What You See is What You Get

Lately I’ve been paying attention to something new.

Specifically, I’m paying more attention to what I pay attention to. And noticing that it matters. A lot.

In the past few months I’ve been noticing myself starting to slip a bit off the track into unhelpful patterns of thinking. Ruminating. Spinning my wheels. Focusing on work that needs to be done. Things that could go wrong. Signs of trouble in the world. And unsurprisingly, feeling not that great as a result.

Not that paying attention to these things isn’t a necessary and important part of life – but the right amount, at the right times – is not something I’m always that mindful of. I can get careless with what I let my attention sit on, kind of like drifting off the road and into the ditch – that level of paying attention clearly matters.

The more I observe how my brain works, the more I see how the default mode isn’t always ideal. When things are going well, they tend to keep going well. Why? I think a big reason is because of how I am thinking about them priming me to pay attention. If my current story is that life is good, then I look for signs of that in the world around me.

For example – this fall, when I was investigating my health, and taking new vitamins and minerals, dealing with the parasite – I would be intentionally paying attention to clues. Wondering – Is this working? Do I feel better? Are there signs of improvement? And I would notice them – see little things that show me I felt a bit better, more energy, stronger. And that incoming data affects my story, strengthening it – confirming that I am doing better. And surprise, I feel better. I develop confidence, faith that life is ok.

And during my fall projects at work too, I would have the same positive feedback loop. I would think that I am good at my job, that I am helping people, that I actually know what I’m talking about and have something to contribute – and I see the signs. Confirming that I deserve to be here. That I have something to say that is worth hearing. And I take on bigger challenges, and meet them – succeeding in the first full semester course, co-teaching Designing Your Life at Queen’s, and launching our new certificate for professional development in Career and Academic Advising. And if small things go awry, I’m mostly focused on how things are going well, and feeling good.

But with the weight of winter, and a lack of sunshine catching up to me, my mood starts slipping. I started having a few episodes of despair, and periods of social anxiety in social settings. And things start to shift in the opposite direction. I begin to question my narrative that I am happy, healthy, and strong. And I start going into situations primed in a different way. Primed to look for signs of trouble. Seeing the world is not a happy place. That we are heading for catastrophe. And in my life, the progress I thought I was making, was not really happening. That I’m still going to be trapped by low mood and anxiety – in the face of growing commitments at work that demand me being at my best, and with spring projects around the corner on the homestead. My outlook shifts. It looks bleak.

Cognitive Behaviour Therapy tells us some useful things about these feedback loops. How when I’m anxious, I start to pay attention to specific things – in my case, with social anxiety, I pay attention to my anxiety itself, noticing it growing, and paying attention to cues from people around me – that I am awkward, boring, and not worth talking to. And even if I get signals to the contrary, I’m focused on those signals that things are going wrong – and it tends to steer me further off track. Into panicking and blanking out and needing to get away to regulate. The same with depression – I can start looking to confirm my negative and hopeless views – and see it signs to tell me I’m right. It’s hopeless.

All of which reminds me of a brilliant idea from Joanna Macy in her powerful book Active Hope. The whole book is amazing, but the key idea for today is the Three Stories of Our Time. She outlines three main narratives that we tend to adopt about how the world is doing – each with its own unique consequences. In story number one, Business as Usual, we keep our blinders on. We ignore signs of trouble – and focus on living our lives, one day at a time. This is fine, we say. We just keep doing what we are doing, not needing to make any changes. Underneath this might be some doubts we push out of our minds – afraid to see what might be revealed.

If we pivot, and look at what is going wrong, we can see the second story, The Great Unravelling. Things are falling apart. The world is fucked. We are on fire. Pollution. Inequity. Poverty. War. Pandemics. The actual apocalypse is here and it’s being broadcast 24/7 across our screens and minds. No wonder we want to focus on business as usual. And if we focus on the negativity, it is all too easy to spiral into despair. Into giving up and making no effort for the better.

