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Even Art Takes Practice

April 8, 2015 //
0

I spent a restless night, dreaming strange dreams, waking, returning to sleep and repeating the cycle without any stress or agita. It was a restless night nonetheless. I had to take a break from some medication I’d been taking, due to other health concerns, and over days wound up standing on the threshold of Hormone Hell once again. Annoying. Now…now I get to adjust to the hormones all over again, and that’s a few restless nights and strange dreams. It’s not so bad – I think I am getting some better at this. 🙂

In other areas of my experience, the endless practicing of practices, compassionately applying fail sauce when needed, and dusting myself off to practice some more is paying off; every day more small details play out in a way that feels, from my perspective, as though it is my experience, indeed, and that I am generally enjoying much of it – and what is not enjoyable, still tends to be reasonable, understandable, and an opportunity to grow. Perspective matters. Good communication basics matter. The will to let things go, and refrain from making someone else’s experience personal to my own – yeah, those things matter a lot. Is life ‘perfect’? Is it ever, for anyone? Listen to some of the peculiarly specific Bitching of the Rich and Shopping sometime, at a place like Whole Foods – even the privileged and the mighty find things to be discontent about. (Can you imagine a mom barely making ends meet on minimum wage complaining in the grocery store about the packaging at the meat counter being a potential choking hazard for her dog – and how her dog will only eat prime rib, but the cook won’t feed the dog, and is she really expected to open the package, herself? I doubt you’ll ever hear such a thing from a woman on minimum wage or assistance. Whole Foods is great place to listen in on privileged foolishness.) There is a lot of perspective to be had in the world, quietly observing fellow human primates in their natural environment – be careful even around the domesticated ones; human primates are quite dangerous, and easily provoked to verbal or physical violence. (They just aren’t as tame as they look.)

Perspective is a very big deal for me. I sometimes move too quickly through my experience, before I give myself the opportunity to reason, and to choose well. This is an effect of disinhibition – I feel, I react –  I have the thought, I say the words; sometimes it is embarrassing and quite public, sometimes it is frustrating and quite lonely. It is a part of my experience, and I am learning practices to help me manage it. The most critical one is probably meditation. The time I have spent so far really embracing stillness, practicing meditation as though it meets the most basic of biological needs – like sleep, like eating, like breathing, like sex – has taken me a very different direction that I had been headed. One that is vastly more positive, compassionate, agreeable, engaging – supportive of the needs of others, without under-cutting my own. One that refuses to abdicate my decision-making, sense of self, or joy, and refuses to over-compromise when it comes to meeting my basic needs as a human being. “Life-changing” is a fair observation. Perspective matters so much that it not only helped me get this far – it helps beat back the not-as-uncommon-as-I’d-like despair that sometimes hits me when I come face to face with having to put myself first among my priorities, and face rejection, resentment, anger, or the defense forces of the status quo; change is not always a comfortable fit for everyone facing it. My changes impact the experience of others who interact with me. The limitations of my injury sometimes leave me unprepared that what I want and need and will be good for me may face opposition, or be in conflict with the needs of others. There’s perspective, standing by for me in the those moments, reminding me to be kind, compassionate, and remain focused on what matters most – to me.

Like awaiting the inevitable first rose of spring, it is important to trust the process, and know that mindful living, good self-care, and putting my oxygen mask on first will take the journey in a positive direction. "Baby Love" in the garden, the most loved rose in my garden opens first this year.

Like awaiting the inevitable first rose of spring, it is important to trust the process.
“Baby Love”, the most loved rose in my garden opens first this year.

Sometimes I have a peculiar feeling that I ‘don’t know who I am’; it always passes when I realize what I am feeling is really the chasm between who I am, in my own experience, and how different that is than who I sense I have been defined as external to my own experience, by others. Lucky me, this one’s easy; I am the sole and exclusive subject matter expert on my experience, on how I feel – on who I am. There is no ‘second opinion’, only other perspectives not my own. Better still? I choose. I decide. I create my experience. No, those things are not ‘selfish’ in any inappropriate or cruel sense; they are a natural statement of personal power and autonomy, utterly necessary for self-love, self-compassion, self-assurance, and a comfortable sense of self. The Art of Being would seem to require that I go right ahead and be; it’s a verb, and the verb is to choose. 🙂

Today is a good day for choices, for changes, and for love. Today is a good day to be at the top of my own agenda. Today is a good day to embrace what I love about who I am. Today is a good day to enjoy my experience.

