The Shared Journey

I'm Sensitive, and I'd Like to Stay That Way

2012-01-27T10:49:00.004-06:00

I am sensitive. I always have been, since I was a wee little girl. I've been know to cry at the drop of a hat over the silliest and seemingly most inconsequential things. And I feel things--things other people may not even pay attention to--incredibly deeply. I have often used the expression "my heart hurts" because there are times when I feel like it actually does. This world can be a cruel place and when I hear about or see terrible things happening, I honestly feel like my heart might actually split right open. I cry for myself, but I also cry for others. I feel the pain of other people, especially those close to me in my life. I don't just worry incessantly about my own life, I also worry about theirs: their okay-ness, their health, their happiness. I've often said that my skin feels so paper thin that life--the outside world, the elements, slings from others--easily rip through to my core. I've been accused by more than one past boyfriend of being "too sensitive". "Just suck it up, Marissa," they've said. "Grow some thicker skin, it's not that big of deal." And to that I've always thought, Hmm, what helpful advice. I should grow some thicker skin. I never thought of that before. I shouldn't be so sensitive. Thank goodness someone finally told me!

Of course I hope the sarcasm is apparent there. Unfortunately, and this is something I've always known, to a large degree my sensitivity is not something I can control. Like the color of my eyes or the composition of my body, I believe my sensitive nature is something I was born with. And to be honest, though throughout the course of my life it's gotten gotten me into trouble in certain circumstances--i.e. embarrassing crying breakdowns in extremely opportune places and situations, many hurt feelings, internalizing the actions/thoughts/feelings of others, etc.--I wouldn't trade this characteristic for the world. As I've said here before, being sensitive also allows me to feel things deeply -- whether tremendous awe over nature's incredible beauty or being able to fall in love so wholly and deeply. And I am grateful that I FEEL. Even though at times, that feeling may be hurt.

Not too long ago I wrote about being a Highly Sensitive Person. I really do think there is merit to this concept. Now, there is a new book out called Quiet by Susan Cain and I am very eager to read it. I think there will be a lot of crossover between what she writes about--The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking--and the sensitivity I discuss above. Though I am an outward extrovert, inwardly, I know I am also an introvert. I prefer quietude to chatter, plentiful alone time to always being part of the group. For those of you out there who can relate, I'd love to hear your thoughts about this book once you've read it. I'd also like to hear about your thoughts, feelings and experiences on living life as a highly sensitive and/or quiet being.

Next January

2012-01-13T14:40:00.001-06:00

I thought it would be interesting to go back one year in time and see what I was focused on writing about last January. Interestingly, it's a very similar (or rather, downright the same) topic to one that has been at the forefront of my thoughts THIS January: my career.

Last January, in my post Creating a Career, I wrote about my desire to take a leap of faith and begin a masters program--leading to a new career--in the field of counseling. This January, in an almost eerily similar post, I've written about how overjoyed I am that I have finally taken such a leap.

This got me thinking, though, how interesting it is that so much in our lives can shift over such a short period of time. Of course I've written about this very thing many times before here, primarily because my life has seemed to transform in major ways over the last few years. So I thought I'd take a trip back even farther into my past, to January 2010, and see what was going on in my life then. Turns out, as a newly replanted Minnesotan (excuse my typo in the title of this post), I was focused on writing about my transition from New York to Minnesota, and all the great changes in my world that had so recently taken place. I was anxious to kick of 2010 right, and finally settle into the new life I'd spent the past several months creating for myself.

Since I hit 30--and even well before that due to some massive life events--year to year life has really looked different. I know things will continue to shift because the very nature of existence is that we're constantly learning, growing, and moving in new directions. But I am finally in a place in my life that I truly want to remain in. And of course there will be plenty of newness over the coming years--career-wise, family-wise, and so on and so forth--but I feel a need to say that if next January finds me feeling as happy and settled as I do right now, I'll be very much okay with that.

No More Complaints

2012-01-04T17:38:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

As we were driving through some of his old LA neighborhoods last weekend--we were in town for a friend's wedding--I told R. that in the coming year I am going to try to complain less. I never thought of myself as a complainer before, but over the course of 2011, with so many physical maladies, I know I turned into one. I tried my best to remain positive and focus on feeling well instead of crummy, but since another component of my personality is to freak out at the presence of even a minor health issue (like say, a paper cut), I found this kind of hard to do.

My mom recently told me that when I was a little girl, I used to start my days by listing off to her all the things that were WRONG with me. "Today my head kind of hurts, my heart is beating faster than normal, I think my eye is twitching, I'm worried my left ear might fall off..." You get the idea. She used to call me a hypochondriac, and while I can't completely dismiss the notion (after all, the evidence is mounting), I used to tell her the same thing I now tell my husband. "If God forbid I were to just keel over right here and now and you had to rush me to the hospital and tell the doctors all of the things that were wrong with me, you'd be able to!"

It's not that I am complaining, per se (at least, not that I am readily aware of). It's that I'm trying to be as thorough as I can with my information so that on the off chance that something tragic WERE to actually happen to me, my closest loved ones would be able to offer up the information to the correct people. And sure many people, my parents and husband included, have called me crazy (in addition to hypochondriac) over the years, but it's become a hard habit to break when this tactic actually proved useful when I suffered a bleed in my brain just a few years ago. So, as I say to those who love me (or, should I say, despite myself are trying to love me), when it comes to my health, now I'm just a wee tad more vigilant...and vocal. And over the course of the year, there's been stuff. Like the random and still unexplained migraine-like headache that persisted for weeks, and the hip impingement diagnosis followed by surgery, and a concussion after a small child fell on my head (don't ask...), and so on.

This "stuff" (and the aftermath) all really freaked me out. Especially the stuff that dealt with my head. But looking back, I understand that my incessant worrying and ranting about all my symptoms wasn't truly necessary, or probably even helpful. In fact, maybe it kept me stuck in the pain and fear of each situation?

I can't promise that I will no longer fret or want to discuss every last detail of every single physical ailment I endure, but this year I can work on perhaps just writing them down in a journal as opposed to constantly hurling them at my loved ones (yes, honey, you're in luck; I'm referring to you). And just maybe focusing on health, as opposed to sickness, will also play a key role in keeping me able-bodied this year. It's certainly worth a try.

A Forever Changing Year

2011-12-28T12:52:00.003-06:00

2012 is fast approaching, and whenever a new year is on the horizon I get a bit nostalgic for the one I am about to close to chapter on. I tend to think about all those things I did -- or didn't -- accomplish, and look forward with hope and wonder about what opportunities the next year will bring. There have certainly been years in my past that have felt more stagnant than others. Years when, in my opinion, nothing big happened. Then there were years that were momentous; earth-moving. The years in which my entire life shifted in gargantuan and forever-changing ways.

2011 was one such year. I decided after many sleepless nights and deep soul searching to change the course of my life. Since I moved back home in 2009, I've changed my life in numerous big and small ways. I married, moved into a house, bought a car, left full time freelance to work in the corporate marketing world. All of these events moved me in a direction much different than the one I'd previously been going in. And of all them felt so extremely right...well, all of them except one.

My oldest brother summed it up nicely once. "At the top of Marissa's priority list is to fall in love." He said that in a video that was made for R.'s and my rehearsal dinner. He was right. I have always been a true hopeless romantic, and love, marriage and all that goes along with it has most certainly always been my number one. But this same brother also said something profound to me, about me, one year ago when I mentioned I was leaving a family business to go back to graduate school. "I understand," he said. "You are the type of person who must do work that is meaningful for you...that nourishes your soul."

