Sometimes life is about figuring out a way to shift your perspective – change the script. Here you will find my own ramblings, and my unconventional responses to user submitted questions about anything and everything pertaining to our “inside game”.
One of the more intense traits of someone with an OCD brain, is that we can obsess about existential things until we’re left with a bizarre unanswered question. So, let’s take a trip on the Nina brain train for a hot sec…
We develop our identity based on our relationships and interactions with other people. We are literally shaped by those around us. It makes sense; we’re relational beings. It’s one of the reasons I am so passionate about relationship dynamics. They are critical in our personal growth and development. With that said, I’ve also noticed that the hate in this world comes from people not agreeing with others, and/or trying to “get” other people to think/look/behave the way we do. The deeper I thought about it, the clearer things got.
Under allllll of the poop slinging (and there’s a lot), is this engrained belief that different is bad. So, then I thought…well…is different actually bad? What I found during my mental masturbation over that question was this: Different is not bad; “bad” is subjective. However. different is one thing for sure…it’s uncomfortable. Why is it uncomfortable? First, if we aren’t 100% confident in our belief systems, or we are still internally conflicted – it’s easier to question ourselves (and who the hell wants to do that?). It feels unstable, unsafe, and scary.
Next, differences can cause anxiety and fear. Take politics for example (yup, I’m going there…but not for long – trust me). Underneath all of the arguing is a legitimate fear about how the decision maker of our country could impact us and those we love. Anxiety and fear are the root of MOST of our emotions, but we tend to express anger because it’s way more societally acceptable. This happens in relationships ALL. THE. TIME.
Last, being exposed to a different thought, idea, or opinion, can create an underlying mistrust of our past. When our foundation is challenged, we go to battle to protect it. It’s like hearing someone say something bad about your best friend that you don’t believe is true – so you immediately start counter arguing on their behalf. The ironic part about all of this, is that the coolest thing about human beings is that no two people are the same…literally!! Even identical twins will experience the world through different lenses.
So, spending our lives trying to fit everyone into a box that is palatable for our own minds, is an exercise in futility. And lord knows there are better things to do that actually make the world a BETTER place – like eating, sleeping, laughing, and masturbating.
I started both of my children in therapy early on in their lives for a reason. Nothing was going on that warranted therapy at the time (aside from the normal social struggles), but I am adamant about getting rid of the stigma around mental health and therapy in my family. I go to a therapist, and my kids know her by name. It has always been an open discussion in this house, and always will be. I taught them early on that if we were meant to get through this life alone, we wouldn’t have 7 Billion people on this planet. I’ve drilled into their heads that our mental health is the foundation of how we go through life, and it should be cared for deeply and consistently. Ok, back to the blog…
“Mom? Can you come upstairs for a sec? Dr. A and I want to talk to you about something.” (it’s telemedicine, for the record.)
My stomach dropped. I felt like I was about to walk the plank. What could it possibly be? She’s not even a teenager yet! My mind raced with irrational and highly unlikely thoughts. Thanks to my OCD, this was nothing new.
I know she can’t be pregnant – too young.
Drugs? No – too young, and she doesn’t go anywhere. I’d know, right?
Fuck. She found a sex toy, and now I have to explain. No worries, Neen – you’re a Sex Coach – you got this.
Did she get her period? Yeah, maybe that’s it. It would make sense. But, why the hell wouldn’t she tell me herself? We are so open in this house! Or maybe we aren’t as open as I thought? Am I failing her?
The thoughts didn’t stop there, but for the sake of this blog, I’ll spare you.
I walked upstairs. I could hear my heart beating in my head (is that a thing?). I walked into her room. My adorable, spunky tween daughter was plopped down with the laptop across her legs. She had this look on her face as if she was unsure about how this was going to go down, which only made me more nervous.
Trying not to vomit, I sat next to her. My face was in full view on the telemed screen. I forced a broken smile and did what I do best…made some awkward joke.
“Is it my turn now?” I chuckled and waited to see how her therapist responded.
“Nina, calm down. I know you, and can tell you this isn’t a big deal at all – so exhale.”
Her soft facial features and smile were always so comforting.
“R wanted me to help her explain how she is feeling about something that has been bothering her lately.”
OH. MY. GOD. Get on with it already! I’m going to shit myself!
She began. “So, R is worried about you.”
Wait, what?! She is worried about ME? Is this some sort of reverse psychology magician shit?
R turned to me and had a smirk on her face. She knew I had been expecting so much worse. No doubt she enjoyed seeing me squirm, only to throw me a curve ball.
“Mom? You seem stressed. I see you running around all day long trying to get work done, taking care of the house, and helping us with school. You don’t do anything for yourself, ever. You go to the gym, and that seems to be the only alone time you get. I want to be able to help you with something, and I don’t know how.”
Damnit. Did she really feel this way, or was she just parroting the stuff I say out loud?
Her therapist chimed in.
“Nina, Mom to Mom here. Do your kids have chores?”
“Not really anything set in stone, but I ask them to put away their laundry. Does that count?”
She smirked. She knew it was all bullshit, and I clearly haven’t delegated half the things I should.
“So, Nina, when do you have your own down time?”
I paused. That was not a new issue for me.
My daughter chimed in and called me out, “When she goes to the gym, or when she scrolls social media or watches Netflix at…like…midnight.”
Dr. A looked at me, and I instinctively tried to look away. Was that shame I was feeling, or embarrassment? Both?