 

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, gardening, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Sleeping and Dreaming

April 3, 2015 //
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Sleeping and dreaming are two of my favorite things. Seems a bit odd considering the challenges with insomnia, sleep disturbances, and nightmares, perhaps it is because of those things that I enjoy sleeping and dreaming so much. I enjoy and appreciate them greatly, and definitely have experience with some of the less pleasant, less restful, and less satisfying options sleep has to offer.

I did not sleep well last night. I don’t recall my dreams. I had no nightmares, and did not spend the time restlessly – I just mostly wasn’t sleeping. I managed more than 4 hours of sleep, though, and one period of unbroken sleep that lasted nearly 3 hours. Not too long ago, a night like last night would have been spent out of bed, awake, perhaps writing moodily whatever stray thought crossed my mind in the twilight of minimal artificial light. I would have, potentially, become more cross and frustrated – and anxious – as the night passed. I was sleepy and tired last night, just not able to fall asleep, or stay asleep, so I stayed in bed, relaxed and comfortable, meditating through periods of wakefulness until I felt sleep begin to return. I am decently well-rested, though not ideally so, and I am in a mostly pretty pleasant mood, although I am in a lot of pain with my arthritis.

There is a connection between quality of sleep, and my experience of pain. Pain seems more than usually painful when I am not well-rested.

I yawn, and stretch, do some yoga – slowly and with great deliberation. I am stiff, and seemingly unreasonably so, but I’m not really surprised by it, just annoyed. I accept the feeling of annoyance as a warning that I may not have the emotional resilience I expect to, today; the moment of kindness turned inward eases the annoyance, but not the pain. My medication will kick in slowly, over the next hour; I count on the yoga for as much relief, and it generally delivers.

Sipping coffee, dreaming of love, and thinking of home.

Sipping coffee, dreaming of love, and thinking of home.

It is a quiet Friday morning. I enjoy quiet mornings greatly. This one I spend gently, considerate of my needs and my lack of sleep. I take time to contemplate the sensation of ‘going home’ – and getting there – and what I might enjoy seeing and experiencing as I step into a space that feels like ‘home’ for me. For the purpose of this moment of contemplation (daydreaming?) I accept the assumption that my emotional experience of ‘feeling homeless’ is not driven by externals, that it is simply a stray sensation I am stuck on that can be changed by moving in the direction of things that feel differently for me, with practice. This opens the door to considering what does feel like ‘home’ to me? (My traveling partner is correct that my linguistic and grammatical tendency to phrase thoughts ‘in the negative’ supports negative thinking and experiences more effectively than it can support positive ones; I work on changing my implicit biases with a number of practices like this one.) Beginning with the assumption that I can improve on this experience, I allow myself to ‘think through’ a variety of ‘arriving at home’ moments, letting my imagination fill in gaps and create little details that catch my attention and point my awareness in the direction of what sorts of things really do feel like home – for me. I have changed over the years, and my taste has as well.

This morning, I ‘come home’ in my imagination to a very orderly place that feels spacious, but is quite compact. The space is ‘filled with light’; windows that bring in the natural light of morning, or afternoon is especially lovely. The decor is organized around function, and in favor of being able to create in the same space in which I live; finished art on the walls, beautifully arranged with adequate white space, easel and brushes neatly ready on a whim, and unashamedly out in the open. The art would be selected to take advantage of the light, and also ‘where I’m at’ in life now; lighter, brighter, more glow, less darkness, sensuous textures, positive meanings. Decor in neutral earth tones in light shades and pale wood case goods would direct my eye back to the color; art, objects, beautiful porcelain tea cups, books – always so many books! In a place that feels to me like ‘home’, all my lovely breakables would be on display – and in use. I would live gently in a ‘cruelty free zone’, treating myself with compassion, kindness, and care (I have been too hard on myself for far too long). The environment would feel quiet, and stillness would be available – even plentiful – and would be ‘inspiring’ to live in. The dining table would be set, beautifully, simply for the loveliness of it, in between meals. The kitchen and pantry would be arranged to suit my needs and cooking style, and would take into account my injury and my arthritis – putting things I commonly need in easiest reach, and maintaining a ‘logical sense’ that perhaps only makes sense to me, but does so in an intuitive way, changing only to improve on that. This is unmistakably a ‘selfish’ perspective; there is no reason to hold out on myself in my own daydream, and the point of the exercise has nothing whatever to do with how I treat others, or building a lovely home in a shared experience. This one is for me, about me… it is me, communicating my needs to myself with greater clarity than I otherwise might, and hoping to improve on my day-to-day experience along the way, just benefiting from knowing myself and my needs a little better.