I had been saying this same thing all along, for years and years. It was nice to hear him reiterate my own feelings; it made me realize that he knows me well, and that perhaps I wear my self on my sleeve. In other words, through my character and actions, I stay true to who I really feel that I am.

Years back I wanted desperately to make a freelance writing career work. Many people do this, and do it successfully. I was published a lot of times and in various publications, yet I could not steadily pay my bills. That's why when I came back to my home state, I decided to enter Corporate America. I thought I could continue writing while earning a steady paycheck as a marketing professional. But something horrific happened: every single day thereafter I felt a piece of my soul die.

I was miserable, and not in that passing and just "sort of sad" kind of way. Miserable. I mean really, awfully, desperately miserable. And this was something I'd never experienced before. My husband, fiance at the time, didn't know what to do with me. He felt terrible because, as most men are prone to feeling, he simply wanted to make it better. He tried and tried, offering countless solutions and pep talks. All which fell on deaf and defeated ears. Why? Because I now know, truly and deeply, I didn't want to make it better. I wanted to get out.

We started talking about all the different possibilities. I told him that writing was really everything to me, and if I were going to make a career out of something other than that, it needed to really reflect my values, beliefs, and passions. He told me to make a list of all the things that I wanted in a job. I am sure he meant things like: a good boss, the ability to write, a positive work atmosphere, etc. But instead, what I wrote was: 1) I want to help people, 2) I want psychology to be involved, 3) I love fitness, that could be involved too, and 4) I want to write.

As a real professional and a logical, excel spreadsheet, linear thinking kind of guy, my poor husband just didn't know what to do with that. "Um, maybe become a fitness instructor?" he offered, "Or a yoga teacher?"

And while yes, both are professions I could actually see myself one day doing, they weren't the soul-nourishing paths I was searching for. Then, like a lightning bolt, one night the answer finally hit me. Actually, I should clarify: it had hit me before, many times. I just managed to ignore it. Years back I decided to go back to school to get my master's in social work. I went through the entire application process...only to never send my applications in. I chickened out. Then again a couple years ago, I decided I should look into it again...and once again, I said to myself, "I'm already on a path. I better just stick to it."

But this past year, in 2011 when the lightning bolt struck again, I listened. I researched local graduate programs and various counseling master's degrees, and finally selected both the school and program that felt right for me. And as of May, 2011, I've been happily working toward my master's degree in marriage and family therapy. Where will this take me? I'm not exactly sure, and that's Ok. Perhaps I will be a marriage counselor? Perhaps I will work with adolescents as I've long wanted to do? Perhaps I will do both? At this juncture, I'm not 100 percent certain, but I do know through the course of school I will figure it out. And I also know that whatever it is, it will be GOOD because THIS is the type of meaningful work I have always wanted. This is the soul-nourishing career that was nagging at me to pay attention to it, and to make it happen, every day over the last few years. And though difficult at times as school is prone to be being, I no longer have any of those miserable days. I no longer feel as though I am living a lie or a fake life. And for that, I am ever so grateful.

So here's to 2011 - a year in which my entire life shifted in gargantuan and forever-changing ways. It has been a challenging year, to say the least, but in the very best sort of way. And I look with renewed hope and faith toward the coming year, and vow to keep living a life that is true to my values and self.
May each of us in the coming year have the courage and faith to live the lives we desire and love.

Happy 2012!

Day of Loss

2011-12-22T09:10:00.000-06:00

My dad passed away four years ago today. I find that impossible to believe -- that we lost him four entire years ago. Today I plan to spend some time thinking of him, and smiling at all of my warm, wonderful memories. Then I will go to his grave to pay my respects, and sprinkle a bit of Brilliant, his most favorite vodka (that man REALLY loved his vodka), around him. In memory of that day four years ago, I wanted to share this piece I wrote, which is now part of my e-book, From Loss to Healing: Personal Tales About the First Year of Bereavement.

Surviving Dad – Recounting the Day of Loss, December 22, 2007

As I slung my purse over the back of my chair, I heard Dad’s voice in my head: “Don’t ever do that, honey. Someone could easily reach in and steal your wallet and you wouldn’t even notice.”

I knew he was right. In fact, two years ago he’d been proven right when someone stole my credit card out of my bag while I was on a dinner date. But here we were at a family style diner on Long Island, New York, a good 40 minutes away from Manhattan – the scene of the aforementioned crime and my home since 2002 – and I was pretty sure none of these upstanding, well-to-do people were pining for the five dollars, outdated cell phone and wadded up gum wrappers I was carrying in my purse.

But because my bag was dangling from the back of my chair, and out of hearing range, I didn’t hear my phone the first time it rang. When I finally did hear it ring, I decided not to answer because I was sitting at a big round table with my boyfriend at the time, and his family. I didn’t want to be rude. I figured the caller would leave a message.

But then it rang again, and seconds later, my boyfriend’s phone rang. It was my brother. Something was wrong.

My widened eyes were already brimming with tears. “Get it,” I gasped.

As instinct took hold and the hard lump in my throat forced my breaths to become dangerously shallow, I was painfully aware something terrible had happened, and that life as I knew it would never be the same.

From the time I was a little girl, I’d had an awareness that my dad, 48 years my senior and with a weak heart and clogged arteries to boot, might not live to see me grow all the way up. The imaginary timelines started well before junior high: If I get married at 25, Dad will be 73. If I have kids by 27, Dad will be 75. Well the biggest gift I received my 25^th birthday was a perfectly wrapped package of anxiety and the cruel realization that timelines don’t carry weight in the real world. Even at 30, none of these life events had happened for me yet.

“Hello?” My boyfriend’s voice wavered as he answered the phone. “Don’t worry. I’m with her,” he assured my brother before he handed me the phone.

“Danny?” My voice was small, like a child’s.

“Dad died.”

Those were his words. His only words.

My tears were instant and forceful.

“You’re lying!” Through heaving sobs, I screamed this, incoherently, at my brother for minutes. I knew he wasn’t lying – as soon as my boyfriend’s phone rang, I felt the disastrous truth deep in my soul. I knew the way a mother intuitively knows that her child has been hurt; the way a daughter intuitively knows her father has taken his last breath.

I looked up and saw the entire restaurant was staring, horrified. They all knew too. My chest and head felt like they were going to explode. What happened to the air? Why couldn’t I breathe? I felt like a caged zoo animal, wounded and blubbering, on display for everyone’s entertainment. I had to break free.

I ran from the table and found an empty corner near an exit sign. Where was the door? Why was there no door near the sign? Isn’t that what exit signs are supposed to indicate? A place to exit? To get outside, into the fresh and free air, and mourn the sudden, unexpected loss of one’s father in private?

“You’re lying!” I screamed it again. It would have been the cruelest joke my prankster brother had ever played, but at that very moment, I would have given anything for him to say “Just kidding.”

He didn’t. And he was crying, too. I’d never heard my brother cry.

“Dad died, Marissa. I’m serious. I am in just as much shock as you.”

“What? I don’t understand. How is this possible? HOW? How did this happen?”

I’m not sure I ever heard his response, and it’s possible that at this point in time, mere minutes after the incident occurred, he didn’t yet have the answers. But I was suffering from such an overwhelming mixture of agony, disbelief, embarrassment and worry that I’d physically lost the ability to hear, and process, information.

We left the restaurant immediately. The minute we got into the car, I called my mom. As shaken and shocked as I was, I knew she was worse.

“Mommy’s right here,” my aunt said when she answered my mom’s phone. I hadn’t called or referred to my mom as ‘mommy’ since I was a little girl, but in this moment, it was the exact thing I needed to hear. I needed a mommy. Daddy was gone, but I still had a mommy.

