territory— fresh opportunities for handwringing abound. I have even caught myself storing it up and taking it out on other people. It’s time to do some work.

As luck would have it, Martha Beck focused on this very topic on her podcast The Gathering Pod, Episode #77. Because many of us worry for sport, I’ll share the takeaways and add my own two cents.

 

Why do we worry so much? 

Due to our negativity bias, we pay far more attention to what’s troubling. It’s how we survived back in caveman days. But that instinct can run amok. If you are holding onto all the negativity and then imagining all sorts of new ways that things could go wrong, it’s damaging.

What’s wrong with worrying when there’s so much to worry about? 

Because worry isn’t real. It’s the product of a little bit of observation and a whole lot of imagination plus the negativity bias. Worry doesn’t actually help anybody with anything. It doesn’t really even help people with situations that are really going on. It just increases anxiety.

If we don’t worry, how will we know what to do if the bad thing happens?

People who are in actual danger are not in a state of worry, they are in action. Fear based on a real threat doesn’t create a feeling, it calms us all the way down so we can mobilize. Think about the last time something truly awful happened. Were you calm or in a full freak out?

If you are afraid of something and there is no action, that’s just worry. It wears you down, disturbs your sleep, and destroys your health. We can worry ourselves sick. If you have a health issue that has resolved but you are still worried about it, that anxiety will sustain neuroplastic pain. You are literally telling your brain to hang onto pain that has already healed.

When you want to take action, worry will prevent good decision making. When your mind is in a worry state, it gets stuck in fight or flight. If you attempt any creative problem solving, it won’t work.

You have to first soothe yourself like you would a frightened child. Breathe, slow it down, snuggle up. Make tea. Whatever soothes you, do that. Move from left brain to right brain where your centered, creative perspective lies.

If worry is where our mind goes automatically, how do we stop?

First, observe. Watch your mind imagine an infinite number of things that could go wrong. Notice when you pose “what if” questions to yourself that become a parade of horribles. Tune in to how badly it makes you feel.

This is the most important step. Realize that the good things are no more unlikely to happen than the bad things.

Lastly, take the painful thoughts and turn them around, Byron Katie style.* Take the terrible list of “what ifs” and turn it into an awesome list.

What if, instead of feeling alone, I have all the support I need?

What if I already know exactly what to do next?

What if everything turns out even better than the best case scenario? 

Thinking through all the possible happy outcomes makes you feel infinitely better. Use your imagination for GOOD. That’s what it’s there for.

What is a quick strategy to take us out of worry?

Reduce your breathing rate. Slow down. Repeat: I am okay, I am okay, I am okay or whatever calming mantra you prefer. Remember, this is your one precious life. Don’t ruin it by filling your mind with worry.

___

I studied the above list and slept on it. The next morning, I set out for my run. I felt a heaviness in my body—worry about my youngest. He seems to be in a huge hurry to grow up, trying all the things his siblings did when they were much older. It’s been completely freaking me out.

I ticked down a new and improved list of “what ifs.” What if he is on the exact right path? What if he is doing exactly what he needs to do to figure out how to be in the world? What if I am totally equipped to handle it? What if it turns out better than I could ever have expected?

Much better. And the action I have to take? From this calm place, I am present and curious about what he is going through. My instincts are sharper here. MUCH BETTER.

If you move beyond worry and into the calm, creative part of your mind, you get the sense that it’s all going to be okay.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: What causes you the most worry? How do you stop the cycle? What has helped?

Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up and feel free to share. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Thank you for joining me.

*I credit Byron Katie with completely shifting how I look at the world. I wrote about how to do The Work a few months ago: https://elizabethheise.com/come-home-to-yourself/. You can also go straight to her website at thework.com . It will transform your life for the better, guaranteed.

 

 

‘The slap heard round the world’ got our attention.* And not just because we are celebrity obsessed. On some level, we can relate. In real time, we watched Will Smith’s inner struggle between the survivor who got him through a violent past and the evolved, untroubled person he aspires to be.

Everyone has triggers that show up in ways we come to regret. But if we learn to unify all parts of ourselves, the light and the dark, we can be whole and peaceful.

I too have been on a path to fully integrate. And it’s been messy. My biggest regret is losing my sh!t as a parent. This tendency has diminished over time, but I have plenty of work left to do. I grew up managing the chaos in my home by controlling as much as I could. Good grades, social climbing, and a crisp layer of hair spray gave me some agency over my life, even if it was just on the surface.

 

What happens when someone like me has children? She tries to control them too. No child on earth enjoys that kind of nitpicky perfectionism, but some can manage well enough under the regime. My two eldest are ‘A’ students, spelling bee champs, Model UN, student government, you get the picture. My third is. Not. Having. It.

