Category: Priorities Page 1 of 2

Covid-19: A Year In

On July 13, 2021

A year ago most of us were still living in pre-pandemic mode. We’d just visited our college senior daughter, attending an on-campus dance production and eating at a full and lively restaurant. Our high school senior son, along with other actors and techies, was in the final days of rehearsals for The Addams Family; psyched for opening night. My spouse was working. I was seeing clients in my office.

March 2020 is one of those unforgettable dates we’ll reference, as our parents did when JFK was assassinated or those of us did who alive during the horrific events of 9/11: “Do you remember what you were doing when the pandemic hit?”

What were you doing a year ago? Is it hard to remember?

And now, a year later?

Well, we’ve gone through disbelief, grief, acceptance, impatience, anger, surrender and feeling blah. Sometimes all in one day.

At first, we thought this virus would be muffled in months. Spring was coming and it didn’t feel so awful because we were able to get outside and be with friends.

My daughter came home mid-March, graduated without a ceremony, and is living with us, working, saving money, and making plans.

The musical was canceled on opening night. Our son attended his 5-minute drive-through graduation, moved to college in August, and found the experience so dystopian with masks, social distancing, no in-person gatherings, no eating in the cafeteria, etc., he decided to study online from home this semester.

My spouse stopped interior painting jobs as he wasn’t considered “essential” until August. Unemployment benefits, newly created for the self-employed, saved the day.

I moved from in-person sessions at the office to video or phone sessions from the finished attic of our home. I’m still paying rent but only visit my office to get the mail and water the begonia. It’s blooming now, and I need it there to remind me that I’ll return to the office at some point.

Where are you now?

And, what have we learned?

Whew – that’s a tough one. Here are first thoughts.

We learned we are more resilient and flexible than we thought.

We learned to delicately balance between grieving what was lost and also accepting what was happening – often toggling back and forth between those actions.

We learned our government did not have a well-planned strategy for a disaster like a pandemic.

We learned we are not in control of events but that we can work at managing our response to life so it’s an intentional response and not impulsive reactivity. We learned this is really hard.

We learned that our time together is precious and enjoyable – all of us in a small home – and we are also all looking forward to the time when our young adult children can restart halted plans.

We learned that participation in nourishing activities and rituals is vital.

We learned we need each other; that being together virtually is an available alternative but pales in comparison to being together, in person, with those we love.

What have you learned?

With vaccines coming and deaths and infections decreasing, we appear to be moving into the wind-down phase of the pandemic but of course we don’t really know.

So, how do we live now, one year in?

We work to surrender to what’s not in our control and to focus on what is. And we allow ourselves days when we’re just sick of all of it.

We keep wearing masks and social distancing.

We mourn those we’ve lost and whose lives we couldn’t adequately honor during the pandemic. My dad died in October and a favorite neighbor down the street just last month. We mourn with those who have suffered terribly this year. Our family’s losses were small ones compared to those whose family members and friends died from Covid-19, or lost jobs, homes, security. We remember that all of us are vulnerable and all of us are connected.

We eye the calendar hopefully and try to be patient. Perhaps we can visit family later this year. Maybe our son can return to a more normal college experience, and our daughter can move in with friends. Neighborhood potlucks, street festivals, concerts, and all sorts of gatherings might become reality! And perhaps we’ll be able to stop worrying about loved ones or ourselves getting seriously ill.

Returning to a new normal will bring new challenges. Still, I’m confident that given what we’ve learned this past year, we’re more likely to adequately manage what lies ahead.

How are you living now, one year in?

A final note: Courtney Martin wrote a terrific post with more questions if you are in a reflective mode. You can access it here.

Brenda Hartman-Souder, LCSW-R March 2021

When You “Mess Up”

By brendahs

On January 28, 2020

In Facing Difficulty, Family Systems, Priorities, Self-Compassion

At some point in therapy, clients may come into session and begin with something like, “I really goofed up,” (Okay, sometimes the language is more colorful!) or, “I’m not proud of this, but….” Or something like that.