I was hysterical and she couldn’t understand a word I said. But I heard her calm, even tone and knew immediately she was in shock. This shattered the broken pieces of my heart into even tinier fragments. I was in New York, and she was in Arizona, where she and my dad had recently begun spending their winter months to get away from our home state of Minnesota’s bitter cold. I needed to hug her, help her, be with her, and I couldn't. I needed her to hug me, help me, and be with me, and she couldn’t.

The rest of the day was a blur, but I know I had many phone conversations with each of my four older siblings. We were all enduring the same mix of violently shifting emotions. One minute we’d be laughing at a funny thing Dad had recently said or done, and the next we’d be bawling so hard we’d lose the strength required to hold our phones to our ears.

None of us could understand what had happened. Dad was a warrior. He had conquered so many health issues in his life, from heart disease to prostate cancer. He’d recently undergone a surgery that was supposed to be routine. Unfortunately, he died from complications of that very procedure we were all assured was “no big deal”. My brother said it best when he commented, “It would have made sense if Dad had a heart attack, but I can’t comprehend this at all.”

Somehow I managed to get myself packed that night, and on a plane to Minnesota for my father’s funeral. Somehow, I managed to write his obituary and eulogy. Somehow, I managed. That is my dad in me. The persevering, “life is for the living”, mentality. That is my dad.

Dad, a positive, upbeat, jolly guy, would be very disappointed in me if I fell apart. He always taught me, even in the most difficult situations, to view life’s bright sides. If he could speak to me now, he would say, “This was the moment you were terrified for your entire life. But it happened. And you are still here, alive and surviving. You can do this.”

And then, as he expressed to me every time I was nervous for a new life experience, “You are always so afraid to try new things, honey, but then you go, and do them beautifully. This time will be no different. You can, and you will, do this beautifully.”

Just like the warning about hanging my purse over the back of my chair on the morning he passed, Dad’s voice was, and is, still speaking loudly to me. He may not physically be around to walk me down the aisle or play grandfather to my future children, but I now realize he spent my lifetime prepping me for these big moments, instilling within me valuable life lessons, and molding me into the person I am proud to be. And I am certain I will continue to hear him – his words of wisdom and loving guidance – throughout my life. Dad resides within me now. And contradictory to my childhood fear that he wouldn’t be around to see me grow all the way up, it is this belief that assures me he will be with me for the big moments, and every other moment too.

Most Popular Posts in 2011

2011-12-21T15:07:00.001-06:00

I thought it would be kind of fun to sift through my blog's statistics to see which posts, over the course of the last year, have been most popular. Interestingly, many of my most-read posts weren't even those I wrote this past year (which makes sense because I wrote so rarely in 2011...I've been a bad blogger!). But regardless of when I wrote them, I thought it would still be kind of cool to share with you this year's most frequently read posts. Enjoy! (Check back soon for a listing of MY favorite posts from all time...)

Happy holidays, everyone!

Most Frequently Read Posts from The Shared Journey in 2011

Not Far Away

2011-12-20T11:22:00.000-06:00

We are approaching the 4-year anniversary of my dad's death. Four years. That doesn't seem right, and it still doesn't seem fair. It's hard to believe my dad has been gone from this physical world for four entire years. There are so many life events--personal, national, worldly--that he has missed. It is hard for me to fathom that he never saw our country's first African American president, and that he never met my husband or his family.

When he passed away, I was living in New York with no plans to move back to Minnesota. I was in a relationship that I'm sure he thought would last, and was working hard to advance my career as a freelance writer. When he died, that was my reality. Now, four years later, my reality is so vastly different, better, and it pains me to think he may not know. I am so genuinely happy now, and while life continues to throw me curveballs, the painful struggles I faced in my past are gone. Life no longer feels hard. Challenging, yes, but not impossible or hard. I am in a better, more confident place. Though I still am uncertain about exactly how my future will look like, and how I will get there--aren't we all?--I am no longer overwhelmingly frightened and worried about it. All I can focus on is my today, which I am so happy with, and know that each step I take is leading me toward my tomorrow...whatever it may be, however it may look. I am OK with that.

On many levels I do feel my dad is aware of all the changes I've made in my life. Actually, a part of me wonders if he helped orchestrate some of the amazing things that have happened to me over the past couple of years: my move home, my husband, my decision to go back to graduate school. And if not in the form of my guardian angel, perhaps (and I've always felt this) through his teachings and wisdom over the course of my lifetime that have been so deeply ingrained within me. I think during times of challenge and desire for change, I continue to turn to him and his words speak louder to me than my own. Or maybe now they are my own?

I like to think this way. It helps me feel as though he's not as far away as I sometimes worry he is, and that though gone from my physical life, he--his essence, guidance and love--are still very much a part of me. I hope on some level his spirit exists, and knows what my life has become and even where it is headed. Because thinking that he is simply gone from existence, and from my world, for eternity is too heartbreaking to accept. So on December 22nd, the 4th anniversary of his death, I will hold this notion close and let it calm and comfort me.

Get Inspired By People Who Put You Down

2011-12-14T18:22:00.000-06:00

Today in class I watched a video by Bill O'Hanlon, and was truly inspired. This man is many things that I eventually would like to be, a successful therapist and published author among two of them. During his speech, I was struck by many things he said, such as the importance of following your bliss, finding your own inner voice and embracing your inner weirdness. I believe in embracing those things too and try hard to live my life in such a way. But then he said something else I found so powerful that I just had to share it here with you. He said that in addition to feeling energized and inspired by the people in our lives who really support and believe in us, we should also feel energized and inspired by those who diss us too.

At first it seems like such an odd notion. How can we ever really feel energized by someone who is putting us down or making us feel less than? But he's right, and I know he's right because I've witnessed this very kind of motivation in my own life (and written about it before in this post, too). When others tell us we can't do something, we have a choice. We can either choose to believe them, and then, of course, prove them right. Or we can choose to do that thing anyway, and prove them wrong. And as Bill O'Hanlon mentioned, there's a great energy in choosing the latter. Whether a matter of pride, or as in the case of one man O'Hanlon mentioned who had an extremely critical father and then, due to his father's incessant criticism, this man was compelled to become a professional critic, it can help us achieve our greatest goals and successes.

I had such a person in my life once. He, an ex-boyfriend, told me many times that I couldn't do or achieve things. The very opposite of uplifting and supportive, when I told him I was going to move to New York after I graduated college, he laughed hard and told me I'd never make it there. When I told him I wanted to go back to graduate school to become a therapist, he asked me (sincerely) if I really thought I was smart enough to get in. His statements hurt, yes, but, just as O'Hanlon described, they energized me more. If it weren't for my seething anger and deep need to prove him wrong, I may not have ever attained my goal of moving to--and making it for 7 years in--Manhattan. But his condescending statement was just the push I needed. And though I didn't start grad school in the immediate years following his cruel questioning of my intelligence, and though I don't even know, or care, if he realizes I'm finally pursuing this dream (and actually got into school!), in a way his willful words from all those years back lit a certain fire and dedication in me when I decided once and for all to apply to school last winter. He has always been my disser--he has always questioned me, not in a kind and constructive way, but in an underhanded and insulting manner. Yet now I realize how, in many ways, he has actually propelled me forward in my life. And for that I suppose I really do have to be grateful.

Think about the people, or a person, in your life who has told you no; who has dissed you in some way, shape or form. What did you do? Did you let those people stop you? Or did you sail past them, racing toward your goals anyway? Did you let their negativity defeat you, or energize you? Next time you encounter such a person, remember you have two choices. You can believe them...or you can prove them wrong.

