Why cry?

Why cry? It's normal and healing, right? It releases toxins in the body. It cleanses our soul and releases stress, anxiety, anger and sadness. It's normal.

Perhaps we don't cry enough, being taught that it is a sign of weakness. But we also cry at happy events when our emotions are triggered to new heights. Some of us cry when we laugh long and hard. I know I do and I don't know where it's coming from.

According to an article in Psychology Today crying can be extremely healing with one caveat: If we self-criticize while crying our eyes out, it does no good at all. That's why we all know some people who cry and cry and cry and never get any better. They are telling themselves negative messages like:

"I'm a loser and that's why I didn't get the job."

"My boyfriend left me because I'm fat and stupid."

"I don't deserve to have any friends."

"I'm just too sensitive."

Instead,  the article reminds us, "speak only kind words to yourself" when you're crying such as
 “I’m sorry” and “I’m with you” and “I love you." We don't say these things to make us stop crying we say them to be compassionate to ourselves.

What a concept! Be compassionate to ourselves.

So many of us are empathetic with others, we forget to do the same when we need it. We berate and negate our feelings and stop crying, especially in public.

The scientific community is studying our tears. In a research project completed by Lauren Blysma, a PhD student at the University of South Florida in Tampa, she and her colleagues describe what we should and shouldn't do around someone who is in crying mode.

•  Be aware that if you do nothing, you can make the crier feel worse.
• Try to do something supportive. What that is depends on the situation and how well you know the person, For example, hugging someone you aren't very close with might not be appropriate, while simply listening in an empathetic way would be suitable.
• Don't assume you know how to comfort them. 'The less intimate the relationship, the more it is appropriate to begin by asking how you can help and be supportive.
• Know that criers who tear up in a very large group generally feel more uncomfortable than those who cry in front of one or two people they're familiar with. But even in a large group, the criers welcome support from those they didn't know well.

I've participated in drum circles and find them so empowering and healing. How about we form a circle of tears and just let it all out! We can drum at the same time if we want but it's a different kind of "sweat lodge," don't you think? We expel the bad through good old fashioned crying and it's not as hard to build and bear like a traditional and viable Native American sweat lodge. 

Who's with me?

Courage...

If it could only be as easy as a wish for courage like The Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, we - like he - would all recognize our inner strength and latch onto it for dear life.

But it's not that simple, is it? For some of us, due to chronic illness, PTSD, depression, or other physical or mental ailments, finding the courage to go forward is a daily battle. For others, they choose to end their suffering by completing suicide.

This month, I am honored to be working with Scudder Intervention Services Foundation, Inc. (SISFI) on their Suicide Awareness and Prevention Tour in New York City, Long Island and Westchester County, NY. While I relied on SISFI for support myself after my brother's suicide almost a year-and-a-half ago, I was shocked to learn that during their September tour they interrupted 192 attempted suicides! That's something else!!

The difference with SISFI's 'troops' is that they are truly 'boots on the ground;' that is, they go to the person in crisis rather than referring them to an agency that may only be open Monday to Friday, 9am to 5pm. At any hour of the day or night, SISFI volunteers are available to personally talk to and/or visit individuals in crisis.

As Mr. Brett A. Scudder, SISFI president says: "“It is imperative that our communities rally together to be educated and aware of the mindset of someone suffering with emotional distress and the early warning signs to intervene and prevent them from hurting themselves or taking their life because they feel alone."

And that, in my opinion, takes lots of courage. The suicidal person is in tremendous pain and Scudder's team will go to them and simply hold their hand or talk or listen or give them a hug and tell them they are not alone. Certified in suicide prevention, Scudder knows that traditional avenues available to those in crisis are highly clinical and limited. The goal is to train and deploy dozens of volunteer Mental Health First Aid Responders in communities across his service area and, in the future, beyond.

We must change the paradigm of how we respond to those in distress. We must go to them rather than making them come to us. We must not just be another faceless voice instructing the person what to do on Monday morning.