More often than not, when I feel ‘home sick’ or yearning to ‘go home’, it is desire for a safe place that feels like my own, filled with order, stillness, sufficiency, and contentment…the other details are simply a way to get there.

...And a wee garden would be lovely, too.

…And a wee garden would be lovely, too.

Today is a good morning to consider going home. Today is a good day to consider what that means to me. Today is a good day to be my own best friend, compassionately listening, offering encouragement and support, and celebrating growth. Today is a good day to enjoy change.

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, women

Some Days the Nightmares Win

March 27, 2015 //
1

Disclaimer: This post is about emotions. I sometimes work through them more easily with words, in text, that I can see reflecting the experience back at me. It is a way of getting perspective. This post, though, may be a downer – I say that before I even write it, because I am having my own experience, and I feel what I feel in this moment. I am so very human. So…do yourself a huge favor, take a moment for ‘informed consent’; if you are in a place emotionally where someone else’s pain and struggling may wound you, throw off a good vibe you are enjoying, or change your experience for the worse, I recommend skipping this one. Hey, if nothing else, the writing is likely to be of poor quality, and angst-y, and rife with spelling errors and weird grammar fails – who needs that on a Friday morning? I’ll understand, I promise.

Still here? Okay…

Some other morning, a coffee.

Some other morning, a coffee.

I woke crying this morning. I fell asleep crying last night. In between, I found myself ambushed by Demons in The Nightmare City. This is not an emotional space I want to occupy. I am frustrated by my lack of resilience, my lack of emotional regulation, and my lack of perspective. I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel resentful and let down. I feel. Yeah. I definitely feel. I feel mistreated, and mislead. I feel set up and I feel sabotaged. I feel hurt.

“That’s a whole lot of feelings there, lady, what gives?” I’m a human primate. I am an emotional being more than a rational one – it’s a balance. Today it isn’t balancing as well as I’d like. Stress kicks my ass, being hurt kicks my ass, abrupt change kicks my ass – and it takes me a little time to recover, even with some support. Emotions are not criminal actions. Assaulting people with them is, I hear, avoidable. That sounds like fine thing to me, and I turned the little sign on my door this morning to ‘do not disturb’, meditated a while, had a shower, meditated some more… I still don’t want to be as disturbed as I feel, right now. The sign didn’t do much to help with the feelings, but by design it may prevent anyone else from walking through the mess I woke to, within, this morning.

Meditation, mindfulness practices, good basic self-care are all going a long way to improve my experience of me, very nicely. I feel a momentary hurt, recalling with sadness how quickly encouragement turned to criticism, a few months after I began this journey. I was taking a moment to feel proud of my progress, and I was feeling pretty impressed with new tools and practices being effective at helping me on a level nothing else ever had… I got called ‘smug’. I was incredibly hurt. Admittedly, I had been foolishly trying to explain or share the experience with someone else… maybe they hadn’t asked? (I suck at that – put a person in front of me and I will probably just start talking. Are you aware that your executive function manages that for you?) It hurt, nonetheless, and since then I am self-conscious about feeling encouraged by progress, and reluctant to share positive feelings about it in conversations. (Sticks and stones? Fuck right off; words matter.)

I feel confused. “Emptied out”. I feel overburdened by unmet emotional needs piling up over time. I feel like I am not making the progress I could be, right now. It’ll be okay, I think – I hold on to that tightly. I’ve got the hotline number in my pocket, just in case it gets too hard.  I lost a beautiful niece to suicide this year, and I see how it hurts my cousin every day she is without her daughter; I won’t put my traveling partner through that, and I can take the steps to avoid it. Despair is a motherfucker – it is part of our human experience.

...and another...