Identity, Roles and Our Shared Journey

2011-12-08T14:01:00.001-06:00

I've written about this before, but I find myself thinking about it a lot lately, and so I believe I owe the idea of shifting identities more thought. We all shift identities all the time. I believe this is the stuff of life--situations are constantly changing, life is constantly moving, and so too must we change and move with it all. This is how we evolve. Though try as we might, we cannot fight against the ever turning tides of time. We must flow along life's river, sailing forward even while sometimes tumbling and turning.

Though life is shifting all the time, and thus, so are our identities--again, the nature of life; time, experience, growth and learning force us to grow continuously--when we view these shifts from an eagle- eye perspective, they aren't hard to bear or accept. Because, as mentioned, subtle changes are occurring all the time. We take a new way home from work and our experience of our own city grows a bit more; we try a new dish and our tastes expand; we fall in love and feel our souls deepen. But when we really stop to take in how much change has occurred over our lives--and more notably, how much change has occurred in our very recent pasts--it may be become much more overwhelming and difficult to grasp.

This is the notion that once again besieged me while driving home from physical therapy the other day. Who am I, really? I mean, who am I RIGHT NOW? Though I love my life, and am happy living it every day, it's a scary thought when many things that once made you you, are either gone for good or buried deep beneath the layers of your current existence. Over the past few years my I've experienced a complete overhaul of many components of my identity. The greatest change, of course, was losing my dad. Filled with bereavement, not only did I lose a father, but felt gargantuan shifts in family relationships and roles. It was, and still can sometimes be, a confusing time. I left New York after several years of identifying with "naive girl in big city" identity, even basing much of my writing on this particular role. I moved back to Minneapolis, where, though in New York my genuine smile was a dime a dozen and something I was truly known for, here, it's always reciprocated by other good-natured, friendly Minnesotans (this is a wonderful thing, by the way. In this instance I'll take not standing out, or having "a thing"). Due to my previous hip pain and recent surgery, I'm no longer dancing or exercising fiendishly the way I used to (also likely a positive, yet I do miss these components of my life dearly). I'm not even solely a writer anymore, as I'm working toward another career too. And of course, the truly big one, I no longer carry the same last name. While this is wonderful in the sense that I am happily married to an amazing man, it means--all of it means--the old, familiar roles I once identified with, are no longer part of my daily existence. And that leaves me...well...it leaves me hanging.

I suppose it happens to all of us. We each may get stuck in an in-between stage, clinging to who we were while desperately trying to become who we are supposed to be. It's normal, I know, but it doesn't mean we can't feel the loss and mourn just a little bit in our own ways. But here's how I believe we move forward: we can determine what those core aspects of ourselves are, the components we never want to lose, and maintain those fervently while continuing to evolve and slough off our less fitting identities. This, I have to believe, is THE shared journey we all must take.

Exhale, and Move On

2011-12-08T13:49:00.001-06:00

I'm having an "I'm feeling sorry for myself" kind of day. I'm really trying not to, and as discussed in my last post, I'm doing my best to focus on the small, daily achievements, but yesterday I received some disconcerting news. A new physical therapist I was recommended to see by my doctor's office told me she thinks I am about 4 weeks behind where I should be. Or rather, it could be another 4 weeks (at least) until I am able to work my job again. Let me put this in perspective: I had originally thought I'd be able to get back to work next week.

This information is coming off the heels of some pains I've been experiencing post-surgery. From what I understand, they are normal. I believe it's my hip flexor that is tightening up--a problem I experienced pre-surgery too--and causing sharp, shooting pains in my groin when I walk and make sudden movements. Sitting for prolonged periods tends to make this problem worse--something I really can't help but do while in grad school and when writing. I'm doing my best to remember to stand often, or lay on my stomach to stretch the hip flexor area, but it's hard when I'm in the studying or writing groove to remember to take care of my too tight muscles. Up until now I truly hadn't been upset about my progress because I thought at least I was on the right track, gaining strength and mobility every day. And to a large degree, I do still feel this way. But when I heard this woman's words yesterday, "You are actually behind where you are supposed to be...and I wouldn't feel comfortable letting you go back to work for probably 4 more weeks," I simply couldn't fight the tears. I've been working so hard, SO hard, to get myself back to where I yearn to be. All I want is to live my active life -- walk more than 10 steps without my crutches and pain -- but as of today, I am just not sure when I will experience that again.

I am suffering from some pretty heavy woe-is-me's, and I do apologize for that. I don't want to feel this way, and I'm not going to let myself stay here in this sorry-for-me place for long. It certainly won't do me or my healing any good. I just needed a minute to really feel it out --and breathe it in -- so I can exhale, and move on.

Cheers to a Year

2011-12-04T18:29:00.001-06:00

Taken by Jacki V. of Jacki V. Photography

Today marks my first anniversary with my husband, R. I can honestly say that this has been the best year of my life. I love this man with all my heart, and I truly love our life together!

We've had the best first anniversary, just spending the day together at home, cooking, building a fire, and reminiscing about our wedding day and the highlights of the past year together as husband and wife. The most special part of our day is that we've just spent it together, doing nothing but enjoying each other's company. It has been one of my most favorite days that I've ever had.

In honor of celebrating one year, I wanted to re-post the 5-minute flashback of our wedding day filmed by our incredible videographer, Carl, of Princess Bride Cinematic Video (see below). He did such a great job on our video--which, of course, we watched again today (and, as I affectionately reminded my husband, we will watch every year on our anniversary! Needless to say, he was thrilled....).

Anyway, here's to one year! I love you, R., more than I could ever express in mere words (and as we know, words are my thing and I do usually have quite a lot to say!). You are THE BEST husband in the world, and I am so lucky you are mine!

Recovering

2011-11-30T16:21:00.001-06:00

Over the past several weeks I have gained a newfound appreciation for the very little things, like walking and climbing stairs. I have also gained a deeper appreciation for my husband, who has taken care of me with incredible patience and willingness. When I tell you that this man has put his own life on hold in the weeks following my surgery to help me get through mine, that's an understatement. In the two weeks after surgery he has tirelessly taken time from his extremely busy days to bring me food, help me up and down our stairs, drive me to classes and doctor appointments, and clear all evening plans simply so I could have some company and be able to eat dinner. He is a good man. Scratch that - a GREAT man. And I know just how lucky I am. I hope he knows how grateful I am to him, and that I don't take him and his continuous care for granted.

This week I am four weeks post my hip scope surgery, during which my surgeon shaved down bone in my hip joint and repaired a labral tear. I am doing so much better than I was even a week ago, but I will admit, I'm not yet where I thought I would be. However, I am not upset or even frustrated by it. I've found a calm in this healing journey that I -- an impatient, "I want it now!" type person -- have never really experienced before. I'm not angry that I'm not walking on my own yet; I'm not even angry that I'm not able to exercise. I'm just grateful that I'm feeling as pain-free as I am (most of the time) and that I'm finally able to walk longer distances on my crutches, drive and make it up and down the stairs by myself. Since surgery, I've learned to focus on the little feats. Small goals, like climbing the stairs, are far more attainable than giant goals, like running once again. I am not looking so far ahead. I'm not even looking at the grand picture of returning to my active lifestyle. I'm just focusing on day at a time, and applauding my body for its small, yet critical, accomplishments.