Hear, hear for SISFI and let's make their mission statement our own:

"TO PROVIDE AWARENESS, SERVICES, PROGRAMS, HEALING AND RESOURCES TO ADDRESS/ALLEVIATE HUMAN SUFFERING AND TO PROMOTE EMOTIONAL WELLNESS, MENTAL/BEHAVIORAL HEALTH AND LIFE SKILLS."

This, my friends, will take lots of courage.

SISFI TOURS

Christmas Step-In-Time?

Is the Christmas spirit here in time to spare me my grief over the loss of my brother to suicide four months ago? To file away years of Christmas memories that are near and dear? To say 'enough' and create new memories; change things up so my heart can be open to reinventing myself after yet another trauma?

I'm doing my best yet I feel, like most 'survivors' of disease, trauma, or loss, that it might be impossible.

The movie Saving Mr. Banks about P. L. Travers, the author of the Mary Poppins series, sheds light on this difficult topic. Expecting a lighthearted film about Walt Disney and 'Mrs. Travers,' as she insists she be called, I was proven wrong yet not disappointed.

[SPOILER ALERT]

An early childhood filled with turmoil and loss, left the very grown-up Mrs. Travers (nee Helen Lyndon Goff) unable to part with her imaginary world except as she wrote it. She was unable to give the gift of her pretend paradise to the rest of us on film a la Disney's vision for nearly 20 years and Disney never earned authorization for any of her subsequent books. Ultimately, she did but was none too pleased with the results.

You see, Helen Goff retreated into a world of fantasy (enabled and encouraged by her charismatic yet alcoholic father) as a balm to harsher realties. So, too, did Disney in his own way, according to the movie. Yet Disney chose to change his real life experiences with his fanciful mind, creating characters and rewriting history to cope. That, he explains to Mrs. Travers, is how to escape the awfulness of  her youth and turn it into something wonderful. I was awestruck by the concept.

[END ALERT]

As a lifelong writer, I  penned non-fiction works; first for newspapers and magazines and then for corporate clients and, finally, in a memoir about dealing with near-fatal and chronic illness. I haven't descended (or ascended) into a world of fantasy - yet. I have started fiction novels but have preferred to pour out my heart in truth. Maybe it's time to stop. Maybe it's time to turn my attention towards characters and situations I can control with happy outcomes. I simply do not know.

At this Christmas crossroads, I find myself longing for my fantastical brother who, like Disney, could make up a world with a few paintbrush strokes as well as silly songs and stories. Imagining the end he chose for himself is nearly as unbearable as it is unacceptable. I know I have to deal.

Step In Time is one of the most favorite and beloved songs from the 1964 movie version of Mary Poppins. It's refrain: "Never need a reason, never need a rhyme..." embodies living with joy; without a care in the world. It's a song I danced around and around with my children when they were young. It's a song that fills you with hope and the 'happies,' as my children called it.

And it's a song I can choose to play over and over in my head to make this Christmas new and fresh and imagine my brother, like carefree Bert, doing the dance atop the clouds.

Merry Christmas...

Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins; 1964

Rocks for Christmas?

Turns out, we could do worse. While coal as we traditionally know it is dark, ugly and hard, there are as many variations to this rock as there are to individial people. There are actually four types of coal that are broad and beautiful. It can be brilliant or dull; hard or soft; lumpy or smooth. And at Christmas, it can be downright mean if placed in a child's stocking.

My practical joker father once did something quite unwise. One year along with all the gifts my now-deceased brother, Steve, received, he also put lumps of coal in his Christmas stocking. It affected my brother harshly and he often mentioned it throughout his life.

Perhaps, however, as some sort of blunt childhood reversal, he became a collector of rocks, crystals and stones of all types and variations, including coal. I recall walking with him on beaches or among trees and leaves or even on the streets of New York City and he would stoop down as soon as something caught his eye. Some believe that rocks and crystals have healing and, even, spiritual properties. My brother believed this and would gift me with unusual pieces throughout the years.

