It seems the holidays can be fraught with conflicting experiences. On the one hand, the holidays can be joyous, busy, bustling. On the other hand, the holidays can be downright bugaboos. It is not uncommon for things to get a little busy around my office. Family is descending, old tiffs resurface, fights break out on the once-innocent Friday after Thanksgiving that somewhere along the line turned to the dark side.
A common statement starts out:
I just wish the holidays were ________________________.
A time when everyone got along?
Not so hard this year without Dad?
Peaceful? Happy? Reverent?
And despite our best efforts, sometimes, the holidays just end up with a heavy shot of disappointment.
Early in my therapy career, I stumbled upon an article that addressed this very topic. Basically, the wise person, whom I would quote if I had his/her name, linked holiday stress with struggling against what is. According to this wise writer, the secret to holiday enjoyment has less to do with the meal you are cooking or the presents you are giving or whether or not Uncle Petey is going to drink too much and try to kiss everyone under the mistletoe - again. Rather, holiday enjoyment has to do with not having the expectation that people are going to be any different than they are. When we can let go of expectation that family will behave, shoppers will generously give their parking spots, or that we will be able to buy every single thing the kids want, something magical happens - our grip loosens, our palms open and finally we are able to receive what magic exists.
Perhaps it is in the prayer while lighting the menorah. Or the exhale when the presents are at last wrapped and under the tree. Or the comforting tradition of watching your favorite movie. Or maybe its the breather you take, hiding in the bathroom with a good book, hoping Uncle Petey will somehow forget about kissing you.
When we let go of what we think the holidays should be, more open to what they are, we can become clearer of our boundaries ("No, I'd really appreciate it if you did bring your own tree with you Christmas Day."), more aware of the moments that really count (Playing Dreidel with your nephew), and more in touch with the moments that feel just right. Such a moment might last as long as a deep breath, but wouldn't it be a shame to miss it?
Best to you and yours,
Rebecca
Monday, November 24, 2014
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Listening skills
My old cat, Cally injured her knee. Truthfully, I didn't even know cats had knees until this happened. She could not walk. She could not get up to eat. She made small mewing noises that sounded like pain. She lay in a "nest" of blankets on the floor until the vet could fit her in.
I sat by her, talking and petting and waiting for the vet to call back when I noticed something. She may not have been able to get up on her feet, but she stretched her front legs anyway.
She purred when I pet her.
She rested almost a whole day and for the briefest of moments, pulled herself up, stretched her back and lay back down.
Hours later, she stood again, walked two feet to her food dish (despite the one we put by her nest), ate a couple bites, limped back and lay down.
Bit by bit, Cally did what felt right. She listened to her body. She stretched in ways she could, enjoyed the company of a warm hand, and did only what she could. It was a slow process. Little bit by little bit. She healed quicker than the vet had expected.
I wondered what would it be like if we as humans listened that closely to what we needed. If we honored our pain, our limitations and had patience with ourselves to move at a mindful pace. So often we push through, full of "should" and "ought to", only to backtrack our own healing. Or we lay down, curl on our sides and claim defeat, not staying in touch with that which is still strong, still peaceful within us.
What would happen if, when life felt painful, we moved like Cally honoring, patient, listening? How long would the pain last? Might be worth a try next time.
* Cally has made a full recovery.
I sat by her, talking and petting and waiting for the vet to call back when I noticed something. She may not have been able to get up on her feet, but she stretched her front legs anyway.
She purred when I pet her.
She rested almost a whole day and for the briefest of moments, pulled herself up, stretched her back and lay back down.
Hours later, she stood again, walked two feet to her food dish (despite the one we put by her nest), ate a couple bites, limped back and lay down.
Bit by bit, Cally did what felt right. She listened to her body. She stretched in ways she could, enjoyed the company of a warm hand, and did only what she could. It was a slow process. Little bit by little bit. She healed quicker than the vet had expected.
I wondered what would it be like if we as humans listened that closely to what we needed. If we honored our pain, our limitations and had patience with ourselves to move at a mindful pace. So often we push through, full of "should" and "ought to", only to backtrack our own healing. Or we lay down, curl on our sides and claim defeat, not staying in touch with that which is still strong, still peaceful within us.
What would happen if, when life felt painful, we moved like Cally honoring, patient, listening? How long would the pain last? Might be worth a try next time.
* Cally has made a full recovery.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Real Courage
To me, courage is not feeling like a big, strong roaring lion as you charge fearlessly toward the thing that it is that you so deeply desire.
Courage is feeling small, powerless, screaming at the top of your lungs and risking for that thing you desire anyway.
If we already felt like lions, we wouldn't need courage.
It is too easy to shy away from things that are hard. It is too easy to close our eyes to what we fear we won't get, become, achieve. It is too easy to give in to the fear that it might not work out.
Courage, is doing it anyway. It is the doing it, the risking it, the working for it with your whole heart that is fully living. Sitting on the couch and pretending you don't really want it anyway, is seldom the kind of life people really, deep down want.