…and another…

I can’t be certain that the intensity of my emotions this morning reflects something ‘real’ or necessary; they are only emotions. For all I know, this is a 100% bio-chemical experience with no grounding in events or experience. Does that matter in the moment? Well, sure. It matters the way anything true ‘matters’. One true thing is that my emotions are this intense, and unpredictably so. Another true thing is that my emotions, and lack of top-down control, are incredibly uncomfortable for some people to live with. (I don’t get a choice, myself; this is my experience and I live it.) Unfortunately, in a live and unscripted real-life environment, I also don’t get much compassion specific to the ‘invisible’ issues associated with my TBI or PTSD. I rarely fight for it; if it isn’t there to be offered, begging for it, pleading for it or wishing it were there will not make it appear. Compassion can be taught – but that phenomenon also requires an active learner. Change is, but forcing it on someone isn’t appropriate – and generally isn’t effective.

My traveling partner encourages and supports me – he frankly provides a level of emotional support that I can only describe as ‘super human’ – but the environment in the household, generally, is unhealthy for me. I feel aggravated and moody about looking for a place of my own, because I’d honestly prefer to continue living with my traveling partner – he’s wonderful to live with [for me]. I am painfully aware, though, that living with me can be hard on him. Right now so much of what I am working through touches on sexuality, gender, individual identity, boundary setting/management, and relationships with others that it’s harder to treat each other gently in moments when we need it most from each other. So…yeah. I need to be on my own a while – not a break up, not even a separation, just a different living arrangement. It still sucks to hurt over it. I hope by day’s end I am embracing it in good spirits.

I leave other household members out of this, generally; I am writing about my own experience and the other people in it are entitled to be free of public scrutiny of their values and choices filtered through my chaos and damage. But…I am not willing to continue to over-compromise my needs, or undercut my values to keep peace, and the time I spend in the arms of my loves is too precious to taint it with OPD, or games. As a population of individuals, we don’t want or need the same things, and at 52 I have no time to waste on fighting to get the most basic emotional needs met; we are not all equally committed to that endeavor. I don’t yet have the emotional resilience to hold enough in reserve to continue to take care of me when common place bullshit goes sideways, and often find myself without any emotional reserves left to care for me, myself, by the time I have a moment to do so. I feel positive about the choice to get my own place…and for the moment, sad that it is necessary at all.

You know what I don’t feel? I don’t feel guilt or shame over the choice to move out, it needs to happen; I don’t thrive in an environment in which my emotional quality of life is poor. Hell, right now in this moment… I’m okay. (Thanks, Dearheart!) My tears have dried. I’m not feeling social, but I’m not enthralled by Demons in The Nightmare City.  (If I knew that I would have the kind of nightmares that I had last night, in nights to come, I’d never sleep again.) I don’t have the headache that followed me around all day yesterday, which is a huge improvement.  My coffee tastes good – I feel a pang of sadness sweep over me when I realize I won’t have an espresso machine in my kitchen for some time to come after I move; it will be a frugal lifestyle, focused on painting, meditation, and love. Wow. Suddenly that sounds fucking amazing – and all over again I wonder why this hurts at all. I enjoy solitude. I dislike drama. I have musical and culinary tastes that are not shared in the household at large… and I miss a good French press in the morning; it’s a lovely ritual to prepare coffee that way, time it carefully, enjoy the outcome at leisure… I miss living a gentle life. (The most humorous thing about that is how little time I have ever spent living that kind of exceptional quality of life – across years and relationships, I can’t really pin down more than a total of about 18 months that qualify as ‘gentle living’ in 52 years!

I’ve already found my way to a better place. It’s nice. No rushing, either; I’ve made changes to my schedule, effective this week, intended to dial down some of the fatigue-related stress, and don’t have to rush off so soon on Friday mornings. Have you actually read this far? Are you okay? Thank you for being interested, curious, or concerned enough to come all this way with me – whether just this morning, or over these past couple years. I appreciate it. You help me feel heard.

Yeah. Some days, the nightmares win. Today they didn’t. 🙂

Because love matters more. "Emotion and Reason" 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic details and glow 2012

Because love matters more.
“Emotion and Reason” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic details and glow 2012

Today is a good day to put down some baggage. Today is a good day to practice good self-care. Today is a good day for self-compassion – first, not last. Today is a good day to enjoy this amazing woman I am becoming without competition, dread, or games. Today is a good day to treat others well, and understand that they are walking their own path; their story, and experience, are not mine to endure, to manage, or to criticize – and participation is a choice.