After his death nearly four months ago, one of the items I selected to keep was a bowl of his rocks. I look at each one, admire it's unique beauty, and see what my brother saw - the glory of nature. Just holding one for awhile or admiring one sitting on my desk or windowsill makes me feel good.
I'm sure it was his inherit artist's eye that could see what others couldn't; their color and style, subtleties that evolved over thousands of years in each particular piece of stone.

Isn't that what we are - subtle yet brilliant pieces of nature's glory? With all our flaws, isn't there still beauty? When we make mistakes we usually create something unexpected. With cataclysmic geographical or personal events come tangible, hold-in-your-hand miracles.

And that's what personal trauma does. Through traumatic events, we find resources and support from friends we didn't know we had. We find good in what we once saw was evil. We, as members of humankind, turn ugly things into useful lessons. Just like the Earth is constantly in flux, so are we - shifting and changing with the events that shape us.

It is a somber Christmas for me this year. But I can sit and sift through my brother's rocks and remember the joy that he left me for eternity in the spirit of the season; in the spirit of love.

Finding grace...

A writing hiatus of about three months now has left me with lots to ponder. Most of all, after the suicide of my beloved brother, I seek ways to honor his legacy. Knee-deep in his belongings (after a long red-tape tangle of bureacracy and the move of his lifetime of goods and hundreds of pieces of his artwork to a storage facility near my home), I sort carefully and cautiously. Yet, there are moments when I feel like I am throwing him away, casting his precious memories aside.

This is where I must find the grace to select the items that comfort me and offer the rest of his things to extended family and friends. His art, however, should be shared widely in my opinion as it speaks loudly of a lifetime of growth and raw emotion during a post-WWII era of enlightenment and change. The things we are finding are extraordinary, including photographs of his participation in the Selma to Montgomery, Alabama march in 1965 led by Dr. Martin Luther King alongside his vivid sketches and paintings that he produced for over 50 years. He did lead a colorful life, in more ways than one.

And there is my own battle with illness and trauma where I find myself returning to that dark hole known as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I've learned that I've carried PTSD signs and symptoms my whole life, most prounounced during my life-threatening battle with stage 4 cancer. In fact, psychiatrist and writer Mark Epstein writes in an article entitled The Trauma of Being Alive in The New York Times that there is also a human condition called "pre-traumatic stress syndrome."

"Trauma is not just the result of major disasters. It does not happen to only some people. An undercurrent of trauma runs through ordinary life, shot through as it is with the poignancy of impermanence. I like to say that if we are not suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, we are suffering from pre-traumatic stress disorder. There is no way to be alive without being conscious of the potential for disaster. One way or another, death (and its cousins: old age, illness, accidents, separation and loss) hangs over all of us. Nobody is immune. Our world is unstable and unpredictable, and operates, to a great degree and despite incredible scientific advancement, outside our ability to control it." - Mark Epstein

So, I search for "the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful" as Merriam-Webster offers as one definition of grace. And I try not to leave myself out of the benefits of that grace; to remember that it is a quality that I want and need to process yet another trauma in my life.

Once again, my legs were knocked out from under me on August 24, 2013. Three months later, it is time to accept grace into my life again and carry myself with the energy of my brother's soul. He is my greatest supporter and source of strength. He will carry me back to my work and my life. He will always be in my heart and his talents will be brought more to light through me and my writings and the accomplishments of the generations of family that are already springing forth.

Over My Head

It's that drowning feeling when so many things are coming at your immuno-compromised physical and mental being that you want to shut down, but you don't. You rest. We rest.

Lupus, fibromyalgia, depression, medication side effects, headaches, sore throats, joint pain and brain fog are common among the chronically ill. Doesn't mean we like it. Add cancers, PTSD and new traumatic events and we need to be thrown a lifeline.

I'm grateful that each day someone or something tosses me that lifeline.

Sometimes, it's just a call from a friend or an email or even a Facebook post that can lift me up and make me feel that my head is above water. Or a snuggle from my perceptive dog or a good piece of dark chocolate. Like a duck, my legs are running fast underneath but I am breathing overhead. I look so deceptively calm and peaceful.

