Last night, as I scrolled through Facebook, a friend of mine revealed she was looking for remote work. Having recently been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, she is hoping for a way to make money without having to leave home while she works through next steps. 

As someone who wasn't accurately diagnosed with OCD until my 30s, I was filled with so many mixed emotions upon reading her post. I was glad that she had that clarity, and I immediately wanted to reach out and help her (I also work remotely and it is game changing in so many ways).

For me, receiving an OCD diagnosis after years of battling anxiety and depression meant I would have a more accurate map to managing symptoms of intrusive thoughts, safety behaviors, and avoidance. Correlated with the panic that often comes along for the ride, the knowledge was empowering for me. I'm hoping my friend feels a sense of that as well. 

As a rebel, I don't like to be categorized too much. I feel that putting labels...

"What message wants to come through today?"

I take a moment to ground myself, feeling the floor beneath my feet and imagining thick roots growing out from the soles of my feet and moving through the floor boards, into the Earth, as deep and wide as the tendrils wish to go. 

I breathe.

And breathe again.

With eyes closed, I turn my face upwards and imagine a bright, golden sun beaming its warmth on my skin. Shimmering light flows through the top of my head and all through my body.

I breathe.

And breathe again.

"What message wants to come through today?"

Rest.

Rest in the knowing that the Universe has your back, that your dream is not too indulgent or impossible, that you have all the time you need, and that choices will define your path.

Rest in the possibility of a Way opening up that you never would have imagined if you hadn't rested, realigned, and made space for what you needed when you needed it.

Rest in the beauty that lies before you: the song of a bird, the luscious...

Today, I'm beginning again. We do this every day, but today I am beginning again with a writing intention -- no, a writing commitment. 

You see, I've been absent here in this blog space, more than a year to be exact. But I have been writing, I have been seeking, and learning, and doing. So it's okay that this space took a back seat for awhile, because "if everything is important, then nothing is." (That's a Mel Robbins take on a Karen Martin quote about priorities.)

For the last 18 months or so, my writing priority has been my memoir and supporting other writers to begin their transformational books. And I've loved it. Now that my manuscript is in the hands of an editorial team I'm able to turn my eyes toward the next thing (even though I still have loads of writing and re-writing to do for the next couple of months).

And that is landing me here for two reasons:

1) I want to be a more consistent writer. It's habit, it's practice and it's important to me in this stage of my...

Three months ago, I could barely leave my house. Even at home, the anxiety and panic would overwhelm me at times, leaving me feeling pretty worthless, irritable, and probably not that much fun to be around. 

As I write this, my brain wants to just skip to the good part, but the messy middle is always where the gems lie. You have to root around in the muck to find the diamonds and pearls.

It was a long, slow descent and not wholly unexpected as we globally became more aware of words like "viral load" and ideas of contamination. For someone like me, diagnosed with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) more than ten years ago, the pandemic was both a blessing and a curse. Isolation brought me relief and control over my environment (it also brought its own brand of loneliness, new anxieties, a whole lot of reckoning, and some really, really good stuff, too).

When the world started opening up and I was feeling forced to adapt to life outside the confines of my bubble is when things...

So, a couple weeks ago I started with a new therapist.

Dr. T, who was the amazing psychologist I worked with on and off for more than 10 years, retired at the end of 2021. Dr. T referred me to this new guy because he helped mentor him and knew it would be a good fit.

Dr. T was right, and even though it took 6 months to get an appointment with Mr. New Guy (post about our healthcare system needing funding and support another time...), I'm glad I got in to see him ...and whoa, is it intense--in the best of ways.

Some of you know me pretty well and have seen my stories and struggles over the years with OCD and anxiety. I talk openly about the importance of mental health and finding ways to cope and heal that work for each individual. There are always peaks and valleys with this work, like life itself, it ebbs and flows.

Mr. New Guy has an in depth approach to diagnosis and treatment--which, if I'm consistent, will lead to quick transformation (especially since I've been down this road...