It's hard to imagine a time when I will be able to walk normally. As of today, as I mentioned, I'm still on crutches and feeling shooting pains in my right hip flexor/psoas area. Even so, I'm remaining positive and taking care to do my physical therapy each and every day. I look at that as my new workout, and so I do it diligently knowing it's going to help me heal. I've been unable to go back to work because my job is so active--working with children who have Autism--and at this early post-surgery stage I can't risk possible re-injury. It's tough to believe that in just a couple of weeks I'll be ready for work and able to move through life without the support of my crutches. But that's the goal. But, as I need to remember, that's not TODAY'S goal. That's not even next week's goal. And so I can't focus on that or feel anxiety about it today. Today, all I can concentrate on is the imminent goal of working my psoas muscles and getting myself to and from class. And, as I continue to be patient with my body and allow my recovery process to happen in its natural time and way, I will remember to feel at peace and OK with that.

Remembering

2011-11-11T12:14:00.001-06:00

In honor of Veteran's Day I just wanted to share this photo of my late father, Henry Kristal, taken while he was in the Navy.

He used to tell us so many stories about his days in the Navy, about the friends he made and experiences he had. It was a defining time in his life, and out of those years his and his friend's greatest idea was born: Embers Restaurants. While traveling around they found that food was expensive and inaccessible to many people, and they decided they wanted to create a restaurant that served great food at affordable prices. They wanted to make their restaurant's food available to the masses. And that's just what the did. After they got out of the Navy they went to work on this business venture and created a restaurant company that not only served the best damn pancakes and burgers (Embergers, to be exact), but also a place where many people would go on to create a plethora of wonderful memories. From post-drinking late night food, to Sunday brunches, to weekly family dinners, even my own in-laws tell a tale of heading to Embers late night after their very own wedding celebration.

Dad's days in the Navy spawned their whole idea -- which went on to become a staple in Minnesota restaurant choices -- as well as the very idea for its name. While cooking his own food over the burning fire during his Naval days, Dad would always notice the fire's embers which flickered and crackled. One night, just days before the restaurant was set to open, Dad said he jolted awake from sleep, jotted down the name that had come to him during his dream, and fell back asleep. Embers was, of course, the name.

So here's to all those currently serving, and all the brave Veterans out there who so fervently and valiantly protect us and fight for our freedom every single day. Thank you.

Helplessness and Strength

2011-11-07T10:49:00.001-06:00

Six days ago I had surgery on my hip. Today, Monday, is my best post-surgery day yet. I've been saying that each day, because each day has certainly been better than the last. But today surpasses all the days prior because of one thing and one thing only: my attitude.

I think it's been a mix of medicine, pain, fear, isolation and lack of activity, but since my surgery I have been prone to bursting into heaving and torrential tears. It hasn't taken much for the cascade to fall--simply the thought of being left alone, my mom leaving town, or the fear associated with wondering how/if I'll ever regain normal activity again--but the salty flood has fallen often and hard.

Today was a day I was terrified of since surgery last Tuesday. Today meant the beginning of a new work and school week, with my mom back in Arizona, my husband back on the job, and myself stuck, unable to move painlessly or easily on my own. But today, even though there is still pain and fear, I feel stronger. Actually, it is a strange mix of feeling helpless and strong at the same time. I am confined to one level and can't maneuver without crutches, but I also feel strength in my own healing and as my husband says, "overcoming just one challenge a day".

I will continue working on that. It will be awhile until I am moving normally again, awhile until I am totally pain free. It will be a while until I am able to work out again (something that is a huge part of my self-concept and lifestyle) and live the active life I long for and so totally love. But as my family keeps reminding me, all I can do is take it day by day. This is hard for me, a compulsive planner and future-thinker, but I must live in each present moment, feeling grateful for every single gain of healing and strength.

Making Myself Better

2011-10-31T14:03:00.001-05:00

After a whirlwind few weeks--concussion, birthday celebration, mid-terms, work, Halloween, etc.--tomorrow is what I am referring to as "surgery take 2". I will be heading to the hospital in the morning for my hip orthoscopy, and should be back home by late afternoon. I am nervous, of course, but not nearly as nervous as I once would have been.

I say this about surgery, as well as a whole host of other things in my life. Something has happened to me over the past several months. I've learned how to manage (for the most part) my anxiety. Although 2010 was a crazy year filled with good and not so good that probably would have sent anyone close to the edge (wedding planning--good and bad!, trying to find my right career path--good and bad!, moving into a house--good and bad!, etc. etc. etc.), the amount of stress and anxiety I felt in that one year alone was more than this self-proclaimed stress queen has felt during the course of her entire life (okay...maybe a slight exaggeration. I've felt a LOT of stress in my life).

The summer before my wedding, which is when I really felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I finally sought help. I found a wonderful therapist who gave me excellent tools to help me regain my sense of calm and peace and tangibly work through my own anxiety. That single step paved the way for me to take many more important ones on my own: with the proper support and help, space was created for me to really figure out what I truly wanted to do with my life (write and help people). And within this space, and due to the incredible talents of this therapist and the support (and immense awareness) of my wonderful husband, I finally learned a crucial lesson: we cannot worry about things that a) haven't happened yet, or b) that we're not sure will even ever happen at all. We can ONLY focus on the components of our lives that are in front of us today. Those are the ONLY things we can do anything about.

It sounds so simple--and it is--but it can be an incredibly difficult concept to grasp. I'm sure I'm not alone in this (all the other stress queens and kings out there, raise your hands!). Though I'm sure I'd been told the same thing many times over the course of my life, perhaps I wasn't ready to listen. Perhaps I still thought worrying incessantly about every minute little detail of every minute little thing was somehow helping me to prepare (this is where the small voice in me speaks up and admits: a part of me still believes this...). But now, at this point in my life, several things are different. The first and foremost being I really do have a wonderful, loving, caring husband who is a tremendous support system. I feel in this union like I truly BELONG in a way that I just hadn't ever felt before--it's a warm and comforting feeling. I am okay, then, taking more risks than usual, because the ground underneath me feels steadier and more secure. I also think age and experience has something to do with it. I've learned as the years have gone on that I handle things just fine in the moment, when "stuff" just happens as "stuff" is always prone to doing. I've also learned that no matter how incessantly I worry about something, it's not going to change the course of how or when it happens, or how or when I deal with it. I spent countless nights in the mid 2000's crying and worrying about one day losing my parents. It was a horrible few years filled with many sleepless nights. And for what? So I could deal with the death and mourning then, before they were even gone; and waste all the time I had left with my dad while he was actually still alive, fearing and crying over his one-day death? Ridiculous. I look back on that now and I see how absolutely ridiculous it all is. But unfortunately, our emotions aren't usually rational, and when I let mine run away they often hold my logical mind hostage until they have run their tumultuous and chaotic course.

I am not 100 percent healed from my anxiety. I will admit that I may never be. This has really been the only way I've known how to operate, and in a sense, I am addicted to it -- the predictability of how it feels, the fear that if I don't worry then I'll be caught off guard and unprepared, the icky feeling that if I'm not worrying about something, then I'm slacking and being unproductive. But I do know it's not helpful or healthy. And it's not the way I want to live. And over the past several months I've made it my mission to make myself better. I'm finally READY to get better. And that has been half the battle, my own willingness to help myself, and get out of my own way.

And so I say about tomorrow's surgery, the same way I did about starting school, not knowing how long it will take me to get through school, not knowing how or when I will start a family and do so during the course of my schooling and future career, I am nervous, but I am not terrified. It will happen the way it happens, and I will handle it. And I can't worry about the aftermath now, because that is not what I have in front of me today. Today all I can focus on is staying healthy and strong, and preparing mentally and physically for tomorrow. And I am.