As the leaves change their color due to the shortening of days and the coming of winter, I can't help but think of it as a time of shedding. I've had a tremendous loss (my brother) and this was his favorite time of year, particularly in New York's Hudson Valley. I have to shed my dreams of crunching through the leaves with him; of leaf peeping right outside our front doors. I have to shed the protective cloak of my big brother. I have to shed the illusion that he will be back.

When  a life force as strong as my brother's is snuffed out, it's hard to understand life at all. This seems to be my only focus these days as I meander through time, not really present but here nonetheless.

It's EPIGENETIC

Wow! Every day there is something new to be learned thanks to ongoing research in the connection between childhood maltreatment and adult physical illness. 

Today's term is epigenetics which is the study of the process by which genetic information is translated into the substance and behavior of an organism: specifically, the study of the way in which the expression of heritable traits is modified by environmental influences or other mechanisms without a change to the DNA sequence.

According to researchers at the National Human Geonome Research Institute, a study evaluating post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in adults reveals:

At the biological level, these individuals may be very distinct, as we see with the epigenetics. As we move forward with more personalized medicine, we will need to delve a bit further into the environment and history of each individual to understand the biology of their PTSD and to determine the best treatment for their disorder. - Dr. Divya Mehta, corresponding author at the Max Planck Institute of Psychiatry.

Aha! Delve a bit further into the environment and history of each individual...YES! 

The study continues to explain that this is not limited to PTSD, but to cancer, autoimmune system disorders, and mental health issues that were essentially 'rubber-stamped' in our biology if we were neglected and/or abused either physically or emotionally during childhood. 

I learn something new every day. And to finally have evidence that my own biologic markers were altered due to the neglect and maltreatment I suffered as a child makes my dis-ease NOT MY FAULT! 

As Rosalind Joffee, The Chronic Illness Career Coach, offered recently in an article guest-authored in her company's newsletter entitled "Are You the Cause of Your Chronic Illness", certain researchers concluded that many of us "develop[ed] illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result of suppressing their feelings in order to keep peace with others.”  

Excuse me, but that's a load of bull crap because as the writer continues: "This implies that chronically ill people cause their disease and failure to improve is their fault."  There is absolutely no science to support this.

"Also," says she, "in my experience, this kind of blaming  is counterproductive for someone who is struggling to improve her health."

Yes, ma'am. Let's do our best to make sick people think they caused it or deserved it (tongue planted firmly in cheek). How would one explain that in the case of an ill baby? What did they do in the womb? 

What I have learned is that disease (or dis-ease) can be correlated to certain events in one's life as well as be labeled as entirely random. As a wise man once said to me as I was railing against my critical illness and crying out the question "why me," he simply said, "why not you?" And why not, indeed? 

People get sick and for a variety of reasons. While writing my book I literally stumbled across research that linked childhood maltreatment with adult physical illness. In my own personal case, I believe it to be spot on. 

Let's not blame ourselves. Let's remember we are here for a reason and continue living to make a difference however small or large. 

That's my rant for today. So deal with it. 

Fear

We all know fear in one form or another. Described 'dictionarily' it is: A distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid. So what.

I think I've held life-long fear in my very bones. My near-death experiences from cancer and my daily struggles with Lupus and fibromyalgia and gastroparesis also keep me in a suspended state of never knowing what shoe will drop. In my case, I hope it's a red stilletto in homage and honor of my dear, departed friend and colleague Susan Murphy Milano, a tireless advocate for those abused by partners or spouses and the author of several books including her memoir, Holding My Hand Through Hell.

Fear has its hold on me through anxiety and terror, remnants of full-blown attacks of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) resulting from the emergency tracheotomy and the many, many horrific events of my cancer and ongoing tests, surgeries and treatment that continue to this day. Couple that with depression and I'm lucky I make it out of the house some days.

"Make a great day," I used to chirp to my sons as they would leave for elementary or middle school until they told me to shut my trap. I secretly hope they will repeat that to their own offspring one day. If they don't, I'll tell their wives to do it, if I get the chance.