And I’m not surprised. Active participation in therapy involves willingness to learn and make changes. You get to know your thoughts and beliefs, feelings and physiological reactions in all kinds of situations. You start being able to observe yourself in your family, work and life systems. You take responsibility for your self and surrender the hope that others will change along with the belief that if they do, THAT will finally make your life better. People sometimes leave my office in anger when I tell them I cannot help them change someone else.

And following this path of self-responsibility also means that as you learn and bravely make changes, trusting your gut for what resonates and staying on course as well as possible, you will also mess up.

Boy will you.

After messing up, you might then blame yourself or others, feel ashamed, lose hope, throw your hands up in despair or declare that this work on self and making changes is too hard.

And what I’ll tell you from deep knowing and experience, because I am a human being working on my self right along with you, is this: It’s all normal. It’s all expected. And it’s all alright.

I’m not saying that it’s fine to lash out at yourselves or others, repeat a hurtful pattern in a relationship, gulp multiple glasses of wine, buy or eat something to make yourself feel better, or avoid life by binge watching Netflix. But I do understand those choices as common ways to avoid your pain and temporarily alleviate your suffering. And I know that lasting change takes time.

So after making a mistake, it’s important to remember that in order to be brave, awake, and self-responsible, you must turn toward yourself with kindness and forgiveness, identify what triggered the “mess up” and return to what you have decided is a healthier path for you. You may need to apologize to yourself or someone else.

You will do this over and over. You will “mess up” over and over. And part of what determines how you learn to navigate the world with greater ease, courage, and strength is how you decide to handle your mistakes.

I know this because I live it. I revert to old, non-productive ways of managing stress, thoughts and feelings. I blame others. I stew. I forget my ways to deeply care for myself and stay engaged in the world. I forget that I am part of a wider family, cultural, economic and social system.

Recently I really “messed up.” One of my significant triggers, which I’m mentioned in an earlier post, is worry about money. I come from a long line of money worriers, Swiss and Germans who worked hard, lived frugally and didn’t have a lot extra. When I am calm, I can remember the patterns in my family history, and the way I am prone to absorb similar worries about money.

When I am triggered, however, all of that dissipates. If I forget to slow down and comfort that scared part of me, I will lose it. I’ll target my spouse for my worries. I’ll lose sleep and start to spin catastrophic scenarios of poverty, bankruptcy and humiliation. Yup, that’s what I do. Even while, at the present moment, I have a warm home, plenty of food and clothing, savings in the bank and a robust private practice.

I’m human and it feels awful to careen down that particular lane. That lane is narrow, rutted and filled with potholes where dark clouds loom overhead, where I believe I am unprotected and alone, the only one facing these worries.

But I’ve learned I can return to my truth and my tools for calming myself – these constitute a much broader, smoother lane: deep breathing, journaling, meditation, recalling my deepest values (and how I can live them regardless of any financial statement), talking to trusted friends, gratitude, and sometimes calling my own therapist! That lane is smooth and lined with leafy trees and benches for resting, friends are available down side lanes and I can be grateful for all the resiliency and muscle I’ve built from years of working with this.

So, if you are a perfectionist, or think working in therapy will produce instant results with a clear upward trajectory, I am here to ruin that delusion. But all is not even remotely lost. Therapy, undertaken by those who own responsibility for self, while letting go of what is not theirs to focus on, can be an invaluable accompaniment to lasting change, reduced symptoms, and a lifelong commitment to learning and re-centering after you “mess up.”

I’ve always liked the following poem, Autobiography in Five Chapters, by Portia Nelson.

Chapter 1

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in this same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in… it’s a habit… but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter V

I walk down another street.

—————————————————————-

Change, however, is usually not linear and sometimes, despite hard work, we revert to early chapters. The difference that work on self makes over time is the ability to more quickly pick yourself up and walk down a different street.

I close with a quote by Daniel Hillel:

“I get up. I walk. I fall down. Meanwhile, I keep dancing.”

Brenda Hartman-Souder, LCSWR

January 2020

(photo by by chuttersnap on Unsplash)

Human With a Full Heart

By brendahs

On December 9, 2019

In Grief, Priorities, Self-Compassion

It’s Monday and I’m very tired. Exhausted is more accurate. I’ve come off three days of high intensity.

I watched our son play the role of RP McMurphy in his high school’s fall play, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” And not only watched but participated, rapt, for three performances, in that heartbreaking drama.

