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Change can be scary and is almost always difficult. Change can force us to question both the reasons we stayed and the reasons we left. Learning to begin again has been challenging but life-giving, even more so as I settle into midlife. This list may resonate with some of you, so I thought I would share several scenarios in which I have learned to begin again.
While so many of the circumstances in my list above are quite personal, I know many of you can relate. In fact, just reaching a decision to begin again can feel overwhelming. I will link a resource below of a book that really helped me make some hard decisions in my life. I love this author's work, her podcast, and her platform. Her words have provided both comfort and fuel for my body and soul. She writes from a Christian perspective, so if that is not a fit for you, you may not enjoy her work. Let's take a deeper dive into a few of the life scenarios that forced me to begin again as I share anecdotes and resources that helped me get through the muck of starting over.
These real-life examples are very personal and may not apply to your life. I do hope they give you some insight, however, either for your own life or for someone that you love. Connection is the entire reason I started pouring my heart out over the internet, so please leave a comment below if any of this resonates with you. I see you and you are not alone. I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their works inspired by the prompt word BEGIN: Begin Moving Toward Your Soul’s Lifework by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/begin-moving-toward-your-souls-lifework The Beginning of Stories from the Supper Table Series by Jessica Haberman http://www.storytellerfarm.com/beginning-of-stories-from-the-supper-table-series How To Begin a New Career by Ashley Olivine https://ashleyolivine.com/how-to-begin-a-new-career/
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What do we say when we don't know what to say? We have good intentions of encouraging our loved ones, but we have no idea how to do so. Encouragement can feel obligatory on the sending end and inauthentic on the receiving end. And that FEELS BAD for both parties. We have all been there. Someone dies unexpectedly. Someone receives a terrible diagnosis. A divorce comes out of nowhere. A tragic accident. Our partner says something cruel or doesn't meet our emotional needs. A friend is struggling with infertility or has a miscarriage. Our friend is venting about a difficult situation. Here are some tips for what to say and what not to say:
Do/say this:
Don't do/say this:
Encouragement should feel good for the giver and the recipient. It takes practice on BOTH ends to make it work. At times, we are simply in too much pain to receive any encouragement and that is okay. Other times, we as givers are not in the best mental head space and must take care of ourselves before we can expend energy dolling out encouragement to friends or family members. In those situations, communication is key. Boundaries are vital. And reassurance that your person is important to you is paramount.
I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their works inspired by the prompt word ENCOURAGE: 4 Ways to Encourage Yourself in the Lord by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/4-ways-to-encourage-yourself-in-the-lord/ Simple Is Better – Never Underestimate the Power of Encouragement by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/08/01/simple-is-better-never-underestimate-the-power-of-encouragement/ Encouragement to Bloom by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/encouragement-to-bloom How Can Parents Encourage Emotional Development? By Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/how-can-parents-encourage-emotional-development/ As of today, I have read 64 books in 2023. That is more than I have read in the past 3 years COMBINED (thanks to my new job and some life changes). While I have given over 20 five-star ratings and reviews, there are 10 books that are still following me around and dancing in my soul. I think about the characters or the story or the emotions they evoked and THAT is why I love to read. These 10 books have all taken up residence in my heart for 2023:
If you want to feel sad or reflective:
I hope these recommendations have come to you at the exact time you needed them. Please comment below if you have read any of these! I also review books regularly on TikTok and would love to connect with you there! photo credit: Naassom Azevedo I remember being 20 years old. Planning a wedding. Looking at houses like a 16 year old looks at cars. Aren’t we always looking for, searching for, planning for that next thing? After the wedding and the house came the baby fever a few years later. All the nursery furniture and books of baby names. Once the kids are born we start planning for school. Backpacks and school supplies. We spend the next decade or so driving everyone to everything and wondering when it will be our turn again. Even though these are the very dreams we prayed for and clung to for so long. Next we plan their launch. College visits or military recruiters. Sheets for twin beds and $10 dorm skillets. The excitement builds and then evaporates with one set of taillights or one giant aircraft in the distance. We wait. We wonder. We hear from them now on their terms and we count the weeks between visits. And we realize one Wednesday morning while we sip our coffee and type in the glow of the Christmas tree that now they’re us. Now THEY are 20 years old. We are no longer even a daily thought to them because they are planning that wedding and looking at that house with the very same vigor we did so many years ago. And they know everything just like we did. To that we just smile and think “so that’s why my parents never really said much and just watched it all unfold.” So what do we do now? See we have been to therapy and had all these intense life lessons since we were 20. We know so much. Alas we really know so little. We control so very little (only our own thoughts and actions). We could say now we are planning for grandchildren but we have also stopped all the cookie cutter “this comes next” because we have been on the very train that derailed those best laid plans. So I just revel in the warmth of my coffee mug in my hands. Stare at the lights on my tree. Remember the excitement of buying my very first house. Give thanks for the bumps and bruises I have endured. And look forward to making my Mammaw’s dressing from scratch tonight like she and my mother have done since the 1940’s. Mammaw was 20 years old. Mama was 20 years old. I was 20 years old. Thank you Lord for all the 20-year-olds, the hopes and dreams, the excitement of building a life. May we never forget that feeling. Godspeed. I recently finished The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah. As I listen to books on my commute, I often pause the recording when I hear a lovely or heart-wrenching quote and voice text it into my iPhone notes. With The Four Winds, I captured 11 quotes. One that has settled into me is this:
"You're wearing your worried face"
said the daughter to her mother. "It's my love face" said the mother to her daughter.
