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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/
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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! Have you ever been picked last for a team or a project? Have you ever been sitting at the END of a table and no one really acknowledged your presence during the lively, laugh-out-loud dinner that everyone else seemed to be having? Have you ever been cut off during a conversation when someone "cooler or prettier or funnier or more magnetic" stepped into the mix? What if you vote a certain way but you're surrounded by others who vote differently? You want them to love you for you, but are you having to hide part of yourself in order to belong? What if you have a different opinion but keep it to yourself in fear of others' reactions? What if you don't even feel like you belong in your own home? Isn't home supposed to be your safe space?
So, again, I think we have all experienced this feeling. Disconnected. Cast out. Overlooked. Unwanted. Unnecessary. Unimportant. Small. Invisible. Rejected. Source: Brene Brown's Atlas of the Heart Since we all know we can't control the thoughts or actions of others, let's focus on what WE can do the next time we feel this way. Here are 10 ways you can (and I do these myself) try to reach the feeling of BELONGING again:
Now let us review. Somebody somewhere made you feel left out, unwanted, or overlooked. You start to list all the reasons you are just that: unwanted and overlooked. Then you REMEMBER these tips to get back to belonging and you pull at least one of them out. Consider it a secret weapon. Use it. Allow yourself to feel both ways - both the ickiness of unbelonging and the comfort of true connection once you have found your way back. Teach someone else you love how to do this the next time they call you searching for validation. And hey. Just so you know, I would pick you. Godspeed. I have been waking up before 5 AM consistently for 11 years. It started with necessity, nursing my child before work, but it continued for several reasons. When my firstborn was an infant, my stepson was eight. This meant I had to be stealthfully quiet as I woke the baby, fed him, spent some time with him, and then passed him to his daddy while I showered and dressed for work. It was a time before AirPods, and before I had discovered podcasts or Audible. Facebook was barely a thing. And phones in general were just not attached to everyone’s hands like they are today. It was in these near silent moments without technology, with only a cuddly warm baby in my lap, that I discovered the true meaning of quiet contentment. Just me, rocking my baby boy guided only by the white noise sound machine and gentle soft lighting. I wasn’t scrolling. I wasn’t comparing. I wasn’t wishing, nor was I regretting. There was no self-loathing. My job had not even adopted an electronic medical record yet, so working from home was not possible. I wasn’t paying bills from a little icon on my phone. I didn’t have 400 emails in my inbox, or at least I didn’t know that I had them. Just quiet. Just peaceful. Just two humans bound by DNA and love and touch and time. Fast forward to 2021 and that baby is in sixth grade. My stepson has left the nest and is thriving, and my youngest son is in fourth grade. My alarm still goes off at 4:30 AM, but I am alone. Yes, the house is still quiet like it was back then. The lights are still low. But things have changed. There is a technological miracle that fits in the palm of my hand now. It is full of red dots that quicken my pulse. There is a slick, silver, almost paper-thin computer that is full of lab results and refill requests and exam notes to finish. Now I know that I have 400 emails in my inbox. There are all these little icons in my hand that tell me I’m not good enough when I open them. There are ads everywhere that seem to call my digital wallet’s name. What happened to those early morning quiet moments? My eyes fill with tears as I type this. Yes, most mornings I participate in healthy self care such as prayer, Journaling, or mindfulness... but let’s be honest. If I choose to pick up this Fair-weather friend that follows me everywhere, I disappear. Those quiet peaceful moments disappear. I am not touching anyone. I am not gazing at someone I love and enjoying that feeling of togetherness and connection. This quiet house? Well it’s telling me it