“Look, Nina. You’re not doing anyone any favors. Your kids are old enough to do way more around the house. You’re a family, and this is a joint effort. It’s a little ridiculous that they aren’t really doing anything to help.”
It hit me. Did I truly think these responsibilities should be a joint effort? Did I truly believe I should get more help around the house?
No. I didn’t. But, why?
Well, after my daughter’s…I mean MY therapy session, I did what I do best. Reflect.
Why haven’t I jumped on the idea of getting help around the house? My kids are absolutely old enough and capable. Why haven’t I asked?
Here are the thoughts I saw when I took a peek into my brain…
I work from home. Being self-employed is my choice. If I’m home, it’s my job to take care of all the shit that comes with it.
We’re in a Pandemic. These kids deserve to be kids, and enjoy what few opportunities they have to be play.
You’re lazy, Nina. You have the time to do it all, so why ask for help?
What if my kids think I’m lazy? What if my husband thinks I’m lazy? I want them to see how I can grow a business AND do everything else.
Well, fuck. Now I get it. Once again, it’s an ego issue with me. God forbid someone – yes, even my own family – thinks I’m not some damn superhero. Is it possible that my self-worth is tied a bit tighter to outsiders’ perception of me than I care to admit? Seems so, no?
Ok, Neen…what did you do about it? (FYI, that’s you, the reader, asking me.)
The next day, I asked my kids to empty the dishwasher – and refill it. I asked them to clean up the snack wrappers on the couch from the night before. Instead of doing things for them when they conveniently “forgot” to do it, I asked them again…and again…until it was done…by them.
These things may seem like minutia to some, but like most things in life, it goes deeper. You see, we tend to avoid things that create emotions inside of us that suck. When things suck, we don’t want to do it, right? The trick is not to stop there. Figure out why it sucks. For me, it was clear once I took the time to reflect. I have a set of beliefs that state that in order to be seen as a productive, successful, and worthy woman, I need to do it all. Alone. If I ask for help or take time for myself, I am selfish and lazy. So, I flipped the script in my head to challenge myself.
Is this the set of beliefs that I want my daughter to have? Is this how I want my kids to gauge their worthiness as a human being? If my daughter becomes a Mom, do I want her to do it all simply because she can? Absolutely not.
My commitment to myself is to continue to ask for help, and train myself not to see it as selfish, but rather necessary. To see it as an effort to make sure my kids don’t ever attach their value to being overworked and overwhelmed – two words that seem to carry an oddly positive connotation in our society today.
Productivity over self-care. That’s the message, right? Hustle harder. Work longer. Make more money. Post more viral content. Get more likes and follows.
Ya want to know what my thoughts are on that? It’s bullshit. All bullshit. You can make all the money in the world, but if you’re not mentally “available” to enjoy it, it’s meaningless. Relationships are struggling HARD right now. Parents are breaking down. Children are feeling isolated and confused. You want to make more money? I don’t blame you. Money gives us options, and pays the bills.
You want to work hard at something, though? Look in the mirror.
Oh – and when your kid’s therapist yells at you…listen.
In Honor of my 40th Birthday Eve and OCD Awareness Week…
Well…here you are – the night before your 40th Birthday.
I see you now, and I can’t help but remember the child you were. You constantly questioned your worthiness because your brain made you think that you were bad, wrong, dirty, sick…broken. You referred to your intrusive thoughts as “voices” when you were three-years-old because you couldn’t possibly believe that you were the one choosing to think such horrifying things. The anxiety, fear, and shame were intense, causing you to confess all of your brain’s workings to your family; later realizing that your confessions were actually a type of compulsion.
I know how afraid you were. I can feel the pit in my stomach now just thinking about it. I remember you seeing the world as though you were living in some parallel reality – far away from everyone else. I was always impressed with your ability to make everyone believe you were so comfortable being you.
You successfully hid so much. You had the classic OCD intrusive thoughts that revolved around violence, sex, contamination, and death – often coming up with random compulsions to “rid” your brain of the anxiety. You were exhausted, Nina. God, were you exhausted. Nobody understood OCD in the 80’s and 90’s, and you went from one medication to the next, always terrified that you’d never be “normal”.
“If anyone ever found out what went on in my head…”
I’d hear you say that to yourself time and time again. It broke my heart. I know how hard you wished it would all go away; that one day you’d get up and no longer fear being awake. You would have better phases, only to be triggered, and it would all come crashing down again – sometimes worse than before. I know you truly believed that you’d be caged up in your own brain for the rest of your life.
But – I have extraordinary news for you, Nina…There’s a MAJOR plot twist, so PLEASE hang tight. You DESERVE to see this battle through.
Remember when you said you were afraid to get married? To you, that meant you might see him die at some point (intrusive death thoughts). Yeah, you somehow worked through that and married someone. Oh – and your 100% certainty that you NEVER wanted children, because you were convinced that they would die before you (yup…death again)? Fu*k that – you went ahead and had TWO! You still worry every second of every day, but like…welcome to being a parent
Remember the bizarre and disturbing intrusive thoughts that came on out of nowhere that had you questioning if you were worthy of even being here? Yup – those EXACT thoughts are what end up driving you to start a career talking about, writing about, and coaching people on ALL of the taboo topics. Come to find out, many people in this world are just waiting for someone to go first – someone to talk about the things that nobody talks about. Many people feel caged in their own brains and are looking for a way out – someone to say, “YOU’RE OK!” Who knew?!