*** I chose mother and daughter instead of character names for context
As I reflect upon ALL THE THINGS (#overanalyzersunite), I cannot get those words out of my head. I am embarrassed (or not?) to tell you the number of times one of my 3 boys has asked "are you okay mom? Your face looks funny like you're mad at me or worried." All the while, I'm thinking "I am cooking supper, I have just folded a million tiny boxer briefs, I signed your agenda, AND I am making a conscious effort to smile ever so slightly." I realize as I pass the hall mirror that my forced smile is only on the bottom half of my face and that the top half is riddled with the heavy and the unknown that I am carrying that day. In my previous post on motherhood, I mention that I sing my children awake. It is quirky and I don't know how it started, but it is ritual in this house. If ever a morning passes without music in the house, the boys know "mommy ain't right." (sidebar: the writer in me abhors "ain't" while the Kentucky in me knows it infers just another level of wrong that the word "not" misses). Laugh if you agree. As my boys get older, and as my therapy bill reaches the thousands of dollars, I am learning that pretending everything is okay:
With boys ages 19, 11, and 9, my Worried / Love Face has rested above my shoulders on so many different days and in so many different ways.
So what next? Is there a moral to this story? I think of my own Mama and both my grandmothers. I remember seeing their Worried / Love faces too and not knowing what they meant. I remember telling both grandmothers goodbye when they BOTH knew they were dying from lung cancer, one as a spitfire 60 year old and the other as a content great-grandmother in her 80s. Even if you are not a mother as you read these words, you have or had a mother. She may be a great mother, or she may be one of the worst. She may not be here to show you her Worried / Love face anymore, and for that my heart aches for you.
I will leave you with this. Another The Four Winds quote.
"Believe me Elsa, this little girl (or boy) will love you as no one ever has and make you crazy and try your soul. Often. And all at the same time." You either have a little girl or boy or you were a little girl or boy. If you have seen any parent figure's Worried Face, then just KNOW that you are or were or will always be LOVED beyond measure and without end. My pledge going forward is to tell my boys as much truth as they can handle at that moment about my Worried Face so that they will KNOW that it really just means that I love them. Forever and Always. Godspeed. I see it every year. It starts around the first week of November and it lasts through the middle of January. The holiday blues. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve actually slowed down enough to think about trends in my practice. Sure there is an actual diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder, but this is different. This is deeper. This is hard. And here’s how I see it every day for two months straight in my exam rooms: Me: Hey Mrs. Jones - it is so good to see you. I know we had to zoom for our last visit. What’s new in your life? Are you ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Are y’all going anywhere? Mrs Jones: oh you know, I will be cooking for the family for Thanksgiving. And the children and the grandchildren may stop by for Christmas. No... I don’t go anywhere. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Anyway how are your boys? Are they ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Me: oh yes I will be making my Mammaw’s dressing, sweet potato casserole from an old Birmingham recipe from one of my mother’s friend’s mothers, my layered salad that a nurse I used to work with taught me how to make. Gosh that was over 25 years ago now. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Daddy will fry the turkey and my husband will fix the ham and a peanut butter pie. Mama will make the deviled eggs and the Waldorf salad. I will make my mother-in-law‘s corn bean casserole and some homemade mashed potatoes. Of course we will have rolls and cranberry sauce. Another blank stare. I haven’t seen my mother-in-law in over five years. The boys? Oh yes, they are more than ready for Christmas. We got them a matchbox Advent calendar they can’t wait to get started on. They’re growing up so fast. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. The oldest will be home from the Air Force. He and his girlfriend will be together the whole time I’m sure. I smile. But I’m nearly in tears. What is going on? And we sit for a moment. Two women born of different decades and sometimes different skin colors who have lived two very different lives at the outsider’s glance, but are so alike on the inside that it’s haunting. Her daughter is sitting beside her. They look and act so much alike it makes me smile from the inside out. I’m sure that’s what people say when they see me with my mother. I don’t have a daughter. Will my boys take care of me? Alright, get it together Amy. We finish out our actual medical visit and say our go-to goodbyes: Happy Holidays. Y’all be safe. Call me if you need me. And now, after ALL these years, I often hear “you know I love you.” And I believe it’s true. It’s not forced. It’s been earned. Is