needs to be dusted and decorated. Those sleeping children? They need agendas signed and class party treats sent in and uniforms washed and clarinet reeds ordered. My husband may or may not be at work, but if he is did I reach out to him? And if he’s home, did I reach out to him? Oh wait- there goes my timer. Time to hop in the shower, put the bacon in the oven, get those boys up and moving. There goes my heart rate rising with each deadline and inbox item that crosses my mind. Oh, yes, I’m productive. I’m organized. Just ask all my friends and family. But is that the legacy I want to leave? ‘ She is so efficient. She can get it all done. Tears in my eyes again, geez. I would rather be known as Amy that helped me. Amy that loved me. Amy that made me feel important. Amy that I could count on. But most of all, Amy that I knew inside and out- between the lines and in the trenches. You see, getting it all done can be quite lonely. Have I been so busy getting it all done that I forgot to connect? Constantly looking at this lit up master that fits in my hand honestly makes me feel like crap. Yes- there are laughs and good reads hopefully like this one. There’s my longtime friend’s child or grandchild. The books and music and podcasts usually add instead of subtract. But all those red dots? I hate them. They steal little tiny pieces of me and I can’t really explain it. My children won’t know a world without the red dots, and that makes me sad. So here I am, on a rainy Wednesday morning, now voice-texting into this devilish device to create this message. I think it is a message for myself more than anything. Gosh these stupid tears. What is going on? I need to rewind. I need to go back. Back to the quiet simple peaceful mornings. I need to let go. I need to reach out even more than I need to let go. Who is with me? A fantastic human I call my friend gifted me with this poem this week. She didn't write it, but she knew I needed it. And now, I gift it to you. ☀️ safire-rose.com/books-and-media/poetry/she-let-go How on earth is it already time for 2022? Where did 2021 go? I'm not sure, BUT, I am ready for 2022. 2021 was messy and ugly in many ways. On a personal level, it was unkind to my health. I received a new diagnosis of psoriasis in March and had to miss an entire month of work while my body was adjusting to new medications and my skin was trying to heal. October revealed an unexpected opportunistic infection (since I'm immunocompromised) that required strong antibiotics and made me feel pretty lousy. Since November 1, I have been hobbling around on painful swollen knees and am facing unexpected knee surgery. Pity party? Nah, not my style. Swallowing it all? That's my go-to. When I think about my health and how unfair it is that I've tried to take care of my body my whole life and I'm still getting the short end of the health stick, I can get pretty low. Then I think of all my patients who have it "worse." And I swallow it. I shove it down. I brush it off. But is that healthy? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. So I'm learning to acknowledge my own feelings. I'm sad that my body is not behaving. I'm angry in some ways. I'm frustrated for sure. I'm still thankful that I can work for right now. I am beyond grateful for my parents who live 2 doors down and help me daily. I'm tired. I'm realizing I have X amount of energy each day and my family needs the bulk of it. If my job takes most of it then I'm robbing my family of my best self. Filing for disability has been on my mind more in the past 9 months than it ever has during this 5 year sarcoidosis journey. So what next? New year, new adventures, new planner, new goals, new.... what else is new now that I'm 45? I have a lot of old. Old hurts. Old unmet needs. Old furniture. Old clothes. Old shame. Old junk in my kitchen drawers. Old relationship issues that deserve a conversation. An old van that has chipping paint but it's paid for and gets us to ball tournaments. I think the reflex for all of us is to replace the old with the new and that will make it all better. New clothes. The newest kitchen gadget. New furniture or decor, ON TREND, my dear! A shiny new SUV that costs more than most people's annual salary and gets 12 mpg. But boy does it look good and that's what counts, right? I'm no longer trying to replace the old just by reflex. It's harder to keep it and try to keep it running. Purging the clothes and kids' toys is definitely