We all fail. And sometimes we fail big. But showing up in our lives, working for what we desire, taking the risk, doing it anyway...that is courage.
And we are all born with the capacity for courage.
Courage is feeling small, powerless, screaming at the top of your lungs and risking for that thing you desire anyway.
If we already felt like lions, we wouldn't need courage.
It is too easy to shy away from things that are hard. It is too easy to close our eyes to what we fear we won't get, become, achieve. It is too easy to give in to the fear that it might not work out.
Courage, is doing it anyway. It is the doing it, the risking it, the working for it with your whole heart that is fully living. Sitting on the couch and pretending you don't really want it anyway, is seldom the kind of life people really, deep down want.
We all fail. And sometimes we fail big. But showing up in our lives, working for what we desire, taking the risk, doing it anyway...that is courage.
And we are all born with the capacity for courage.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
A quote
There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action. And because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.
- Martha Graham
- Martha Graham
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Crossed wires
"Finna puddin'."
I turned from the kitchen sink, the water still running and asked my husband, "What's finna puddin'?"
My husband had just woken up. He was still sleepy after too many days in a row of too much work and not enough sleep.
I had exactly 4 minutes to wash the water bottle, fill it, pack the backpack, convince my child that yes, you need to put shoes on now or you'll be late for school, get dressed, throw on shoes, grab my purse and keys and fly out the door.
Sleepy mumbling husband and frantic wife do not make for good communication at 7:56 in the morning.
"Finna puddin'."
This small phrase reminded me of how many times wires get crossed in communication, how many times we, as humans, are convinced that we know exactly what the other person is saying. And how many times our own experiences get in the way of actually hearing the other person.
A simple "I thought the other dress was just fine," could unleash upon a well-meaning husband a deluge of tears from a wife who is feeling insecure about her weight. "I thought the other dress was fine" to her sounds like a nice way of saying, "You look fatter in that one."
A heartfelt, "This isn't working for us," from a wife could cause a husband whose own parents went through a bitter divorce to enter a full blown panic attack when all his wife meant was perhaps they needed to increase the number of dates they were having each month. "This isn't working for us" suddenly sounds to him like, "I'm leaving you."
"Finna puddin'"
Like my husband is not typically a morning person and I was overwhelmed with the pre-school day rush, so often our own perceptions, past experiences, hot spots, fears, insecurities can cause us to hear something other than what is actually being said.
"Finna puddin'" can hurt feelings, start an argument, end a friendship, put a rift between boss and employee, start a war.
It takes the willingness to stop and really connect with the person talking, to be still and open and sometimes even check in, "Do you mean I look fat in this dress?" "Are you thinking of leaving me?" and then being willing to hear, truly hear the answer. Connectedness and clear communication sometimes requires us to be aware of our hot spots, our insecurities, our filters.
Try it out. Call a friend and do nothing but listen to what he is saying. Put the iPhone down and look at your husband while he tells you about his day. Listen to the tone in the cashier's voice when you ask her how she is today.
"Finna puddin'"
"What's finna puddin'?"
My husband laughed. "The proof is in the pudding."
I know it is a saying but I don't really know what it means. But that is another post for another day.
I turned from the kitchen sink, the water still running and asked my husband, "What's finna puddin'?"
My husband had just woken up. He was still sleepy after too many days in a row of too much work and not enough sleep.
I had exactly 4 minutes to wash the water bottle, fill it, pack the backpack, convince my child that yes, you need to put shoes on now or you'll be late for school, get dressed, throw on shoes, grab my purse and keys and fly out the door.
Sleepy mumbling husband and frantic wife do not make for good communication at 7:56 in the morning.
"Finna puddin'."
This small phrase reminded me of how many times wires get crossed in communication, how many times we, as humans, are convinced that we know exactly what the other person is saying. And how many times our own experiences get in the way of actually hearing the other person.
A simple "I thought the other dress was just fine," could unleash upon a well-meaning husband a deluge of tears from a wife who is feeling insecure about her weight. "I thought the other dress was fine" to her sounds like a nice way of saying, "You look fatter in that one."
A heartfelt, "This isn't working for us," from a wife could cause a husband whose own parents went through a bitter divorce to enter a full blown panic attack when all his wife meant was perhaps they needed to increase the number of dates they were having each month. "This isn't working for us" suddenly sounds to him like, "I'm leaving you."
"Finna puddin'"
Like my husband is not typically a morning person and I was overwhelmed with the pre-school day rush, so often our own perceptions, past experiences, hot spots, fears, insecurities can cause us to hear something other than what is actually being said.
"Finna puddin'" can hurt feelings, start an argument, end a friendship, put a rift between boss and employee, start a war.
It takes the willingness to stop and really connect with the person talking, to be still and open and sometimes even check in, "Do you mean I look fat in this dress?" "Are you thinking of leaving me?" and then being willing to hear, truly hear the answer. Connectedness and clear communication sometimes requires us to be aware of our hot spots, our insecurities, our filters.