it against the rules? No, not my rules it’s not. Truth be told, I love her too. Maybe because I see myself in her and I’m cheering for myself in my old age. I’m giving myself a head start and saving myself a seat. I’ve practiced in Kentucky and in Georgia. I worked in a nursing home for six years and then made rounds as a nurse practitioner in that very same nursing home. I’m an old soul myself so I think I draw my elderly patients in and they stick. I stick to them too, and I think they know it. I’ve had so many Mrs. Jones over my 17 years. I’ve had Mr. Jones and Little Johnny Jones or Little Sally Jones as well, but I am so connected to Mrs. Jones that I can almost finish her sentence. Now I’m driving home and this 2 Lane Highway surrounded by trees and cows and horses makes me feel like I could be in any of the four states I’ve lived. It’s familiar and so are these thoughts. I’m a little girl in my childhood home with my brother and my parents and we just came home from candlelight Christmas Eve service and mama made lasagna. I haven’t really been hurt yet. I don’t know what it feels like to love somebody besides my family. I feel safe and secure and like I can do anything in this world. How did Mrs. Jones feel at this age? How did you feel at 10 years old? Now I’m driving home from Tuscaloosa with Delta Zeta on my back windshield. My finals are over. I get to see my boyfriend. I’m taking pre-med classes as well as a full nursing load, but I’ve been hurt by now. I’ve been disappointed and lied to by some people I trusted. But it’s the holidays you see, and I still feel like I’ve got a handle on things. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing at 20 years old? Had you been hurt by then? Oh wow. I didn’t really see this coming. Or did I? I’m sitting alone in my first marital home. Half my furniture is gone. Someone I love deeply told me I don't really need a Christmas tree this year because "it's just you." Am I not enough for a tree? Who am I by myself anyway? I’m driving to Georgia for Christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing when she was 30 years old? Was her heart broken like mine? Was yours? Gather around now. It’s time to eat. My baby boy is four years old and can’t seem to stop smiling. God gave him to me for sure. The first one I carried is six and almost as smart as I am. The one I didn’t carry but I’ve fed and loved now for seven years is sitting right next to me. Is he thinking about his mama? Will he ever see her again? Tiny pieces of my heart crumble for him. I just started taking prednisone for an incurable autoimmune disease I had to look up on the Internet. Lord have mercy and I really do mean "please Lord have some mercy." I’m only about 3 1/2 weeks into a lifelong diagnosis and I don’t know what the future holds. I’m scared. I’m sad. Merry Christmas y’all. It’s the holidays, right? I wonder how old Mrs. Jones was when she first questioned her mortality? How old were you? Were you 40 years old like me with a child in pre-K, one in first grade, and one silently falling apart right in front of you? You see that’s what the holiday blues are. They are every heartbreak and broken promise. They are all the fears and all the lost relationships. They are that empty seat at the table. The phone that barely rings. They are the one that got away and the one that stayed too long. They are your mother, your father, and your children. They are every husband you’ve ever had. How can they not be? We can’t erase our memories. I don’t have a cure for the holiday blues. I think they’re part of life. Mrs. Jones might tell me they get better with each decade or she might tell me they grow and take up more space than we should allow. I’m scared to ask her. None of us even talk about it really. We just say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, y’all be safe. So this is my letter to you at age 45. Some heartaches of mine have healed and some are still there. I don’t think we should only remember the good times because that’s not what made us. It’s certainly not what made me today sitting right here baring my soul and giving you the permission to bare yours. Acknowledge the things that built you. Godspeed. This goes out to every Mrs. Jones that has ever allowed me to know her. She is me and I am her. And I thank God for that. A recent blog reader commented on my pandemic lessons post with the comment "we are not all scared and trying to stay alive." I have had to sit with that for a few days. I am not scared of death... for many reasons... but a lot of it does have to do with my blood, sweat, and tears I have poured into countless patients for decades now... as well as my faith, but the two seem very intertwined when I think of my own mortality. I think another reason is that I have a chronic illness and I know end-stage pulmonary fibrosis (how my disease usually pans out) is not a cake walk, so if God calls me home at another time for another reason, I am okay with that. But, I think it's her last little bit of commentary that hasn't settled well in my soul. "We are not all trying to stay alive." We are not all trying to stay alive. 🤔 🤷♀️ 🧐 But aren't we, though? Isn't that why all of these scenarios insight fear, panic, palpitations, stomach-drops, sweaty palms, and often tears?