I know you probably think I’m lying, because you are so caught up in the throws of OCD that you can’t see beyond it – and that’s ok. Just borrow my belief until you have your own. Until that day comes (hint: it happens in your mid to late 30’s), trust that every ounce of pain you’re going through, every fuc*ed up thought you’re having, and every “why me?!” moment you go through, will ALL make sense soon. And when it does, I’ll greet you with open arms, a vibrator, and a stiff drink. We’ll sit and talk about it all – but not for too long…people are waiting for us. And we both know how much the waiting sucks.
If you’ve stuck around me long enough, you know that my purpose in life is 100% grounded in exposing the aspects of being human that are so raw and real that it makes most of us uncomfortable. Truthfully, I don’t even like the word taboo. A taboo topic is something that is, “…banned on grounds of morality or taste.” In other words, it’s subjective – much like everything else in the world.
Mental health and sexuality are probably the most “taboo-infused” aspects of being human. Having firsthand experience with a mental health condition that is literally COMPRISED of intrusive and TABOO thoughts, I understand and appreciate how damaging this feeling can be to your soul. The two most powerful ways I’ve been able to heal and accept ALL that I am, is through humor and confessions (actually, if you read up on OCD, you’ll see that confessions are a type of compulsion. Crazy shit, right?). I’m aware that this is not THE ONLY way to heal, but it’s my way – and it has worked.
My approach and personality are not, and never will be, for everyone – and it isn’t my goal to have them be. People have VERY strong feelings and opinions on such sensitive topics. I do what I do because in my darkest moments, I knew exactly what I needed, but didn’t know if anyone was capable of giving it to me. I wanted my thoughts and fears to be met with an unalarmed response. I wanted someone to make me laugh at myself, even when I thought that everything was so serious. I wanted to be told that I don’t have to think like everyone else to STILL be ok. I wanted to know that even if others didn’t share my thoughts, they still didn’t care that I had them. I wanted someone to tell me that I didn’t have to “fix” my brain – I just needed to learn HOW to use it.
So, here’s my SoulTinder profile – in case anyone wants to uncage theirs:
I will listen to your darkness, and share with you all the ways you keep walking right by the damn light switch. I will use humor in moments that you can’t believe someone would use humor (so, easily offended people may want to steer clear). I will show you how liberating it can be to stop seeing yourself as a “victim” and, instead, acknowledge that you may have been victimized, but your experiences are what CREATE your superpower. I will meet you EXACTLY where you are – not looking to fix a damn thing; you’re not broken. I can normalize the most “abnormal” shit, because I don’t believe in normal – aside from math scores. You will be met with an unalarmed response, and you’ll wonder if I even heard you. Trust me, I did…and I’m still not alarmed.
This photo was made specifically for me (yup, those are my hands with the blue polish). It captures all that caged me for the better part of three decades. And now? Now, I’ve made it my life’s work to continue to use humor and confessions to not only keep my own soul uncaged, but to help others do the same.
If you’ve ever hated your body for what it looks like or how it feels, you’ve experienced being caged.
If you’ve ever suffered from intrusive thoughts and anxiety, you’ve experienced being caged.
If your brain works in ways that make it difficult to go through one day without wanting to escape your own mind, you’ve experienced being caged.
If you’ve ever been in a relationship that you know you deserve to leave, you’ve experienced being caged.
If you’ve struggled with your sexuality in any way, shape, or form, you’ve experienced being caged.
If you suffer from the aftermath of trauma, you have experienced being caged.
If you have felt shame for merely existing in your truest form, you’ve experienced being caged.
If you’ve ever been trapped in a career that eats away at you, you’ve experienced being caged.
If you’ve ever suffered from addiction, you’ve experienced being caged.
The list goes on – and eventually, I would list something that you would most likely resonate with. Not because you’re “broken”, but because you’re human. Shockingly…we all are.
Being an “outlier” myself on many levels, I perfected the construction of my cage. The bars were strong, and only wide enough for people to see the parts of me that were “acceptable”. Don’t get me wrong, I think there’s a sense of safety in our cages – and I get that. But as life goes on, our bars get thicker, and the spaces more narrow. We’re given more reasons to hide as we’re surrounded by illusions that our culture is so damn good at creating. Eventually, there are no spaces between the bars. To the outside world, you’re showing slits of light at best. There’s this false feeling of belonging, as if the absence of judgement equals acceptance – but it doesn’t. Nobody can accept you when they can’t. even. see. YOU.
I’ve spent over THREE DECADES figuring out how to somehow deconstruct this Fort Knox worthy cage that I so meticulously erected (yes, I said ‘erected’ – it was getting a bit too serious, and we all know I can’t have that happening for too long.). Ironically, I figured out that I’m not supposed to deconstruct it. It served its purpose and, truthfully, Bob Vila would applaud the craftsmanship. I found out that all of that time in my proverbial ‘cage’ was allowing me to experience everything I had to in order to know how to find the KEY to unlock it.
It’s not about hating ourselves for what we’ve done (or haven’t done). It’s not about demolishing ANY experiences from our past. It’s about coming to the epiphanic moment of realization that the one who creates the cage, also creates the key. Yes…that means you.