Feeling Settled

2011-10-17T13:51:00.001-05:00

On my BIRTH day: October 18, 1979

Today is my last day of 31, and tomorrow I say hello to 32. I say it every year, but I truly can't believe it. While time has always seemed to speed by, since I entered my 30's it's flown at fierce pace. I think this is because so much LIFE has happened since then.

When I really stop to think about everything that has happened in my life over the past couple years--most notably since I moved back home to Minnesota--it makes all my life before that time feel stagnant in comparison. Of course that's not true - after all, there was the whole going away to college thing, moving to New York bit, starting up a freelance career, starting relationships, ending relationships, moving (many, many times), losing a parent, and so on and so forth. Life has always moved forward, and I with it. But I look at the years since moving back to Minnesota as my real and valid "adult life".

Here, in the place I grew up and enjoyed a wonderful childhood in, is where I entered my adult years. I got married, bought a house, bought my first car, found a meaningful career (well, am on the path toward one day working in that meaningful career anyhow). If my 20's were for finding myself, gaining independence, continuously challenging myself, and having incredible amounts of fun, my 30's have been characterized by more maturity, steadiness, getting to the depth and heart of myself, learning how to share my life fully with another person, and of course, still having fun (though, due to an inability to recover the way I used to, the "kind of fun" I now have looks slightly different than the kind I used to enjoy...).

I was a little nervous about 31. I was on a career path I wasn't sure about, and on the brink of marriage. But now, as I welcome in 32, I'm not nervous at all. Instead, I'm only excited. In the past year, between 31 and 32, I got married (and I love every single day of married life), settled into life as a homeowner, decided to challenge familiarity and start over in an entirely new career, applied for and began grad school and am now on the path to earning my master's degree in marriage and family therapy, made the choice to continue to write professionally and am now exploring ways to do that while in school (as well as when I am a future therapist), started a new part time job in the field working with children with autism, took on a volunteering position doing art with wonderful, young kids, and felt tremendous joy at knowing I'm following the path that feels right for me.

Of course there have been some tough times too--some health scares, some intense anxiety and stress (it wouldn't be me, after all, if these anxious feelings didn't rear their ugly head sometimes...), but all in all, I feel greatly blessed and HAPPY. I am in a good place in my life. At 31, almost 32, even in the midst of constant change and new beginnings, I feel...settled. And for me, that is a VERY good place to be.

Perspective

2011-10-07T09:17:00.002-05:00

This morning I am working on renewed perspective. I would like to move out of my pity party, and hopefully onto a more joyous party (one that includes cake and ice cream...after all, my birthday is soon). This is not a matter of life and death. I am here, doing just fine, and moving through life as I always do. That is something to be very, very grateful about. And I am grateful for that. Every single day that I wake and get to live my life, I am grateful for that.

The way I see it is that this situation is simply working to teach me a lesson that I apparently find very difficult to learn: Life does not always go as planned. I have said it here hundreds of times before. We can plan every last detail of our worlds to a meticulous tee (and I do!), but in the end, we really aren't in control of how things go down. Unexpected twists and turns happen all the time, and we just can't fall to pieces when they do. We have to be flexible enough to bend with them...we--okay, I--have to learn to go with the flow.

In preparation for this surgery, I planned everything out perfectly. The day I learned I needed to undergo this procedure I spent several hours going down a checklist of To-Do's in order to make sure I worked out all the details with school, work, doctors, family, etc. It was all perfectly executed. I even cancelled out of a trip that was scheduled the weekend before surgery because I was so fearful I might catch cold or some other illness while away, and go into surgery sick and not at my optimal self.

Funny how things happen, isn't it? Amazingly, I overlooked the possibility of concussion occurring mere days before said surgery was set to happen. Silly me.

At first I was angry: "Really? SERIOUSLY? This is happening to me...AGAIN?!" Then I was full of self-pity: "My body hates me and I hate it. I am a failure...I suck at everything...I can't even have surgery successfully." Now, as I mentioned, I'm full of realization and perspective: "Overall, I am really healthy. For that, I'm lucky and blessed. So surgery didn't happen when it was supposed to and I'm dealing with the pain of concussion. Soon the pain will dissipate, and I'll still have the surgery and move on with my life just as I'm supposed to."

And that's where I am today. I'm dealing with what feels like a migraine post-concussion. It's not fun, but after an MRI I also know it's not life threatening. I don't have a subdural bleed, which is the big and important news. Soon, the pain will pass. And surgery will happen too. As a girl my class said to me yesterday, maybe I wasn't meant to have the surgery on October 4th. Maybe there was a reason this all happened--a reason why I couldn't undergo the procedure on that particular day. I like that notion. As I usually do, I will choose to believe everything happens for a reason.

Heavy Heart

2011-10-05T08:03:00.003-05:00

Right here and right now, I am going to admit it. I am sad. And frustrated. Though I do have perspective on this situation--nothing is life or death, and for that I am eternally grateful--in many ways, I feel like I am at battle with my body. Or rather, that my body is at battle with me.

I have written before about my many strange maladies. It's become a joke among my friends and family that I should wear a helmet or even roll myself around in a protective bubble to keep me safe from injury and harm. It's always been funny to me too...until yesterday. Though I am continuing to try and find the humor, to laugh, because I know that (and again, perspective) will guide me through.

Yesterday was to be my surgery date. I mentally and physically prepared for that surgery for quite some time. I worked around my whole crazy current schedule in order to fit that surgery and recovery time in. But no matter how hard I tried to keep myself healthy and safe in the days leading up to yesterday, last Thursday I managed to suffer a concussion which, at the 11th hour, managed to keep me out of the OR.

To say I was hysterical would be a vast understatement. There I sat, in the pre-op room, with my husband, mom, nurse, surgeon and anesthesiologist in total tears, thinking, "I'm ready for this today, I've worked myself up for this to happen today, my schedule permits this to happen today...I NEED this to happen today." But in the end, it didn't happen. And I spent the rest of the day depressed.

While the hit to the head last Thursday didn't seem too terrible then, and nor did the subsequent pain the rest of the weekend, on Sunday night the hammering in my head became heavier. Monday morning I woke with what felt like a full-blown migraine, dizziness, nausea...the full nine yards. I panicked, of course, because due to history I don't take anything to do with my head lightly. And with surgery the very next day, I knew I needed to nurse myself back to health quickly in order to go under the knife. But the pain just got worse, and as I raced from doctor to doctor (first ENT to rule out sinus infection, then urgent care to ensure my head was OK) I feared the inevitable: I may not be able to undergo the surgery because, once again, I was suffering from yet another ailment that was getting in the way of me living my life.

Before the bleed in 2007, I was as healthy as I could possibly be. I barely ever caught cold. But after that bleed, and mostly in the previous year, I have cracked my head open, suffered chronic sinusitis, a weeklong migraine (which we are still not sure was actually a migraine), a hip impingement (the cause for surgery), knee injury, and now this concussion (which, again, not totally sure is actually a concussion). All I want, and I mean this with the utmost sincerity and desperation, is to live my life. I am 31-years-old, and I am desperate to just move forward, past these ailments, and live my life. I want to be able to work out again, to try and have children when the time is right, to get rid of these scary headaches that are so reminiscent of my past bleed, to somehow alleviate the chronic congestion in my sinuses. I looked to this surgery as turning the corner on all that...on moving forward finally. This surgery was my road to recovery, at least on the activity front. With this surgery was going to come healing, and my ability to once again walk (and do all sorts of other activities that I love again) without pain.