This post is not meant to be a Debbie Downer. It's meant to be a reality check for myself, and perhaps for you too. Every SINGLE day in my work, I encounter people I hold dear now after all these years that are FIGHTING to stay alive. Whether it is cancer, chronic disease, renal failure requiring dialysis, congenital or acquired physical disability (think MS, cerebral palsy, and paraplegia to name a few), OR they are in an unsafe home environment OR they are mentally on the brink of self-harm. they are each FIGHTING to stay alive. The following examples have all taken place in the past 2 years along with countless other patient deaths (some covid, some not), but these have rocked me. I lost my first patient to suicide this year and I am not the same. I always worried about him. I would leave our visits thinking about him. Did I do enough? I lost a close friend my age, someone I admired- so many admired- this past year to a 6-year battle with colon cancer, and I have tried to help my friend of 27 years keep herself and her children together during and after that loss. I am still learning - we all are. This is new territory for us. I lost a patient my age that was so much like me health-wise and personality-wise that it was like looking in the mirror every time we had our visits. We just happened to have different colored skin, but our hearts, fears, loves, and passions were so aligned. I was the one her son called while the nurses were "pounding on mama's chest" and I was the one weeping in my parents' backyard looking to the heavens begging God "please don't take her, she's not ready. Please don't take her, she's not ready. Please, please, please Lord don't take her yet." As I attended her funeral, it was like I was attending my own. I still think of her so very often. So yes, dear reader, I can agree that most of the time I choose not to live in fear. I have a "crappy" (it's my blog and I will almost-cuss if I want to) autoimmune disease that makes me feel lousy some days and fine other days. I take mouthfuls of medicine twice a day and my Humira costs could house a small family (thank you Aetna for your coverage). Occasionally, I "fear" not ever seeing my 2 youngest sons graduate high school or college. I "fear" never meeting my grandchildren, and sometimes I "fear" my precious boys having to take care of dear old Mom. I'm afraid I won't get to tell them everything I want them to know about me, about love, about God, about marriage, about friendship, about what truly matters, and about how to navigate the good days and the bad days. How to forgive, how to keep moving forward, and how to love themselves. Honestly, I think it is part of why I felt this huge push to write. They don't read my words now, but they might one day. But as for not trying to stay alive? I will disagree with every hair on my head, bone in my body, and adjective in my razor-sharp vocabulary on that friend. I AM TRYING EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY TO STAY ALIVE. And I stand witness and hold space for every other person I have cared for during my career in nursing and medicine who were all and are all still trying to do the same. I learned a new term today during a visit to Little Havana in Miami. It was made for the patriots who were anti-Castro who often became political prisoners. They were named "Plantados" - they stood planted, strong, unmoving, unwilling to step down. I am a Plantado for life, sister who made that comment. I shall never budge on that. I am here, showing up, every single day- trying to stay alive. I welcome my fellow Lifers. Let us make this world a little better each day. 🌎 Please help support my fellow Hope*Writers
by reading their work 🥰 Does Fear Have a Place in the Life of a Christian? By Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.wordpress.com/?p=90 Living Fearless By Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/living-fearless/ I ain't afraid: Reflections on turning 50 By Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/i-aint-afraid When Hidden Fear Creeps Out By Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/10/31/when-hidden-fear-creeps-out/ How to Help Kids with Anxiety and Fear By Ashley Olivine https://louvaria.com/how-to-help-kids-with-anxiety-and-fear/ |