My personality, my ‘brand’, my ridiculous posts, my candidness, my career choices, my often times risky sense of humor, my writing, my sex coaching, my openness about living with OCD, my vulnerability…all of it. It took me all that time in my cage to come up with the material to create the key that lead me to where I am today…Unfiltered. Imperfect. Unashamed…and UNCAGED.
Finding purpose in pain has become a lifelong process for me. I’m not a healthcare professional. I’m not face to face with COVID-positive patients. I am not a first responder…but I am one of many in this world who are on the “other” frontline.
I would sit down to get work done and instantly felt like I was on this “other” frontline. I’d stare at a screen that was riddled with darkness, anger, trauma, disturbing images, virtual funerals, children mourning, hate, friendships ending, lies, harsh truths, and pain. So. Much. Pain. My limbic system was misfiring, over-firing, and sometimes I wished it would just…stop…firing.
I felt like I was in the house of mirrors, searching for the exit. I could see people outside, telling me I’m so close to finding the exit. Alas…I’d whack my head on the mirror that I thought was the last turn I’d have to take. Some people said it felt like groundhog day – the same thing over and over again. To me, it felt more like purgatory – and I’m not even religious.
My therapy sessions were virtual like most. Thank God she knows me and my required therapy style. She’s warm and kind when I need it, but mostly uses tough love – which is how I respond best.
“I haven’t heard you this bad in years, Nina. I’m going to use the word suffering to describe it. You’re in a dark place. We should increase your medication. How do you feel about that?”
I was having intrusive disturbing OCD thoughts that I hadn’t had in decades. It scared the shit out of me, to be honest. The thoughts that would paralyze me in my childhood were coming back. I’ve been on the “other side” of OCD for quite some time now, so this space was unfamiliar and painful. My sleeping was off. I was losing interest and focus. I felt disconnected from my family. I felt disconnected from…myself. Nothing seemed safe, not even my own mind.
I am not one to fight medication. I’ve been successfully treated with a very low dose since my late teens/early 20’s. I’ve tried to go off of medication before, and I quickly realized that this wasn’t about my ego – but my quality of life. With that said, I started thinking of all the ways I could AVOID increasing my medication. I somehow found a teensie bit of confidence in my resiliency, and passed through that month and a half without increasing the dose. I also knew (and still do) that if I hadn’t found the confidence, I would have increased my dosage. I ‘aint too proud – trust me (ok…maybe a little. But I digress.)
Ya know what’s strange, though? I’ve spent my entire life being able to lean on the fact that I knew most of my thoughts were irrational. Even though they felt real, there was always a part of me that knew they weren’t, or at least I knew they were extremely over exaggerated. I could always count on hearing, “Nina, it’s just your OCD.”
But now, it wasn’t “just my OCD” – this was real. My fear of germs was real. My fear of death was real. Everyone was washing their hands incessantly and over using antibacterial gel, and I no longer “stood out” as the germaphobe. Nobody was sharing anything anymore, and people were wiping down every surface around them. For once in my entire life, the world around me was just as scary as the world inside of me – and I wasn’t prepared.
I showed symptoms of OCD as early as three years old – so, I’ve had quite a few decades of learning how to navigate life with this brain wiring (eye roll). However, I definitely wasn’t planning on “relapsing” randomly at 39 years old…yet there I was.
In a weird, almost masochistic way, I’m glad I went through it (and still am, but on a much smaller scale). My ability to hold space for other people in their darkest moments – their most vulnerable or shameful moments – is 100% due to me knowing what that feels like. I know how it feels to doubt your worth, to question your place on Earth, to fear rejection so much that you go through most of your life only showing a fraction of who you are, to believe that if people knew what you were thinking, they’d take a few steps back…
What makes me who I am today is, quite literally, what almost ended me. I often speak about finding purpose in pain, not because I’m a walking obnoxious Pinterest quote, but because I’ve done it…and it has saved my life.
I have a diary entry from when I was about 9 years old that was focused on the fact that I weighed 72 pounds. I vividly remember writing that number down and circling it in my diary.
When I was younger, “Twiggy”, was the popular model. You can imagine how she got her name, and the message it sent to all of us females. I started smoking cigarettes on and off starting in 6th grade – never getting addicted, because truthfully, I hated it. It smelled awful, and I would get nauseous more often than not. I continued, though, because it would make me skinny, and that was the goal – right?
I drank my first slim fast in 6th grade. One day, I almost passed out in gym class from a lack of food. The fu*cked up part? I wasn’t afraid. It made me feel like I was getting somewhere with my weight. I was going to be skinny, and everything would be ok.
Throughout middle school, I was bullied HEAVILY for breaking up with a boy that apparently wasn’t “allowed” to be broken up with. He and his “popular” friends had a blast with me for three years straight. I spent my days in the nurses office convinced I was going to vomit on a daily basis.
In high school, swimming was a mandatory part of PE class. I feared freshman year more for that reason, than anything else. I had my parents plead with a friend of ours, who was a Doctor, to write a note stating that I couldn’t swim due to my skin being sensitive to chlorine. That wasn’t real…but the hatred towards my body was.
The summer before college, my OCD and anxiety had taken on a life of its own and I was sick. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t going to the bathroom (duh – there was nothing in there🙄). I had irrational fears of fainting (again-thanks OCD), so driving alone anywhere was a big ordeal. I got down to 110 lbs before college, and my hip bones were showing. I was nauseous 100% of the time, every day. People complimented me.
“Nina, you look so thin. Are you ok?”.