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Rape, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Big 5, women, Words

Enough To Get By On

March 23, 2015 //
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What is ‘enough’, anyway? Is it ‘everything’? I think we all know ‘enough’ has never been expected to be ‘everything’. Is ‘enough’ some measure more than I’ve got?

Half empty? Half full? Why does the size of the glass matter if the contents meet my needs?

Half empty? Half full? Why does the size of the glass matter if the contents meet my needs?

There’s the thing, isn’t it; ‘enough’ varies depending on the intensity of the need being fulfilled, the difficulty fulfilling it, and our own wisdom and perspective, too – we can’t recognize ‘enough’ unless we’ve gone without, perhaps, or somehow directly experienced the contrast between ‘feast’ and ‘famine’, in some way. ‘Enough’, in my own experience, tends to require just that amount of whatever thing (or experience, or emotion, or resource) is required to meet the need adequately, nothing more. ‘More’ would go beyond ‘enough’, and thus the expression ‘more than enough’.

This morning is enough. I’ve not asked the dawn of this new day to be perfect. I’ve nothing specific in mind for the coming week. ‘Enough’ will do, nicely. The weekend? Realistically, it was ‘enough’ in many respects. Could it have been improved? Well…damn…it’s a bit late to be thinking that over, right? The weekend is behind me now. I think I’ll just put that question off to the side, over here, with this dusty list of questions that didn’t seem worthy of the time to answer them, because answering them would change nothing. I’m all about questions, but I do strongly prefer the questions that provide their greatest value in the asking. 🙂

It's about where the question leads, not about the answer.

It’s about where the question leads, not about the answer.

My weekend camping trip was completely and entirely perfect, inasmuch as I did learn what I needed to know about my readiness for longer – or wilder – solo hiking/camping trips; I’m not ready. No, not really, not yet – just not quite ready. Simple things went sideways early on that resulted in the decision to shorten my trip a bit, primarily challenges with building a good fire in the damp conditions (I need practice on that specific skill, and on fire building in general), on top of forgetting to bring coffee (or tea), and over-looking my bee sting kit (which I didn’t forget, but chose not to bring – the swarm of bees I encountered was a very serious wake-up call). Aside from a bit of general embarrassment over my lack of readiness, making the wiser self-care decision to come in from the woods early was as easy as a phone call. My traveling partner took time out of his day to come get me, and I spent the remainder of the weekend in a fairly ordinary way – and it was enough. I like ‘enough’.

It isn't about rare wildflowers previously unseen by human eyes for me; it is about simple sufficiency, and the simple beauty of any flower.

It isn’t about rare wildflowers previously unseen by human eyes for me. It is about sufficiency, and the simple beauty of any flower, simple questions, too, and ideally simple answers.

What will ‘enough’ be today, I wonder? What questions will light my path most beautifully? What experiences will I enjoy, cherish, and invest my heart in? What experiences will teach me a profound lesson about life, or love? What will frustrate me as I deal with cravings and attachment? What will uplift me as I succeed in beating back my demons? On which small choices will I build my future? Will prior other choices appear as hurdles today? What can I learn from now? Which moments will become moments of long-standing joyous recollection?

This guy is probably not concerned with so many questions.

This guy is probably not concerned with so many questions.

Today is a good day for ‘here’ ‘now’ and ‘enough’. Today is a good day to savor each moment, and each experience, to either learn the lesson presented, or enjoy the journey simply because it is enjoyable. Today is a good day for love, loving, and investing will and wholesome intention into mindful love; what could serve love more skillfully than being awake, aware, and engaged in the moment? Today is a good day to enjoy the journey; change is, and it isn’t necessary to force it along.

The journey is not without challenges; the challenges do not detract from it's beauty.

The journey is not without challenges; the challenges do not detract from the beauty of the journey.

 

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Categories Brain Injury, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, women

Basic Problem-Solving

March 16, 2015 //
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This morning my mind wanders through all manner of oddness, sifting through bits of things as I resist sleepiness and try to shake off the grogginess which is the most common outcome of waking up on time, after too little sleep. (I rather foolishly caught myself still sipping coffee at 3:00 pm; a rookie self-care fail.)