Try it out. Call a friend and do nothing but listen to what he is saying. Put the iPhone down and look at your husband while he tells you about his day. Listen to the tone in the cashier's voice when you ask her how she is today.
"Finna puddin'"
"What's finna puddin'?"
My husband laughed. "The proof is in the pudding."
I know it is a saying but I don't really know what it means. But that is another post for another day.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Pain and Suffering
Pain.
Physical pain. Heartbreak. Job loss. Illness. Loss.
To some degree it doesn't matter what the pain is. It still hurts.
When we work on pain, we look at two levels or layers of pain.
The first is the primary pain. The actual physical sensation within the body. The fact your husband just walked out the door. Your best friend died. This is the primary, source of the pain.
The second layer of pain has to do with the impact the primary pain has on your life, the way we experience it, think about it, feel about it, and adjust your daily life because of it. For example, a car accident leaves you with chronic back pain related to an injury sustained from the crash. The secondary pain may be: inability to perform the job you had before the accident, inability to play softball on the team you loved, irritability from always being uncomfortable, anger that the other driver ran the red light and was drinking, fear to drive again, avoidance of social events that would require you to drive, avoidance of that intersection, depression from losing the life you were enjoying...this secondary pain is referred to as suffering.
A team of the world's best doctors might not be able to put your back (life) together the way it was. The nation's supply of medications may not be able to make the pain go away. There may be nothing that can be done about the primary pain - the accident, physical pain, sudden divorce.
But we can work with the secondary pain. We can take a look at the suffering and with care and attention and commitment, evolve from suffering into living again.
We always have the choice. We can participate in the loss of our lives. Or we can choose to live. It may not look like we thought it might. It may not be even close to what we dreamed of. And it is ok to grieve the loss of that. But in time, we know from experience, that we can put life back on the table - a life that is fulfilling and well worth living.
Isn't it worth a shot?
Physical pain. Heartbreak. Job loss. Illness. Loss.
To some degree it doesn't matter what the pain is. It still hurts.
When we work on pain, we look at two levels or layers of pain.
The first is the primary pain. The actual physical sensation within the body. The fact your husband just walked out the door. Your best friend died. This is the primary, source of the pain.
The second layer of pain has to do with the impact the primary pain has on your life, the way we experience it, think about it, feel about it, and adjust your daily life because of it. For example, a car accident leaves you with chronic back pain related to an injury sustained from the crash. The secondary pain may be: inability to perform the job you had before the accident, inability to play softball on the team you loved, irritability from always being uncomfortable, anger that the other driver ran the red light and was drinking, fear to drive again, avoidance of social events that would require you to drive, avoidance of that intersection, depression from losing the life you were enjoying...this secondary pain is referred to as suffering.
A team of the world's best doctors might not be able to put your back (life) together the way it was. The nation's supply of medications may not be able to make the pain go away. There may be nothing that can be done about the primary pain - the accident, physical pain, sudden divorce.
But we can work with the secondary pain. We can take a look at the suffering and with care and attention and commitment, evolve from suffering into living again.
We always have the choice. We can participate in the loss of our lives. Or we can choose to live. It may not look like we thought it might. It may not be even close to what we dreamed of. And it is ok to grieve the loss of that. But in time, we know from experience, that we can put life back on the table - a life that is fulfilling and well worth living.
Isn't it worth a shot?
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Announcement
I am very pleased to announce the expansion of my practice. In addition to my office in Arlington Heights, I am now also seeing clients in Gurnee.
Office locations:
3255 N. Arlington Heights, Suite 512
Arlington Heights, IL 60004
tel. 630.212.2090
Serving Arlington Heights, Buffalo Grove,
Deer Park, Deerfield, Hoffman Estates,
Kildeer, Lake Zurich, Long Grove, Mt. Prospect,
Palatine, Prospect Heights, Schaumburg,
and Wheeling and surrounding area.
135 N. Greenleaf Ave., Suite 208
Gurnee, IL 60031
tel. 630.212.2090
Serving Antioch, Grayslake, Gurnee, Kenosha,
Lake Forest, Lake Villa, Libertyville, North
Chicago, Roundlake, Waukegan, Zion and surrounding
area.
Office locations:
3255 N. Arlington Heights, Suite 512
Arlington Heights, IL 60004
tel. 630.212.2090
Serving Arlington Heights, Buffalo Grove,
Deer Park, Deerfield, Hoffman Estates,
Kildeer, Lake Zurich, Long Grove, Mt. Prospect,
Palatine, Prospect Heights, Schaumburg,
and Wheeling and surrounding area.
135 N. Greenleaf Ave., Suite 208
Gurnee, IL 60031
tel. 630.212.2090
Serving Antioch, Grayslake, Gurnee, Kenosha,
Lake Forest, Lake Villa, Libertyville, North
Chicago, Roundlake, Waukegan, Zion and surrounding
area.
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