I looked sick. Thin – but sick. I felt like I was supposed to be happier than I was. I mean, I had wanted to be thin since I was a small child…at 72 pounds.
Undergrad and grad school were both met with my fair share of internal body shaming, but frankly – those four years were also some of the best years of my life. I was preoccupied with college life.
Now, I’m 39 and I have two children. My life and body have changed quite a bit over the years…and so has my mind. Now, my inner monologue leads me to create moments like the one I had a few hours ago…
😬I TOUCHED MYSELF IN THE SHOWER TONIGHT😬
But…not in the way you’re thinking…
I touched the parts that I’ve argued with my entire life. As the water ran down my body, I saw the wet beads travel across a terrain that once seemed so foreign to me – especially after two kids. The water didn’t travel straight down, and it didn’t travel smoothly. It changed directions, and sometimes it pooled in my bellybutton that now hangs differently from a bellybutton piercing scar. It’s now a stretched surface from growing two humans. Sometimes, I even lost track of where the water went.
After trailing down my stomach, it cascaded down the sides of my hips. Hips that surround a womb whose cervix failed to open wide enough to let either of my kids pass through “naturally” (I heavily dislike that word when it comes to birthing, FYI). Because of my stubborn cervix, both children were removed surgically, as proven by the two *almost* symmetrical scar lines above my bikini area.
Then, my thighs. Talk about topography! The cellulite, the dimples, the curves…all of it.
As all of this was happening, I let my hands move across my body in a way that didn’t say, “I hate you.” I touched those parts with apologetic hands. I squeezed the soft parts and thanked it for being good to me when I was so damn awful to them for so long. I smiled at my stomach for carrying two kids, for loving just about every food out there, for being strong underneath the sub-Instagram quality surface, and for simply being mine.
I squeezed my thighs to purposely feel the soreness from the leg workout that I HAPPILY did yesterday, because I was able to – not something that everyone has the ability to do.
I even looked at my damn boobs! Yup! One is smaller than the other (FYI very common). They aren’t perky and porn-like. They are mine. And after seeing too many of my loved ones lose theirs – I no longer dare to take them for granted.
So, next time you see me post a bikini picture, or twerk for the whole world to see – understand this…
It’s NOT because I love my body all the time, and I certainly don’t have a magazine body. It’s because I have learned to ACCEPT it – with kinder words, softer hands, healthier thoughts, and as many well-deserved orgasms as I can possibly provide it. So, there’s that…
Lately, in both my personal and professional life, I have witnessed men struggling more so than usual, and my heart aches. I am, and will continue, serving ALL HUMAN BEINGS. I will help you challenge belief systems that make you feel anything other than worthy and valid.
Remember that pointing out the pain of one group does not, and never will, diminish the pain of any other group. So, tonight, this one’s for the guys…
“It’s as if you were created only to feel a select number of emotions. Should you need to feel anything else, your default is to go back to the original allowable few. Your only instructions are to keep going long after your batteries have run out. When you break – and you will – you should know how to put yourself back together without any help. You don’t require help. You’ll be ok – you’re a man.
You will experience loss and pain. But don’t speak. People will question your allegiance to societal constructs, and we all know we can’t have that. But, you’ll be ok – you’re a man.
You are to hunt – food, enemies, and women. Hunting anything or anyone else is inherently “wrong”. Should you feel the urge to hunt otherwise, refrain. You’re good at hiding your soul, remember? You’ll be ok – you’re a man.
You are to sexually ravish others. To be ready, willing, and most importantly, able. At all times. Every time. Your handful of allowable emotions can never interfere with this required way of being. Should you struggle, avoid all related conversations and move on. Be silent about your fears, insecurities, and most definitely, your faults. Deny them at all costs, especially in the bedroom. You should easily be able to disconnect and compartmentalize. It’s ok – you’re a man.
You will face confusion, loss, anxiety, hopelessness, depression, intrusive thoughts, sexual shame and guilt, and abuse. Funnel it all into anger. Get angry. Anger is safe. Anger is allowed. You’ll be ok – you’re a man.
So just be a man, and you’ll be ok…until you’re not.
And when that day comes, I urge you to break every damn rule you’ve been prescribed. I beg you to feel all of the forbidden emotions, and feel them as hard as you can. Let anger be your last choice, and no longer allow it to be the sheep in wolves clothing. Break down. Make it known when you DON’T want to have sex, and when you want to relinquish dominance and control. Face trauma and process it with a professional – because you DESERVE healing. Love whoever the hell you want to love. Be afraid. Be a protector one day, and need protecting the next.
Well, I should say that I took ACTION on a realization today – I’ve had this realization long before today.
Despite the fact that my career is based on uncomfortable conversations, there are moments in my life when I do my best to avoid them. I’ve also noticed a pattern with my avoidance. I avoid difficult conversations with my kids. I know the impact that I have on their development as human beings, and frankly…it scares the shit out of me sometimes. Actually…all the time.
How do I explain, in the midst of an already unpredictable and emotionally chaotic time, that the Corona virus isn’t our biggest hurdle to jump right now as a country? As an entire world! So, I took my own advice this morning about the importance of HAVING the hard conversations.
I was eating lunch with the kids, and casually said, “I’m glad there’s a march happening downtown today,” as I scrolled through Facebook on my phone. To be honest, I set that up because I knew one of them would be curious and ask what the march was about. And they both did – almost simultaneously. So I began…
I asked if they knew what racism was. Their answer was, “Yeah, that’s when people say bad things for no reason about people who look different.” Mind you, they are 8 and 10, and I was content with their answer. However, I knew I couldn’t couldn’t chicken out and leave it there – and I didn’t.