Today, however, I'm really scared. I have loved ones who are facing medical tests and challenges that make me want to run away like my hair is on fire! I can't help but be empathetic yet also terrified. And the PTSD comes roaring back, in nightmares, massive anxiety, tension headaches and an ever-present cloud of uncertainty that rocks my world. I know this is 'fight or flight' syndrome. I may know it but - still - my conscious self can't correct my unconscious thoughts, feelings, and flat out fear.

For the past few days, I've been pissed off at everyone and letting them know. I had to literally check myself at the door last night to make sure I didn't do it again to my own nuclear family. It's not fun to live in fear although I feel as if I've been doing it all my life. I should be used to it, no? Does our crummy childhood or past experiences ever leave us alone?

Never. My upcoming memoir and website will clearly define how adverse childhood experiences do affect adult physical and mental health.

So I'll try my bag of soothing tricks including deep breathing, soft music, comfort foods - the usual. Again, I know what to do but it never gets easier. The 'bricks' are back - those knotted muscles in my shoulders that always seem to be in the up position. Yeah, yeah, there's meditation and yoga, too. Or simple walks with my dog. I know! Stop telling me what to do! I'll figure it out on my own, in my own time, in my own ways.

In the meantime, if you're struggling with fear, please know that you are not alone and many, many others are treading water, too. Cheers!

Home

Last night, I couldn't find my way home again. Yes, it was a dream but it is a recurring one that started when I was a teen and had no home with either my mother or father; or at least a secure, safe one. In this dream, my car broke down and I was surrounded by creepy looking strangers on a rainy, dark street corner, one of whom shot up my car with bullets. I kept calling my father and he wouldn't pick me up even though it was a terrific thunderstorm and I started to walk home - wherever that was - because I never did find it. I woke and it was over but I remain shaken.

These are remnants of the post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) I suffer. It started as a youngster when my 'home' was in sheer turmoil and I never knew what I would come 'home' to. It returned in full throttle after my dual diagnoses of cancer and Lupus and the trauma of an emergency tracheotomy and 16 torturous chemotherapy treatments during which my body continually tried to kill itself and I was in a hallucinatory state.

PTSD is most often associated with soldiers and victims of war. But prolonged exposure to what one perceives as a highly threatening environment or true health crisis can bring it on, too. Even national or worldwide worries about current events cause some of us to descend into a place of hellish stress, invoking trauma and symptoms of PTSD.

My PTSD experiences always seems to be the same - I simply can not identify home and am stranded in elevators and oceans; strange cities or street corners in the rain. It is so unpredictable. And during and after cancer treatment, I would wake from various states of stupor or dreams and run and hide in my closet or in the corner, shaking and crying uncontrollably from fear.

Recently, I learned about a PTSD healer - Michele Rosenthal of Florida and author of her own memoir BEFORE THE WORLD INTRUDED: Conquering the Past and Creating the Future. I don't normally tout anyone's commercial enterprise but Michele is on to something special and unique and, even if you don't feel like you have PTSD, take a look at Michele's story that began when she was five when she was diagnosed with a rare, critical health disorder, and you just might see bits and pieces of yourself. I know I did and, once again, I am glad I am not alone.

I know many of my readers are pet lovers like me. Michele tuned in to how one of her dogs handled severe stress and finds more lessons for us mere humans trying to soothe ourselves in times of stress, fear, or panic. I share this video that I feel is valid and important. There is so much we can learn from our furry friends. Thank you, Michele.

CLICK ON THE LINK TO WATCH SHORT VIDEO

What Animals Know About Managing Stress Emotions

My own little buddy - Shadow. Photo credit: Sherry Vance 

Depression

Here it is: The dirty little secret. I suffer from bouts of depression. As described by the National Institute of Mental Health, I am most likely experiencing a minor depression right now; a lackluster feeling of not wanting to do anything or see anyone and an overwhelming sadness that could last up to two weeks. I've been here before and, trust me, I'm not good company.