When I realized, last night, that I just wasn’t succumbing to sleep, I got up for a little while, dimmed my monitor to avoid rousing my brain further, and archived photos to make room for more photos, and puzzled over camping comfort ‘how to’ questions; there isn’t really such a thing as ‘too well-prepared’.  I meditated a while more. Then I considered my common overuse of figures of speech, adjectives, and semi-colons. Sometime after that, and after returning to bed, I began sorting my dreams into categories, looking for patterns. This morning feels more than a little like a continuation of last night’s unfocused, undisciplined activities of mind. I’m okay with that, for now; my brain isn’t hurting anyone, not even me.

Perspective still matters.

Perspective still matters. Enjoying the night is vastly more pleasant than fighting wakefulness.

Last night could have gone much differently. I went to bed feeling vulnerable and anxious after a very frank, explicit conversation of the ‘where I’m at with this’ variety. It wasn’t a confrontational exchange, and my emotions remained generally well-managed. I’m pleased that I didn’t react to my own emotions as though they were ‘causing’ something – or being caused by someone else – they sometimes take on a life of their own and get way out of hand before I can do much about it. I work on this a lot, and the practicing of a great many practices related to emotional intimacy, emotional self-sufficiency, and good communication in general, really proved themselves last night. I had a conversation about emotional quality of life and actions I anticipate taking to meet my own needs over time, and felt mostly heard. No meltdown. No tears.

I also learned some things that I’m still sorting out; we are each having our own experience, no surprises there. Seeing my experience reflected back at me through the lens of someone else’s perspective revealed some interesting misconceptions, or differences in understanding, that I am unsure how to correct simply; they fall into the ‘you had to be there’ category of misunderstandings. It’s thought-provoking; I’m not actually sure there is any need to correct them, or that there is value in attempting to do so. We’re still having our own experience, and mine will not be understood from the perspective of living it by anyone but me. Seeking that level of understanding would be a fool’s errand.  Still…some factual issues were apparent that are likely correction-worthy at some point. At the time it mattered more to be heard – comprehension was less critical in some hard to describe way – and it meant more just to enjoy the time with someone dear to me, knowing I’d be out of the household for a few days, quite soon.

It's just one night...

Tonight is just one night…

My traveling partner is out-of-town for a work conference. It’s strange to miss him so greatly for an over-nighter. Although I am generally very aware of his absence when he is away, and often find myself thinking of him, last night I felt myself yearning for his company, his presence and his touch in a very earnest and almost adolescent way. Strange to feel it so strongly when he’s barely been away hours… We’ve got time set aside to spend together tomorrow evening, before I head to the trees. I am self-conscious about the lingering cough that may be with me a few days more…coughing is not particularly sexy.

I feel a bit of anxiety surge at the self-conscious, self-critical observation; I apply basic emotional trouble-shooting, which for me comes in the form of the titular ‘basic problem-solving’ – the first step being (for me) ‘determine if there is an actual problem requiring a solution’. I did the same with my anxiety last night. (It’s been powerful for defusing internally driven emotional escalations of the sort that begin with an attack on myself, and generally result in lashing out at someone else once I have reached a highly aroused emotional state they are unaware of.) I observe that the anxiety began with the self-critical observation pinging against implicit expectations I was unaware of until that moment. I pause, take some deep cleansing breaths, and work on letting go of the expectations; they aren’t entitled to existence, and are entirely within my control. I choose what I expect in life. Further, in this instance, those expectations exist on a deep level; they were set by some element of the chaos and damage, and are not expectations I set with intention. This doesn’t necessarily make them easier to let go of…but it does function as a handy mile marker on life’s journey that I have reached a new point of self-awareness, and acceptance, that feels very solid. I reinforce the positives by lingering on this experience of improved self-care and improved awareness with contentment, and an almost merry pat-on-the-back sort of feeling.

Taking time to appreciate pleasant moments gives them lasting impact on my day-to-day experience.

Taking time to appreciate pleasant moments gives them lasting impact on my day-to-day experience.

Today is a good day to take time to celebrate small victories. Have you had any, yourself? Today is a good day to share your triumphs, too! If not with someone else, surely with yourself. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, women, Words
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