I asked if they remembered learning about slavery. They said, “Yeah, that happened like…so long ago!”
“Yes,” I agreed, “…but unfortunately, people still believe that people with different colored skin are less than, or beneath people with white skin.” I waited…
“What?! Still?! But, I’m friends with (listed some of their friends who have different colored skin), and I don’t treat them bad!”
“Correct. You don’t. Unfortunately, there are still plenty of people who do.”
I started to get a knot in my stomach, because I knew damn well I was avoiding the event that sparked the most recent worldwide march. So, I leaned in and told them. I told them about George Floyd. I told them how there are bad police officers, just like there are bad people who aren’t police officers. I told them that even though we, as a family, just see human beings, the truth is, some of their friends will be treated differently SOLELY based on the color of their skin.
They stood there sort of blank faced – probably wondering what this had to do with them since they aren’t racist. Then, I remembered a post I saw about the difference between “not being racist”, and being actively “anti-racism”. Like most kids, they needed to know specifically how this impacts them.
I explained that it’s one thing not to be racist, and another to stand up AGAINST racism. I gave examples of how they can play their part in this world by speaking up if they hear someone make racist comments, or make assumptions about someone based on race.
The hard truth in all of this? I’m not sure who learned more from the conversation – my kids…or me…
One of the most evolutionary parts of being human is our instinct to survive. Back in the day, it was based on physical safety. A tiger would be near, your senses would heighten, and you would be able to fight the tiger (not the best decision), or get the hell out of there, running faster than usual. Pure survival mode. Humans avoid pain as a way to survive. It keeps us safe. The concept makes sense, and I really have nothing to argue there.
But what about emotional pain? I mean, we still experience fight or flight when we’re waiting for news about our sick pet, when we are about to start a difficult conversation, or when we think our partner is being unfaithful. None of those scenarios are inherently dangerous or threaten our lives, but our autonomic nervous system didn’t get the memo, apparently.
I often joke about being great in an emergency because, chances are, I’ve already experienced the damn scenario in my head multiple times. I’ve emotionally “lived through” some of the most horrific situations…without them ever happening. It’s a skill, really…(eye roll).
My rational brain (which is somewhere really freakin deep in there) knows that fearing emotional pain will not actually make it any easier to deal with, should it happen. That fear is our brain’s way of trying to live through the experience to eliminate the feeling of the “unknown”. You see, as human beings, we don’t tolerate the unknown or ambiguity very well. We would probably feel much more at ease if we knew we could control all of our experiences. However, for most things in life…we don’t have control. If that makes you anxious, stay with me here…
I’ve lived over three decades anxious about the unknown. As a child, I feared the sudden death of my parents. Why? Because they were my safe space (still are). They provided certainty, and a controlled environment. When I was engaged to my (now) husband, I had horrific anxiety over him dying as well (yeah, I know…total buzzkill.). Self-disclosure: I had a total meltdown days before our wedding, because I figured that, statistically, I would experience his death before he experienced mine, and I couldn’t fathom that pain. When we talked about kids, guess what I feared? Yup! The death of a child. At first, I didn’t want to have kids, because the fear of losing a child was THAT strong for me. Spoiler alert: I have two kids, and so far so good.
Are the fears gone now? Hell no. They are still loud and clear.
So, what’s different now?
Purpose. I’ve made seeking purpose a regular part of my life. I’ve literally taken one of the most internally controllable variables, and turned it into something to help me feel more in control of the…well..uncontrollable.
This isn’t anything new, folks. It happens around us all the time. Many parents who lost children in the Sandy Hook tragedy have taken their pain and developed a purpose. Whether it was spearheading the building of a new playground in memoriam of the children lost, or kindness programs being rolled out in schools across the country – the underlying theme? PURPOSE.
I consistently work (definitive word being WORK) to find purpose in whatever pain I’m experiencing. When I was struggling with Motherhood, I created a Facebook group for Moms that was solely based on off-colored, sarcastic, inappropriate memes about being a Mom. I have close to 1,000 members in that group now, and have developed amazing friendships. I also offered an in-person Mom guilt workshop that I am now in the process of making available online. When I recently found myself sitting in immense anxiety during quarantine, I started doing live shows on Facebook about any and all topics having to do with mental health and sexuality. I’ve discovered that the most effective way for me to heal myself, is by helping to heal others.
I know this time is surreal. I know it can feel like it’s never ending. It’s also a great time to use your uncomfortable feelings and direct that energy towards a purpose. Remember, you can have a million different purposes throughout your life depending on where your pain is coming from. When we find purpose in our pain, we remove ourselves from the victim’s seat, and become the victor. Our pain doesn’t have to be some empty dark hole that we continue to fall into. By finding purpose, we can propel through the pain.
The moral of the story is this: Finding purpose in pain allows us to be in the driver’s seat of our healing process. We may not always know what lies ahead, but seek solace in the fact that our hands are always the ones on the wheel. <3
I may or may not be known for pushing our cultural envelope😬. It’s not because I like to stir things up; I’m a Libra – I like the complete OPPOSITE of stirring things up. It’s because I know what it’s like to be a prisoner of my own thoughts. I know what it’s like to wonder what others would think if they REALLY knew what I was thinking. I know what it’s like to feel like the world is going on around me, and as much I’d love to be “normal” like everyone else, it just won’t happen.