My work halts. My mood is low. My appetite is poor and my health issues are exacerbated. I actually had an episode of sweating through my pajamas one night this week and fear struck deep. The only other time that happened was when I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma and that was more than 15 years ago. It is a symptom and it also brings back hints of my PTSD from the emergency tracheotomy and its aftermath.

I think, too, I am wary of my 'ologists' month. By January 31st, I will have seen my rheumatologist, my oncologist, and my gastroenterologist and, undoubtedly, will be run through the gamut of testing I hate and the never ending adjustment of medications. Shortly thereafter, I will get my osteoporosis injection (the latest and greatest, or so they say) and continue my blah diet regimen. I have some new concerns and some old concerns. The docs and I will undoubtedly discuss them all.

Oy.

I don't like dealing with my health problems. I like putting them on a shelf and rolling along. But this past week alone, I've spent hours up late at night wondering whether or not to go to the hospital because my stomach is in spasms and pain from the gastroparesis I have lived with for some two years now, the strange night sweat and headaches and overall malaise. It is not pleasant when I have to go to the ER when the pain is at a +12 on a scale of 1 to 10. But that's what I wait for - the +12. I've learned.

For those of us classified as 'sick' or disabled, we don't know which comes first - the physical maladies or the depression; but both always come and there is no schedule. I know that, too.

According to the NIMH:

"People who have depression along with another medical illness tend to have more severe symptoms of both depression and the medical illness, more difficulty adapting to their medical condition, and more medical costs than those who do not have co-existing depression. Treating the depression can also help improve the outcome of treating the co-occurring illness."

I don't think many 'ologists' get this; nor the many specialists we must see individual for each piece of our bodies. There are so few holistic practitioners. Thanks to friend and colleague Susan Murphy Milano, and her courageous fight against Stage IV cancer last year, I've become acquainted with Dr. Dalal Akoury and her AwareMed Center in South Carolina. God, I miss your wisdom, Susan, and I'm definitely going to set up an appointment to meet Dr. Akoury when I'm down south in February. I know Dr. Akoury gets it and, perhaps, (just, perhaps) I might finally have a captain of my ship to guide me. Many have promised, none have succeeded. But it's worth a shot 'cause I ain't givin' up yet.

Lone Mallard

Slaughter, Silence and Santa

When writers are unsettled with their emotions, we write. Of course, I am distraught over the loss of 20 precious children and six adults plus the mother of a very disturbed young man in Newtown, Connecticut, as all of you are and the terrible truths we will face in the aftermath of this unprecedented slaughter.

In coming weeks, many will display signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, something I am all too familiar with. Grief coupled with PTSD is not pretty. It reaches into the very deepest hole in your soul and leaves a gaping wound that can take months or years to heal. For some, it may never heal and they will be triggered by sights, scents, and memories all their lives. This may causer rapid breathing, tears, nausea and even phobias. I pray that each and every one affected personally by this tragedy avail themselves of the help offered, including the first responders and other emergency personnel.

According to news reports, the children and adults of quaint Newtown are going to be players in the unveiling of their annual live nativity display this evening. Somehow, they are not letting the ultimate Grinch steal their Christmas. They will also undoubtedly be attending vigils and prayer sessions for those lost and holding tight to friends and family for comfort.

Today, my twenty-something son bounded into New York City in full Santa dress to participate in SantaCon, an annual pseudo fundraising event/parade/bar crawl that is reported to draw over 20,000 participants dressed in costume. They bring with them two non-perishable items or monetary donations. Last year the event raised over $10,000 for the needy according to SantaCon/NY and there are SantaCons taking place today in 37 countries. Those taking part and, perhaps, making merry are no less touched by the awful news from Newtown and, I'm sure, will catch up with more details later this evening.

Still reeling in the New York tri-state area from Hurricane Sandy, we can only call upon hope and in the silent times, wish for healing, comfort and peace. Perhaps 20,000 Santas will make a difference to someone today. It will certainly be an exciting spectacle for the children of Manhattan but also, I envision, a circle of Santa safety for a time for those children - those precious children - and, maybe, for all our babies everywhere.

Rest in peace my Newtown neighbors.