good, but when we throw out things that still work but aren't "good enough" for whatever standards, what does that say about us? Who and what have you thrown away and replaced with newer and easier? (ouch)... I'm falling apart health-wise in a lot of ways, but I "still work." Will my family or employer throw me out? Will my friends forget about me if I'm not as active and fun as I used to be? Where does that leave me? As an Enneagram 3 (Performer, Success Driven), I've been gut-punched this year by my body's betrayal. But God must be telling me something. I know He has a plan. I have to trust and slow down and just be. NOT. MY. STRONG. SUIT. Perhaps 2021 leaves you feeling like I do. Maybe you lost someone you loved. Maybe you were also betrayed by either your body or someone you trusted. Maybe you felt out of control all year like I did? Maybe you spent too many hours googling vaccines and viruses and death tolls like most of the world. Maybe you feel all the "junk" you've shoved down and swallowed for however long starting to surface and want to be named and noticed. I feel that with you. 2022 can be a renewal for us, my friends. I'm going to intentionally name what's working, what's not working, what is worth repair, and what really needs to be purged from my life. This goes for relationships, time spent, health choices, what I consume digitally and physically, items in my home and closet, and my thought life. I'm going to check myself when I just want to replace the old for that quick dopamine hit. I'm going to try to sit in the uncomfortable and define what's causing it. I can't keep running 90 mph. 2022 is for slowing down. It is for evaluation. It is for growing up, finally. 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. Hey, I know you. I share a bed, a remote, and a living room with you. I ride in the front seat with you. I talk to you numerous times a day about kids and groceries and logistics. I know how you take your coffee and what you like on your pizza. But, do I know you right now, at this very moment, 12 years in, more or less than I did say 10 years ago? BEFORE our conversations revolved around schedules and pickups and homework. I know I have changed in the last 12 years. Surely you have as well? Have I asked? Have I noticed? Have you seen the changes in me? Have you noticed? Are we giving each other what we need? (my therapist is ALWAYS in my ear- "tell them what you NEED Amy! tell that person what you NEED.") Every year we try to take a trip sans kiddos to regroup, reconnect, unplug, and just have fun together. It is a WORTHY investment (time and money) in a marriage or relationship. Parenting is hard! Adulting is hard! Marriage is hard! Sure, some people make it look easy, but let's leave them out of it and talk about the real work that staying married involves. We usually try some "games" or conversation starters to break our habit of only talking about our kids, our jobs, or our day-to-day frustrations. Sometimes we play "would you rather?". Here are some of the ones we asked this last date night:
Wait, what just happened? We soon realized that the frivolous conversations led to deeper ones and that was the eventual goal anyway, BUT had we ever really talked about any of these things? We have not crossed into some of those territories personally, but we have witnessed other loved ones facing different challenges. Those various challenges have seemed more frequent as we age, or perhaps our reservoirs of empathy grow deeper with maturity and life experience. To be quite frank, husband and I had not attended many funerals together prior to the last 2-3 years. We were busy attending weddings or baby showers. That dress with heels and coat and tie now have a different destination it seems. And so it goes. This weekend we've discussed our future grandparent names, how we picture retirement for each of us individually as well as together, and trips we plan to take. We have discussed aging parents and various family caregiving scenarios. Our first few "just us" getaways involved naps and recovery from pure exhaustion and planning out toddler birthday parties, Halloween costume ideas, or Santa ideas. Now we are brainstorming passive income ideas, retirement goals, and our own personal dreams and desires. We are transforming, both together and separately, from Mom & Dad, to 2 people with our own passions, fears, and personal insecurities. I am by no means a marriage expert.