He blew his role out of the water. He embodied that crafty, law-breaking, but ultimately loving character. He and the entire cast and crew pulled this difficult story off with aplomb. I rarely make statements like these about my children, but part of the intensity of this weekend was being forced to recognize his natural talent and to accept accolades from audience members when I am by nature modest and humble.

We hosted family members who came to see the play and enjoyed times of connection, eating, walking and just hanging out.

Our college-age daughter came home for the weekend and played the role of proud big sister – what a joy to have her here.

And we learned early Saturday morning that my sister, who has congestive heart failure, was rushed (again) to the hospital in the night’s wee hours, then eventually flown to a larger hospital with specialized expertise in heart disease.

Texts from her spouse smattered the weekend and I experienced sorrow, alarm, and helplessness. I am so glad I went to visit her in her midwest home just two weeks ago, and I am so sorry that living so far away, there is little I can do but pray.

So, this morning, I’m outside walking my usual trails, full of joy, pride, grief, worry. All of it, the whole shebang. My stomach is churning. And I finally settle on a phrase that partially calms me:

My heart is so full. I am human. My heart is so full. I am human.

Then I came home and had a good cry – a cry for my sister, and for her spouse and adult children and grandchildren, for the uncertainty that surrounds her health and future.

And a cry for millions who have been treated poorly, even cruelly, at the hands of mental health professionals. The trauma inflicted on patients in the 1970s (when “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” premiered) may not be happening in our country anymore . But we still stigmatize emotional challenges, mental illness, and quirks in behavior; we prevent humans from accessing acceptance, help, growth. We forget that all people are to begin, human.

And now, I’m slowly caring for myself by following the kind of advice I might chart with a client. I’m taking it slower than I usually do during the day. And returning to old rhythms: folding laundry, writing the grocery lists, going to the library, and then heading for my office where I will sit with other humans whose hearts are also full and who are facing loss, grief, change and are doing so with quiet courage. Even on a Monday. Even when they are exhausted.

Note: I wrote this on November 25. My sister, who is currently more stable, proofread this post and gave her okay for me to write about her.

Brenda Hartman-Souder, December 2019

Therapists In Therapy: A Green Flag

By brendahs

On October 16, 2019

In Facing Difficulty, Grief, Priorities

Thirty years ago, I applied to graduate school, convinced my main objectives for earning a master’s degree in social work were to increase my helping skills and earning potential.

Halfway through the MSW program, however, the more compelling, underlying reason for going back to school emerged with painful clarity: I needed to understand my own life, my symptoms of anxiety and insomnia, my relationship conundrums and the difficult patterns and issues in my family of origin. I needed to help myself.

And so, desperate for understanding and relief, I found a therapist and began to work.

Being in therapy as a graduate student and then as a fledgling therapist transformed me. I learned ways I was caught in unhelpful relationship patterns. I learned to pay attention to my symptoms and listen to their messages, rather than trying to suppress, kill or numb them.

And being in therapy made me a much better therapist.

I realized my “mess” or situation, was not another’s and if I was attending to my own, then I could better keep my own stuff out of therapy with clients. And if I couldn’t, I could catch myself more quickly and get back to a grounded and centered way of accepting clients, not absorbing their anxiety or blaming them for their pain. I went from thinking I had to be an expert (who had it all together) who “treated” clients to increased awareness of what I had in common with each of them.

While I don’t regularly go to therapy now, I occasionally schedule an appointment. This happened recently with a family situation that triggered high anxiety. My therapist helped me remember key system issues, my truth, and what I needed to do.

The bigger picture

Finding a therapist who lived and practiced family systems theory, was also something I lucked out on.

A family systems therapist changes the frame from broken, defective, ill, or diseased to something far bigger and less labeling. A family systems therapist helps a client learn about and see the bigger picture – at least three generations of family and the other systems they grew up in – the way communication patterns, beliefs, hot issues, rules, rituals, tragedies, and positive events impacted them and others.

Family systems therapists move conversations away from “Where am I broken or defective?” to “Where am I caught in my family, life or work situation? How can learning more about my family history be a resource to me? How do anxiety and pain get expressed or managed in my family and in me? What can I do differently? How I can take responsibility by working on myself, finding ways to care for and ground myself, work with painful or anxiety-provoking issues and trust the process?