I was all checked in and sitting in the pre-op room yesterday, ready to undergo surgery. But the pain in my head was so intense I just couldn't keep quiet about it. As I told the team what was going on, they informed me that while not medically dangerous to go ahead, I'd likely be in a world of pain after the surgery, suffering from an even worse headache, nausea, dizziness, and just overall feeling crummy. I was actually OK with that, until they mentioned that in the almost 0% chance I have some sort of subdural bleed, the narcotics involved in my surgery would make that bleed worse. Maybe it was best just to have a brain scan before going ahead with surgery simply to ensure I was 100% OK. I was bawling, as I mentioned, I was prepared for this surgery to happen yesterday and yesterday ONLY. I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to put this off. It was perfectly planned into my schedule, and symbolically it meant the pathway to my recovery and health. But the doctors saw how nervous I was, how wishy-washy I became with the new information they were giving me, and suggested it was probably a good idea to reschedule the surgery and get the scan first.

And so I did.

Through heavy tears and a broken heart, I cancelled that surgery--with no idea of when I'll be able to get back into my top-notch surgeon again. And this morning I am on my way to the neurologist. Here we go with my head...again. I am sure it is all fine, I really am. But the doctors were right. At least now I'll have peace of mind, and when surgery finally arrives, I can go in with total confidence, and the right kind of attitude which will help me heal properly. Until then, I can't help my heavy heart. I remain positive because that is my nature--my dad taught me that--but even I can feel a heavy heart at times.

Filling the Void

2011-09-24T15:55:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to elaborate a little more on my last post in case there are any other hip pain sufferers out there who think they too may have a hip impingement. Click here for much more sound information on my condition, Femoroacetabular Impingement (FAI), than I could ever possibly give you myself. And the surgery I will be undergoing just one week from Tuesday is called a hip orthoscopy.

Call me crazy, but I am actually really looking forward to having this surgery. Okay, maybe not so much looking forward to the surgery (or the recovery) itself, but the idea of being able to one day walk--and even run--painlessly again makes me incredibly happy!

Has anyone out there experienced this particular condition and/or surgery before? I'd love to hear your thoughts and how your recovery was. I'd also love to hear from anyone who has suffered from any form of debilitating injury that took them "out of the game", so to speak, for a while. While I've been trying to keep a positive outlook throughout the past several months, I cannot lie: I've had my fair share of days where I've felt tremendously depressed because I am no longer able to live the active life I once did. In fact, as someone who is truly passionate about dancing, running and fitness in general, over the course of the past year as I have been able to do less and less activity, I have felt a part of my identity die. And that has left me with a deep, cavernous void that I just haven't quite known how to fill.

Has anyone else out there had this experience? Would love to hear from you!

Oh, Those Aching Hips

2011-09-20T09:12:00.000-05:00

Something has happened during the time between my last post and this one: I have aged 60 years. Well, not really, but when you read what I'm about to write you might think it. On October 4th I, 31-year-old Marissa, am going to have hip surgery.

The bright side is that the doc said if we didn't take care of this now, I'd be the woman getting a hip replacement before the age of 50. So I suppose it's a blessing that my hip decided to impinge last year, so that I can get the fix now.

Here's what's going on: I, queen of physical ailments, have a pretty severely impinged hip. This means that there is a lot of friction in my hip joint because my femoral head and socket are rubbing together. Why? There is a lack of space in the joint between the socket and bone, which causes the grinding, pinching, and pulling pain sensations I've been feeling over the last year. When it first occurred, I thought I'd simply strained my hip flexor. However, as the months have wore on, a little pain has transformed into a complete inability to run, and now, even walk painlessly. So here we are, after two rounds of physical therapy and no improvements, on the verge of surgery.

Surgery shouldn't be too bad. It's a laparoscopic outpatient procedure, and while I won't be able to run or do any high-impact activity for at least 3 months, I will only be on crutches for a little bit and will start rehabbing right away. As most people who understand even the slightest bit about me know, I am a die-hard fitness fanatic. But here's why the prospect of 3 months without running doesn't even faze me: because with this surgery, I am hopeful that by January I WILL get there again. I WILL run and exercise normally again. Over the past few months, I haven't even been able to walk 10 steps normally and without pain. It can't get worse than that. So I am willing to wait it out, and heal properly, so I can regain my ability to move...in other words, regain my life.

And here's where my newly reclaimed positivity comes in really handy: I do believe that this surgery will help me. And I do believe that my recovery process will go smoothly. I am in shape, I eat well, I am young. While of course scared, I am also (even more so) hopeful and optimistic. I know this positivity will help me heal. And of course there's this to be positive about too: in the wake of hip surgery, I'm also optimistic that my wonderful, loving husband will indulge me with my favorite ice cream and lots of delicious "get well" kisses. Mmm...I kinda can't wait!

2011-09-14T08:22:00.000-05:00

Wrote the following note to myself this morning (yeah, I'm cool like that) and thought perhaps my reminder to myself might be inspirational to you, too. Just an extra dose of optimism to get our mornings started...

1. Stay positive
2. Think healing thoughts
3. Write (blog, journal, memoir...doesn't matter the form, just write)
4. Keep going in the direction of your soul and dreams
5. Do the very best you can every single day, and that will be enough

Enjoy this Wednesday!

Bright Sides

2011-08-30T09:22:00.002-05:00

I've been noticing a trend in myself that I really, really dislike. I, a usually overly positive and optimistic person, have come down with a case of the negatives. Over the past several months, I have lost hold of the bright side.

Obviously disturbed by this--after all, I used to be Ms. constantly cheerful and chipper--I've spent considerable time recently pondering why my strong silver lining has started to wane into faint, silver dots. I am not sure if my theories hold any credibility, but I'm starting to think that something changed in me, physiologically, with both my experiences of suffering a subarachnoid hemorrhage and losing my father (within 4 short months of each other). When both these traumatic events happened, I handled them as well as could possibly be expected. In fact, I surprised even myself with my calmness, grace and steadiness. They were difficult to say the least, but I didn't fall apart. I didn't even falter. In the face of adversity, as I was always prone to doing, I found the bright sides and continued moving forward. I was proud of myself for how I'd handled such difficulty and stress. But throughout my life, I've always held a certain assurance that things happen for a reason, and that all the events we experience in our lives--both positive and negative--are meant to teach us something. Therefore, we can't regret or feel mopey about the tough stuff, because even the tough stuff will be beneficial to us in the end. In other words, and my dad certainly used to drive this point home a lot, even in the midst of difficulty, there are always bright sides.

I resolutely held onto that notion. After all, it made life seem much sweeter and more bearable. I chose to focus on this greater purpose and know that all of our seemingly distinct experiences seamlessly fit together and shape us into the strong and unique individuals we are meant to be. And here's the thing: I still do believe this. I have to. It's the very foundation of my beliefs...my life. But something has changed within me. It's been a slow process -- it didn't happen immediately following my dad's death or my bleed -- but this year, 4 years later, I've transitioned from exuberant optimist to borderline pessimist. I say 'borderline' because I'm uncertain if it's truly pessimism I feel, or rather a strong dose of realism. The change is this: after tough stuff, I'm less quick to bounce back to my happy and positive equilibrium. I'm less resilient than I used to be. Rather than understand how these experiences will help me grow and learn, I focus on the deficiencies they'll bring to my life, and the possible detrimental outcomes they'll cause. For instance, this has been a rough summer physically. There was a week-long migraine last Spring, my first ever, that came on like thunder and relentlessly remained. I have been sick, on and off, with something the docs can't seem to figure out how to fix (at least it's not contagious!). And my hip has gotten so bad there's a possibility of surgery in my future. This, for me, along with transforming my life so completely in the recent months, has been a bit much for me. And instead of responding with my usual good sense and cheer, I've instead felt blue.

