If you’re asking who I am and why you should trust me with helping you unlock your best version of yourself, you should know that there was a time that I could not trust myself and you should know how I regained self-trust. I say “regain”, because we are born with a healthy pattern of trust until something in the world causes us to distrust.
This story starts two decades ago. Twenty years ago, I was a burned out mental health professional whose life was crumbling around me. I was depressed, anxious, tired, and suffering. I put everyone else first in my quest to feel connection and love. Several aspects of my life that I call “Spiritual Anchors”, kept me grounded enough to survive another day and ultimately led me to this work.
I want to share insights about the Spiritual Anchors that have helped me evolve into the trustworthy, self-leader with a profound sense of respect and gratitude for others and my Creator that I am today. But I don’t want to overwhelm you, so I’ll spread this topic over a few posts.
And it’s o.k. if you’re still side-eyeing me a bit after reading this post. Trust takes time to earn and a moment to destroy. It took me years to learn to trust myself. I’m here for the long haul with you so, if you need it, feel free to take your time to decide if you can trust me.
So here goes…
On the surface, 20 years ago, most people thought I was holding it all together quite nicely. I would often hear, “You’re so strong, smart, pretty, talented, witty, industrious [insert whatever blah blah blah positive attribute here]. Yes, I had seemingly landed on my feet after a contentious divorce and was taking care of my children and quadriplegic mom. I had a pretty good job, a decent car, and somehow managed to stay in the right zip code to afford my children a fine education. I was the quintessential community volunteer, always ready to help. My outgoing personality and good nature led everyone to believe I was alright.
But I was far from alright. I was barely holding on.
After the sudden death of my father, a failed marriage, and a series of financial setbacks, I was depleted. My blood pressure was through the roof, and I was chronically overweight and anemic. I was hyper-vigilant about safety (trauma response there). I slept a few hours each night. My tank was empty!
Each and every day was a struggle to find meaning and purpose as I shuffled robotically between three jobs, a master’s program, my children’s activities, and my responsibilities as a dutiful daughter. I would often think, “This can’t be it. This can’t be my LIFE.” I called out to the Almighty, “When will relief come with this difficulty?!” I felt abandoned by my father (through death), by my husband (emotionally), and yes, by G-d*. Irrational? Maybe, but it was my reality at the time.
Thank the Lord for my mother’s patience with me, because I was often so nice outside and so crabby at home. She saw through my stress and trauma and into my soul as only a mother could. She forgave me even though I could not forgive me. She had hope and faith in me, though I had little in myself. She loved the unlovable parts of me. She reminded me to hold on a little longer to the rope that G-d* had given me. Though my faith was being tested, my mom helped me hold on to the hope that I was potentially salvageable, and that G-d was out there, somewhere, waiting in the wings to rescue me some day (though I thought, how cruel to keep me waiting, but it’s probably because I did something to piss him off).
[Spiritual Anchor #1: My Mom]
[Spiritual Anchor #2: G-d, even though I thought he was cruel and vengeful]
Though I worked in the mental health field, I failed to see my own downward spiral into despair. Victor Frankl created the formula D=S-M or Despair is Suffering without Meaning. As I worked with my clients to help them find meaning in their suffering, I could not alleviate my own. I took on the energy of their despair plus mine. I felt like my personal formula was more like D2=2(S-M). I cried nearly every night about their plights, knowing that I really could not say or do anything that would make meaning of horrific abuse, profound mental illness, and all their suffering. I later learned that this was called “empathic distress”. Though my caseload continued to grow with people who requested my service, I felt like a fraudulent cheerleader for joy when I had none of my own.
Even though I continued to plead, “Oh G-d, where is that relief you promised?!”, I was starting to believe that maybe the help would never come to someone as undeserving as me.
At least my clients had some good meds with weird names for their temporary relief. My “meds” ended up coming in a different form.
(Spiritual Anchors: Part II coming soon).
*A note on my spelling of the word G-d instead of “God”. I use this to signify that everything that is good can be placed in that blank space. G-d’s magnitude and goodness is beyond my comprehension (excuse the pronoun as I don’t believe G-d is a he or she or it, but am using he as a preference).