It’s not gone. It’s just quieter, I think as I take a second bite of the salmon. I’m still often weighing the effects of different foods on my body. I am still often reminding myself with first or third bites that what I’m ingesting is not going to have adverse affects. Sometimes I know it will and am willing to take the risks (sugar) and other times it’s enough to stop me mid-bite and reassess the whole situation. I’ll eat around the offending piece. I’ll slyly slip the dog some morsels so it isn’t wasted. 

OCD isn’t gone. It’s managed and settled. It’s livable.

I don’t really want to go anywhere.

Not sure how much covid is a reason or an excuse.

I am taking many good, long, hard looks in the mirror--especially after disagreements about exposures and decisions. 

The dark night of the soul, they call it. But I had that years ago. I only get glimpses now and am able to acknowledge and work with what...

I’m continually referring back to my teachers--the ones I want to be like, emulate their ability to stay centered amid chaos. I’m better at it myself these days, one of the benefits I guess of a world wide pandemic is that on the other side of sheer panic is a choice to surrender.

I take mindfulness classes. And remember to look in front of me and around me and see the beauty. The stubble of my teenage son’s face reminding me of the passage of time, and the sound of laughter as he and his sisters play another round of rummikub. 

I have all that I need. I am lucky. There is food, shelter, and love. What else on earth do I need?

Suddenly, I feel stripped of the need to strive for something grand. I have always wanted to do big things, and at the root never understood that it was because I wanted to feel important. Like I meant something to the world around me.

 July 19, 2020

But I’m learning, too, that that is a given. I AM enough. I am already...

I’ve written a lot about how it all started--the foods slowly removed, one by one, as my belly ached or the news report of another e.coli or salmonella outbreak. Red meat. Lettuce. My beloved ranch dressing. 

I’ve written about how, over the span of a few months, my weight dropped and my handwashing went up exponentially. Hotter water. More soap. Do it again.

What I haven’t written about is the lingering anxiety that rears its head in certain situations, generally social, when there is less knowledge about ingredients and more probability of cross contamination with others’ hands or breath.

OCD isn’t gone. It’s settled and re-related to. Exposures help, as does a really good support system.

And now, 13 years since severe onset, 10 years since official diagnosis, and 8 years since beginning Cognitive Behavior Therapy and winning a bunch of anxiety wins, we are living in a new era where a lot of people around me are carrying hand sanitizer,...

It's getting closer. I am doing and saying all the things I know need to be done and said, but I am scared. Petrified, actually. 

I know I am so damn lucky to live in a place and be in a profession that has covid vaccines available. My partner just got his second one this week, and my dad got his first. Oh goodness, to be able to be with my parents again. It will be a sweet dream come true. 

But I don't want it. 

No, I'm not an anti-vaxxer. My kids are all up to date and I got a tetanus shot two years ago (you can find that fun video story in my FB history). I believe in the miracles of modern science (in addition to the spiritual science of all things!). 

But I just don't want it in me. No shots. No medicines. 

I get migraines that last three days and I'm only willing to take Tylenol.

I barely take my multivitamin, not because I don't remember, but because I pretend to forget.

Phobias, OCD, anxiety--whatever you want to call it. My mind swirls with refusals...

If you're looking for Part I before you read this, don't bother. I'm starting here at Part II because the before existed in another space and time. Literally. A different internet space and nearly ten years ago.

I've been hoping to write a book for quite some time. "About what?" you may ask. Which is a relatively bright question. But the answer is muddy.

You see, I've always felt like I had a message to share with others. I don't know why, and I'm learning that the why may not really matter so much any more. But the vision pulls me, and I'm allowing it to do so more fully these days.

Surrendering to what is and following my heart.

Every Day, I'm Brave is just a piece of the journey. The piece that has taken my anxious brain on a circus ride of healing and learning and practice. LOTS of practice.

So I've learned a few things along the way about showing up, even when it feels like the last thing you want--or can--do. And I've learned a few things about what showing up for yourself...