I also know what it’s like to be on the other side of all that wondering. To have finally pushed far enough passed my shit, that I “get it” now. I know what it’s like to lean in to what I fear the most about myself. I know what it’s like to finally realize that nobody is normal. As a matter of fact – it DOESN’T. EVEN. EXIST.
I speak about taboo topics for a reason. It’s because it’s in those conversations that people start to let go of their “not normal”. Mental health and sexuality are the two most silenced topics in our culture, yet it causes the most pain for so many of us. So, while I spent the better part of three decades trying to assimilate into “NORMAL”, I failed to understand the power of my “DIFFERENT”. Ironically, it’s not just something I have. So do you. Like I did for so long, many of you have just been hiding it, fighting it, and covering it up.
Whether it’s mental illness, addiction, past trauma, or sexual fantasies and desires, it doesn’t matter. The foundational issue is the same. We’ve been taught that our “different” needs to be hidden and kept from the outside world.
People may wonder why I am so candid about my “different”. It’s because I’ve learned that fear, shame, and guilt CANNOT survive in the light. For many of us, those emotions live in a dark room with the door locked – and they thrive in that space.
Do yourself a favor – walk into the room and turn on the light. Oh – and if you want a hand to hold through it, I’m here. I don’t need directions…I’ve been there before ❤
When the outside world seems so uncertain, anxiety rears its ugly head. For those who already have underlying struggles with anxiety, it seems almost unmanageable. I wish I could say you’re the only one. I wish I could say I don’t know how you feel. Both would be a lie.
Living my entire life with OCD (which is usually accompanied by anxiety), I’ve learned coping strategies when times like these hit. No, it’s not easy. No, it isn’t a one size fits all. However, there’s a common denominator amongst us anxiety warriors. We focus on the WHAT IF, and only ONE SIDE of the WHATIS. But what about the “other side”? The what ALSOIS. Allow me to explain…
Given the current emotional chaos that COVID-19 has caused, let’s use it as my first example. This may trigger anxiety, but try to trust me with where I’m going with it. For many of us, we’re afraid that we might get the virus, and furthermore…die from it. We’re afraid for our loved ones getting sick as well. Understandable? Of course. Because of our anxiety, we are focusing on the WHAT IF, and ONE SIDE of the WHAT IS that exists – people are getting sick and, yes, some are dying.
You want to know what ALSO is?
I have an extended family member (that I am not living with) that tested positive for COVID-19. Guess what? She’s alive, and on her way to recovery – as are many others. As I write this article, there are a total of 103,321 cases in the US, and 1,668 deaths (CDC.gov). So, clearly there are many infected who are also surviving the virus. Anxiety doesn’t want to focus on that, because it doesn’t affirm our fears – and that’s how anxiety thrives. So, it’s critical to not leave out the “What ALSO is”.
Now, let’s talk cancer – another fear of many. Self disclosure – it’s one of my triggers. My anxiety focuses on death, chemo, side effects, financial stress of being out of work, etc. Is any of that valid? Yup! But you know what ALSO IS? The fact that I have several friends and family members who have cancer, and are functioning. I know people who have gone through chemo, and somehow managed to ALSO get through their days – some even stayed at work. Most of those who I know who have had cancer, survived it and are still cancer-free. Anxiety won’t focus on that, though. It’s not scary enough. I mean, how can our brains protect us from what COULD happen, if we are only focusing on what actually IS happening? (rhetorical and massively sarcastic).
How about body image? So many of us have a fear of being viewed as unattractive if we don’t have that Instagram body. We look at cellulite, loose skin, stretch marks, and a lack of abs as if we’re automatically off the market for being attractive. Are there people who are not attracted to those things? Sure! You know what ALSOIS? There’s a gazillion different body types, and miraculously most of us are found to be desirable by someone else – even if we never know about it. But again, anxiety isn’t interested in focusing on what brings us peace – only what creates an utter mind fuck. Am I right?
We get it, anxiety – bad things can happen. Thanks for the heads up (eye roll). It’s human nature to fear the worst. However, I’ve learned that most of the time it’s more of a protective measure, than a productive one. So, even when all of this blows over…and it will…try to remember that there will always be a “What ALSO is”, and it deserves just as much, if not more, attention than anything else.
Dear human beings who suffer from anxiety-related mental health struggles:
Often times when events happen that make the news, or are splattered all over social media, we start to spiral – be it school shootings, medical emergencies, natural disasters, celebrity deaths, etc. Sometimes, what’s happening around us may not even be a specific trigger for us, yet we find ourselves struggling more than usual with anxiety, obsessive thoughts, or depression.
You see, anxiety folks tend to have triggers – specific things that just “hit different” than others. Some have a hard time going to crowded places. Others may have restaurant-specific anxiety. Some might fear heights, clowns, spiders, dogs, flying, death, certain illnesses, etc. The list goes on.
What can be confusing to those with anxiety (and certainly those without), is why a random natural disaster, for example, in another country would cause anxiety to someone here in small town USA? Let me try to help provide a visual that I explained to someone today.
People who live with anxiety typically spend OONGOTZ (might be a fake Italian term?) amount of time subconsciously trying to keep their anxiety at bay. Picture your “regular anxiety triggers” protected in the middle of a circular brick enclosure. These are the things that you are used to causing you anxiety. No surprises here.