He brings the chaos I have guarded against ever since the first parental tirade back in the Seventies. He’s a free-spirited skateboarder with lots of unconventional ideas on how to do life. Sometimes it involves a project with black spray paint perilously close to my white SUV. Or sneaking out the window to meet his friends in the middle of the night. But the days that trigger me most are when he opts out of a regular school day. He pretends to stay asleep, ignores offers of breakfast, and throws the covers over his head.

 

It happened again this week. I started off calm and understanding, popping by his bedroom for gentle reminders that we only have X more minutes. It’s Monday, I get it.  

As the clock ticked closer to the bell ringing at school and my boy remained horizontal, my mood fell off a cliff.

I marched in and announced that I would no longer tolerate this behavior. My morning appointments would not be cancelled again. His choices would not shape how others perceive me. If he wants to be unreliable, that was on him.

Still nothing.

Then, with the volume turned all the way up, I threatened to end all joy—no sleepovers, no phone, no going out with friends.

Still, he remained motionless. I left the room to collect myself.

An hour had passed. My Zoom started in two minutes. For one last attempt, I entered his room, took a deep breath and sat down, eye to eye.

“What do you need right now?” I asked.

“Sleep,” he said. He’d had an all-nighter with the boys on Saturday night. From the mess in the kitchen, it was clear he’d gotten up the night before as well. The last time this happened, I lectured and cajoled for hours. He refused to move. It was time to try a peaceful solution.

“What if I let you have one more hour?” I asked.

“Ok.”

After the extra sleep, he went to school.

Fortunately, I had a practice coaching session to get some clarity around my reaction instead of allowing the guilt to cloud over everything. I hope these insights help you the next time a trigger swoops in.

1. Notice when it isn’t about you. Instead of asking what was going on with him, I focused only on myself. No kid wants to hear how their troubles are messing up their mom’s routine. Middle school sucks. It will pass. A mental health day (or morning) isn’t a crime against humanity. He doesn’t see the value in showing up bleary-eyed, just to fill out endless worksheets at school. Who can blame him.

2. Know when to step away. When you realize it isn’t your issue yet you feel yourself getting upset, a moment to reflect and return to your higher functioning brain is needed. Asking yourself, what are you making this mean will help identify painful thoughts. I made his actions mean that he doesn’t respect me. It took a while to find out he was too tired to function.

3. Turn the accusatory thought around on yourself.** My narrative has been that he brings the chaos. Actually, he was trying to sleep. There is nothing less chaotic. The one losing her mind was me. The one opting out of the reality of the situation was me.

4. Forgive that part of yourself. When it comes to parenting, the character Lennie in Of Mice and Men comes to mind—remember the guy who kills the little mouse by petting it too hard? After an episode like this, I spend a day or two in a stew of regret, worrying about the damage I caused our relationship and wishing that reactive side of me could stand down. You know what though? That fierce little fighter stayed vigilant to protect me when I needed it. I am grateful for her. But she can relax now, the calm adult me is ready to take the wheel. I can learn to love better.

5. Imagine yourself at the end of the interaction with both of you going away happy. See it working out exactly how you want it and enjoy that feeling state. Really treasure the good outcome.***

6. “Children are a revolution,” as Abby Wambach says. Through parenting this boy, I am witnessing what it’s like to live on your own terms. He isn’t desperately searching for anyone’s approval. He is resisting the cultural conditioning to conform, to obey the rules, to sit down and shut up. Is it frustrating? YES. But in my heart of hearts, I couldn’t be prouder.

When we give ourselves a break and stay present, we have the best chance of integrating our wounded self with our healthy self. The more we accept that we are doing the best we can, the happier, more peaceful we can be.

Love,

Elizabeth

WRITING PROMPT: What happens when your dark side takes over? How can you make peace with that part of you and integrate it into your higher self?

*In case you missed it, during the live telecast of the 2022 Academy Awards, Chris Rock made an insensitive joke about Jada Pinkett Smith. Immediately afterwards, her husband, actor Will Smith, walked across the stage and slapped him.

**The Work by Byron Katie has truly saved me. Check out thework.com.

*** One scientific study had three groups attempt improvement on shooting free throws in basketball. The control group did nothing, one group visualized getting better and the third group practiced for an hour a day. The two groups who practiced and visualized improved at nearly identical rates. It’s too bad no group both visualized and practiced. They probably would have done the best.

 Do my weekly stories come to your inbox? If not, you are invited to sign up. Click on elizabethheise.com and subscribe today. And if you like, come find me on the socials: @elizabethheise.writer on Instagram and @heiseelizabeth1 on Twitter. Happy reading!