I have seen a beautiful example of marriage in my parents and some of my other family members. Husband and I have each had a failed marriage prior to this one, so we know how painful divorce is and we are each way too stubborn to go down without a fight. I'm not writing this as a beacon of marital bliss, but rather as a tired working mom in the thick of motherhood, menopause, and midlife (try having kids in your mid-30's) 😜. I am writing this as an imperfect, hard-to-please, bleeding-heart woman married to an imperfect, hard-headed, scared-of-abandonment man that didn't see the example of marriage that I saw growing up. We are actually two scared-of-being-vulnerable humans bound together by beautiful boys and God, fate, the universe - but we, too, are still trying to figure it all out. If you find yourself still figuring it all out, it's OKAY. Stay the course. My Uncle Don told me one time many years ago, "Amy, you know how to stay married, right? long pause. You just never leave. Neither of you. You stay and you don't leave." Time and space apart can sometimes be good for a marriage. They can allow room to think and heal. But time TOGETHER has been our best strategy. Make your marriage a priority. Make your spouse a priority. He or she is a worthy investment. You can read all the books and try all the counseling, but sometimes you just need TIME together and conversations that bring you closer than you thought you might ever be. Godspeed. Who knew a pen and paper ✍️ could save a life? I wasn’t actively suicidal. But I was having frequent daydreams of having a wreck that was “bad enough” to keep me in the hospital a few days, off work at least a month, and unable to help anyone else for a while. 😳 I wanted it to be a single-car accident and of course I wanted to be alone. I wasn’t looking forward to the injuries and was praying nothing would require surgery, but I couldn’t wait to have a respite from work, life, and motherhood. Does that sound crazy? Selfish? Or similar to thoughts you’ve had? Caregiver fatigue 😴 is a real thing, even if you’re paid to care for others. Motherhood fatigue 😴and lemme just say it, full-time step-motherhood 🤷🏼♀️ fatigue is a real thing even if you love your children 🚶♂️👬🏼 dearly. Today’s world 🌎 for women is exhausting:
Toss in a pandemic 😷 and virtual school 📚and BAM, all the therapists are booked! Fortunately, my mental "breakdown" was pre-pandemic. Thank the heavens I already had a therapist when my regular job got flipped upside down in March of 2020. My crazy started when I was in the throes of motherhood, working full-time and commuting with kids age 2, 4, and 12. I was crying regularly on my way home from work, wondering how I was going to get everything done and actually sleep too...😴 I’ve always had pen and paper near me, but I didn’t start regularly journaling ✍️ until I started feeling that OVERWHELM on a regular basis. I had so many thoughts racing through my head and I didn’t have a system to capture them. I was using a planner, but I might think of something while driving or in the shower and I would lose the idea 💡 or thought before I captured it. Some internet scrolling led me to David Allen’s Getting Things Done method. By this point I had played around with bullet journaling and list making (List Maker 4 Life right here now!), but again, I felt like my thoughts were fleeting and scattered. I will link the GTD method below, and I do think it's a good system, but that's not the point of this post. Once I started decluttering my mind from all the racing thoughts, then I had to face my actual thoughts. This was not a good look. I couldn't remember the last time I had laughed with abandon or woken up with a passion for life. I felt like I was on a treadmill with no way off. Someone was going to have to pull me off, and I didn't have the time or energy to ask anyone to pull me off. I never felt relaxed. I was in a constant state of fight or flight (or so it seemed). I was alive. But was I living? Enter the JOURNAL. ✍️ A journal can be so many things:
Have you ever woken up feeling icky? Or perhaps you felt great, but a certain conversation, text message, social media post, or group of thoughts evaded your mind and body and the icky took over? How do you know you're feeling icky? For some people it is a very physical response in the body:
For others, it is a very mental or emotional response in the mind. These might be thoughts associated with your icky:
So, now that I have been in regular therapy for almost 2 years, I asked my therapist about feeling icky: Me: what do I do when I'm feeling icky? Therapist: describe icky- what does icky mean to you? Me: I describe the first scenario since my icky comes out more physically than mentally Therapist: okay, then we have to focus on your body and reclaiming your body in that moment. If the adrenaline and cortisol have already dumped into your bloodstream from a fight or flight response to a "threat" you have received, then we try to calm that trauma response. Me: but does it matter what triggered it? what if I don't know what triggered it? don't I have to fix what is wrong in my life or situation to fix my icky? Therapist: Nope. And that's the beautiful thing. What caused it doesn't matter. I don't even care what caused it. We just need to reclaim your body at that moment. So, that changed my life. I repeat. THAT CHANGED MY LIFE. And I believe it can change yours too! See below for some helpful links on how to reclaim your body from a state of panic or unrest. Turns out, we CAN'T fix it with our thoughts. We literally have to MOVE our bodies out of it. What a relief! No wonder my brain is so tried from all these years of over-analyzing and overthinking, ruminating, and self-loathing. I wasn't even on the right road getting this *%#@ trauma out of my body! But now I am, and you can be too. Find a trauma-informed or trauma-certified therapist. Your life will change forever. |