For instance, my parents were born just before or during the Depression. While my grandparents were resourceful and made it through without terrible consequences, I inherited frugality and fears about financial scarcity that I believe are connected to the deprivation and hardship their families suffered. This helps me not be so hard on myself when money fears surface, to separate their past from my present, and to observe without buying into my catastrophic money stories.

Being in therapy during my early years of learning to be a therapist was so foundational, I can scarcely imagine what kind of a therapist I’d be if I hadn’t taken the brave step to admit I was stuck and needed help. Now I enjoy being a therapist to therapists as part of my private practice because I know that therapists who have turned to understand and care for themselves will have more to offer their own clients.

Brenda Hartman-Souder, LCSW-R

Photo by Brenda Hartman-Souder

Nope, Not This Year

By brendahs

On May 6, 2019

In Priorities

Everyone who knows me well knows I’m a gardener. I grew up in a family with a vast vegetable garden. We ate from it all summer while preserving more for winter: corn, peas, green beans, tomatoes. My mother grew roses, petunias, geraniums and gladiolas.

And almost everywhere I’ve lived I planted a patch of something. In New York’s north country I put in perennials that could make it through the bitter winters. When we rented an apartment in Syracuse, I begged permission from the landlord to dig up a patch of the back lawn. After buying our first home, I planted cottage gardens around the front of the house. When in Nigeria I sowed all manner of vegetable seeds until I realized the pests were different there and I couldn’t outsmart them. But even then I persisted with a year-round flower bed, using precious water through the dry season for the beauty that helped sustain me.

In 2013 after returning to the United States, my spouse built a sturdy 28’ x 28’ fenced garden in the side lot of our home – enough to keep out deer and most of the groundhogs. I planted vegetables every summer. Getting out in the soil was a joy.

Until recently. The last few years I noticed I became resentful when the garden took so much time. I’d get a clutchy feeling in my stomach thinking about the needed weeding or the beans that were ready to pick.

This spring, every time I consider gardening, a loud “NO!” rises up in me. Something within needs to lie fallow longer than the winter. And this is a big deal for me, as gardening is part of my identity.

What does this have to do with you, client or potential client, or visitor to this blog?

Well, it’s this: change is normal. At times something we took for granted, deeply enjoyed, felt we needed or did all the time stops bringing meaning or pleasure.

I often ask a client, once I have learned about their challenges or symptoms, “Do you know what you need to do or stop doing or change?” And often they know. They just haven’t had a chance to voice it. Or trust it.

They may need to start to look at a pattern in a relationship where they are stuck or are giving up too much of themselves for the sake of “peace.” They may need to mourn someone or something that has died. They may need to stop taking care of other people at their own expense. They may need to start attending Al-Anon or AA. They may need to quit their job and go back to school. These are serious decisions that often take time.

My work with clients often involves helping them trust what they already know…that they are not broken or defective, but in process. That symptoms are telling them something is out of alignment with deep values. That often grief and letting go is involved. And that the path, though not always well-lit, is nevertheless clearer once they decide to take one step down it.

For me, even though honoring life’s cycles by getting my hands in the dirt has been vital, I need to stop vegetable gardening this year. It’s a way of honoring some other cycle now becoming clear in me.

I trust that when I follow my inner knowing, I’ll learn more what this is about, what opens up for me as I welcome more free time this summer. I’m committed to allowing the garden to go ugly this year if it needs to, or loaning it out or planting a cover crop to nourish it.

Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening, says this: “There is very little difference between burying and planting. For often, we need to put dead things to rest, so that new life can grow. And further, the thing put to rest—whether it be a loved one, a dream or a false way of seeing —becomes the fertilizer for the life about to form. As the well-used thing joins with the earth, the old love fertilizes the new; the broken dream fertilizes the dream yet conceived; the painful way of being that strapped us to the world fertilizes the freer inner stance about to unfold.”

I’ll keep you posted on what this summer brings.

And trust your own process if something in you needs to be born or to die or lie fallow.

Brenda Hartman-Souder
May 2019

Painting Credit: Greg Hartman-Souder