Perhaps it's my new response to physical stress, one that I've unconsciously adopted after surviving my own life threatening disorder and suddenly losing my amazing father. Regardless, I don't like it. Feeling negative, and spewing negativity to those around me, certainly doesn't make anything easier or better. In fact, negative thoughts, like positive ones, seem to multiply. The more I focus on the bad stuff, it seems the worse it gets. So in turn, if learning these new negative responses was unconscious, I'd like to consciously re-gain my optimistic nature. Because I know the more I focus on the good, then the more good I'll get (that goes for everyone, not just me).

And so this is my vow, right here and right now, to remember how to remain positive; to try and focus on the bright sides in every situation; to try and find that silver lining, even when at first it appears as only a faint silver shimmer.

Featured!

2011-08-19T07:51:00.000-05:00

Our December 2010 winter wonderland wedding is featured in the latest edition of Minneapolis+St. Paul Magazine (the weddings edition). Check it out!

Restorative and Healing

2011-08-16T10:32:00.002-05:00

I really have been a delinquent blogger, and I know I've apologized for this (certainly lately) a million times before. Yet here I will say it again: I'm sorry. It has been really hard to find the time to write in between all the paper writing and studying. While I love school, it's definitely been an adjustment and the many layers of my life are continuing to shake and sort themselves out. I'll figure out the balance someday...I hope.

In the meantime, hello friends - I cannot believe we are approaching the end of yet another summer. With the Minnesota State Fair fast looming (mmm...fried food on sticks!) and the Fall semester right around the corner, I decided to take a few moments to reflect back on last summer and this.

Though this summer has been busier in the sense that I've been in school, it has felt like a peaceful and relaxing vacation compared to the chaos of last summer. In May of '10 R. and I moved into our new home. The majority of the summer was spent unpacking, putting things away, organizing, re-arranging, re-organizing and figuring out how two of the most un-handy people in the Universe were going to survive inside a built-in-1902 home. Let's just say, though in good condition, things do tend to fall apart (and since neither of us is even remotely skilled at anything involving hammer, nail or our own two hands, this tends to pose quite the problem). On top of that, we were planning a wedding. Rather I was in the thick throws of it: decorations, music, guest lists, oh my! All free daytime and evening hours, then, were purely devoted to planning this soiree. And then there were the engagement parties. These were, of course, awesome and so much fun. In fact, we are still glowing from all the love of our friends and family who so generously planned and threw the fabulous celebrations. But between it all -- not to mention working our jobs, my writing, and our active social life -- for this relaxation-loving homebody, things felt a tad overwhelming.

In comparison, this summer has felt like a retreat. Sure school has kept me busy, as well as my dilapidating body (where do I begin? My hips, my head, my sinuses and glands...), but yet amidst all that I've managed to take plenty of time for myself, my husband, my family and other relationships. This summer I've done my best to take full advantage of the beautiful (mostly) weather by biking, walking, kayaking, blading and studying outside. I've managed to see my family quite a bit. I've started another writing project (and by "start" I mean I've completed the first sentence...but it's something!). I've enjoyed every second of school, learning so much about a new field that I truly love. And here's something even more miraculous (and really, this deserves its own post): I've begun to REALLY learn how to manage my stress and anxiety. I cannot even begin to express how much different and healthier I feel. I still have so much in my life that is up in the air (but who doesn't?), and yes, I still do get "the worries" from time to time, but the difference now is that I no longer let them overtake me. I no longer feel victim to panic attacks and a racing heart and mind. Despite the physical snafus, this has been a truly restorative, balanced and healing summer.

(Unfortunately, I plan on counteracting all the healing and restorative benefits of the past few months when I chow down on all the aforementioned fried foods on sticks at the Fair in just a couple of weeks!)

Opposites Attract

2011-07-21T09:35:00.000-05:00

Well hello there. In case you've forgotten, I'm Marissa. I figured I'd better re-introduce myself as it's been quite a long while. I apologize for my absence--as much as to myself as to any readers out there--I've been having a hard time carving out the minutes during my days to write. The thing is, though, when I don't write, I feel less like me. So it's really a catch-22: no time to write because I'm so busy fulfilling other aspects of my life, but in the end, I wind up feeling less fulfilled because - well - I'm not writing. So there we have it. But what should I do about it? Freakin' write, girl! (This is the actual command I gave myself when I woke up this morning.) I digress. Enough about my lack of writing, and more about what's been happening in my world (or, more aptly, in my mind).

As you know, I'm back in school pursuing my graduate degree in marriage and family therapy. And I? LOVE IT. I love what I'm learning so much that I feel like I've finally been reunited with a long lost twin I never knew I had. Yes, in this particular metaphor, my twin would be psychology and all that goes along with it. Of course my other twin -- I suppose this would make me a triplet -- is writing, which bodes well for my experience in school seeing as how I've written more papers in two months than I did during my entire 4 years in college. Since I was a wee little girl I've always been enamored with how the brain works, how relationships are formed and maintained, how humans connect and relate to one another, and what makes us tick. As such, my favorite magazine for as long as I can remember has been Psychology Today. And when I had the opportunity to intern there for a time, and then continue on freelancing for the magazine, and even pen my own PT blog, I felt like a starstruck teenager in a room full of her favorite celebrity idols. I couldn't believe I was in the presence of these famed psychologically-minded writers who created this brilliant magazine that kept me so informed of all the things I desperately wanted to know (is there a psychology behind love? What is the group mentality and how is it formed?). And now, I am finally being formally educated in all these matters and I feel truly blessed.

So where am I going with all this? I'm going here: I love when articles I read for school or in magazines like PT, really get me thinking about my own life in real and meaningful ways. This morning I read a piece that mentioned that relationship therapists are not only tasked with the duty of working with their coupled patients, but also of determining (and thus helping each other relate better) their individual characters, temperaments and emotional/love styles.

While some people are much more outgoing, sociable, leader-oriented and decisive, there are of course others (ahem, me) who are more inward, sensitive, conscientious, and intuitive. As it turns out, while I am the latter, my husband is the former. At first this posed some issues--I couldn't handle the nightly outings and packed-tight-with-plans weekends. I needed more alone and one-on-one time, while he, as he self-proclaims, is a "man of the people". To be totally honest, we weren't sure how we would be able to compromise our styles - we aren't just slightly different in this regard, we are 100 percent opposites. But as we've really done a great job of learning (and practicing) since the beginning of our relationship (and as the article I read attested), not only can compromise be made successfully, but such differences can actually strengthen and enhance a relationship. Every day I say thanks that he is different than me. We create the balance in each other, and in our lives, that would surely be lacking if were exactly the same. If left up to me, our lives would be fully calculated, rather slow, deeply introspective and quite possibly very boring. If left up to him, we'd be sprinting through life (with entourage in tow) at the pace of speed-racers, rarely stopping to deeply inhale the beauty and meaning of the roses around us.

So see, we help make each other -- and this relationship -- tick. We keep each other on our toes, and provide one another with some of the traits the other is lacking. I've written about this before, but after feeling reaffirmed by this particular reading, I am doing so now with much more confidence and conviction (that our opposite natures really can be a positive thing). As a student of marriage and family therapy, I am very eager to one day apply the notions, theories and techniques I will have learned in school to my patients, of course. But I am also excited to apply them to myself. While my goal has always been to help others, I never anticipated how earning this degree might improve my own life in so many wonderful ways as well.