When bad “stuff” happens in the world outside of the enclosure, it’s as if rocks are being thrown at the bricks. After a while of that enclosure being battered, it starts to crumble. This leaves your regular triggers vulnerable and exposed.
You may not be responding directly to the event that happened in the world (i.e. the Corona virus), but the event caused your regular triggers to become exposed and irritated.
So, if you find yourself experiencing your anxiety triggers more than usual, if your obsessive thoughts (even if completely unrelated to the world’s events) have sky rocketed, if your depression seems to be more painful lately than normal, understand you’re not alone.
In times like these, I encourage self care more than normal. Step away from social media, binge watch Netflix, read a good book, color, write, self-pleasure (yes, I mean it), bake, or engage in any other activity that helps you REBUILD.
It’s ok to get knocked down. It’s ok to not be ok. But then we rest, we wipe our tears, we dust ourselves off, and we ride again…
Snow days on social media would wreck my soul. I would see parents doing arts and crafts, sleigh riding, and all of the other things that “good Moms” do. I couldn’t stand the thought of having to get all dressed up in a snow suit, only to come back in 5 minutes later.
I guess I wasn’t a good Mom.
Parents taking kids on vacations and day trips, and posting about how amazing it was. I would get stressed at the thought of even packing for a vacation, let alone actually enjoying one. I stressed about the possible car sickness, the fighting in the back seat, the 800th “Are we there yet?”.
I guess I wasn’t a good Mom.
Article after article about screen time and how “horrible” it was for brain development, yet that is how I was able to get work done, cook dinner, and frankly – exhale for a bit.
I guess I wasn’t a good Mom.
Kids going to the local beach every day in town, and I made up some ridiculous reason why we couldn’t. I didn’t want to deal with all that went along with the planning and execution of a beach trip with two young kids on my own (my husband was working). (side note – much easier now that they are older!)
I guess I wasn’t a good Mom.
I was drowning in Mom guilt to the point where it was impacting my relationship with myself, my kids, and even my husband! I was a mess, and something needed to change. This couldn’t POSSIBLY be what was expected to be a “good Mom”. This is not how I grew up, yet I had fallen into society’s expectations of how I should Mom, and it wasn’t matching up with how I NATURALLY Mommed…you feel me?
So, I made a huge shift. I dug deep. I went to therapy.
I. WOKE. UP.
I woke up to how I wanted to Mom. I woke up to accepting how I showed up as a Mom, even though it may not look like anything I saw on social media. I woke up to the CRITICAL ways my own parents showed up for me, and saw that I am showing up exactly the same for my kids. And…I turned out pretty Ok.
I’ve been holding onto this message since she sent it yesterday morning – still with my heart in my gut. My close friend, Emily, was recently diagnosed with cancer, and she sent this to me. So many thoughts I pulled from this, and I wanted to share one of the biggest:
Do you know how many times I get strange reactions from people when I tell them I speak about mental health and sexuality? Do you know how many people have probably unfollowed me? Blocked me? Questioned my “moral compass”? Judged me as a parent? A wife? A human? Probably a lot.
I also hear things like, “Omg, I can’t believe you said that on social media!” Or “Aren’t you worried what other people think when they see your content?”
To the people who are uncomfortable with my level of self-acceptance and raw ‘humanness’, to the point where they judge me – it’s ok. I’m not mad. It doesn’t hurt my feelings. I will never try to make you comfortable. That’s your story to read, not mine. That’s not my mission, nor my purpose.
My purpose in life is to create a safe space for people to uncage themselves from shame and guilt. A space where people can take off every damn mask that life has mistakingly urged them to wear. A space where people can say HERE. I. FUC*%ING. AM, and be met with open arms NO MATTER WHAT. That’s why I’m here, that’s what I do, and that’s WHO I AM.
I focus on sexuality and mental health because that’s what we fear the most about ourselves. They are the most vulnerable parts of who we are, and what we spend our LIVES hiding from.
The underlying message isn’t about sex and mental health. You need to understand that. It’s about RADICAL SELF ACCEPTANCE. And if you can accept the two most innately human and messiest parts of who you are, then THAT is RADICAL SELF ACCEPTANCE – something that our culture clearly tries to stifle from all angles.
So, am I concerned about others opinions? Will I temper my crazy ass messages to this world? Absofreakinlutely NOT. As a matter of fact, I’m really ok that I make dildo jokes, masturbation references, and share my OCD story. It created space for a dear friend to open up, and she will undoubtedly save her own life because of it.
It’s not “kinda” rebellious…it is INCREDIBLY rebellious in our world to be yourself. To openly discuss the sides of us that we’ve been taught to hide, seems to be some act of courage. My opinion? It should be the norm.
Marriage can be tough, parenting can be tough, careers can be tough, money conversation can be tough, our sexuality can be tough, our mental health can be tough, our body image issues can be tough. The list goes on…
So many of us are lost in the ideal that we’re completely neglecting who we ACTUALLY are. By doing this, we attract those who we do not align with. We end up seeking out situations and environments that don’t even really speak to who we are and what we stand for. We settle. We settle as if we have an unlimited amount of time to seek what we actually are deserving of (which is some pretty awesome shit by the way.)
So, I’m going to just put this out there – Be a rebel. And if you’re looking for other rebels out there, I can assure you that you already know at least one 💁🏻♀️
I'm all about transparency, folks!