Luckily, there is a third option. The Great Turning. In this option, we see the first 2 stories. But we also see signs of hope. That in the middle of all this turmoil, there are signs of change a coming. That radical new ways of being and thinking and doing are hatching. We see new ways of organizing. Increasing global consciousness. Connectedness. Technological progress. Ecological insights and tools and methods. Communities growing and strengthening. Growth. Transformation. Rebirth. In this option, because of a shift in focus – we DO take action. Make change. Connect. Take risks. And a positive feedback loop emerges, and perpetuates itself.

As critical as this idea is for our survival as a species on this planet – I keep finding it spilling out into different levels of my awareness. Not just in the macro story of the planet. But of my local community, at work – where there is despair over financial austerity measures, hiring freezes, budget cuts, job losses. Or in my personal life with my health, my mood, my relationships, my land.

Trouble is, for me, and many of us, the habits to dwell on story number 1 or 2 are deeply entrenched. I have well worn grooves and ruts in my mind, as well as biological programming, to pay attention to threats in the hopes of surviving them.

So, lately, I’m working on building a very specific muscle. My attentional control. The thing is, I already happen to have a practice for this, that I have neglected when things were going well. Meditation is literally about paying attention on purpose. So I’m bringing it back. And devoting extra time to the practice of working to master my mind. Focus my attention on my breath, over and over. Bringing it back, and taming the wild elephant. By being conscious of this, I develop that part of my brain that lets me have some choice. A meta-awareness – about my awareness and where it is dwelling.

And I can choose then. To focus on what is helpful. Even just focusing on the present moment, my breath, what’s real around me – takes me out of the negative film reel – and starts to snip the feedback loop. And if I choose to focus on signs of good, then I can inject new energy into my system – inspiration, and hope.

Even in my meditation practice, this already bears fruit. Instead of focusing on pain in my body, I focus on opening. Focus on expansion. Change. Shifting. When I focus on the pain, I tend to contract, and the pain increases. When I focus on expansion and change, I open, it loosens, and the stuck energy begins to circulate again – breathing vitality into my being.

In life too, I can bring this practice – focusing on strengths, gratitude, and hopes and dreams. What is going well. Asking hopeful questions. And seeing the raw data that confirms and feeds positive feedback loops. Going into a party or a workshop, I can focus on signs of connection. Of empathy. Of humour. Care. And in my body, of flowing. Loosening. Freedom. And it changes too.

Lucky for me I have an upcoming 10-day meditation retreat coming where I can do some intensive attentional muscle building and hopefully carry that momentum back into real life, off of the cushion.

But it starts again. Right now. Here. What story am I telling? What do I focus on? There is freedom in each moment to start again. Reset. And get back on track.

Life Lessons in Biochemistry?

When we moved to the country a year and a half ago we faced a wee bit of a learning curve, but one of the biggest things I’ve had to wrap my head around has been managing the chemistry in the hot tub and pool. When we bought the house we were mostly excited about the property for gardening and homesteading, and the hot tub and pool were a bonus – we weren’t really “pool people”. Little did I know how many life lessons there were lurking in the depths, waiting to find me…

When we first took possession, we had fantasized about how our first night would be so romantic, we’d jump in the pool, have champagne in the hot tub, and finally relax after all the real estate stress of the spring. When we arrived, the pool was green and mucky, and the hot tub was filled with slime. Not exactly what we were hoping for… After coming to accept the work at hand, I started learning about the basics of how to look after them – and got a quick lesson from the local pool expert. After not too long I was familiar with the main concepts that I needed to pay attention to: pH, total alkalinity, hardness, chlorine levels, and stabilizer. I started to dutifully follow the instructions from the pool place – testing with strips regularly to adjust levels and keep them all in the right amounts. After a month or so I started feeling more and more comfortable – like I knew a bit of what was going on. I developed my routines: go to the store to pick up more chemicals, and get the water tested there to get accurate readings to keep everything running fine.

But things weren’t fine. There were strange things that didn’t seem to add up. In my confusion, and deferring to the experts at the pool stores, I would ask them – why is my pH creeping up? What’s happening with the alkalinity? How come online I’ve read that stabilized chlorine isn’t actually so good to use? Do you sell another kind? The answers were always the same – don’t worry about it. Just do this. Buy more of that. You can ignore those numbers. Stabilizer doesn’t matter. Luckily the local pool expert told me that I should really be paying attention to the stabilizer levels – which no one at the pool stores paid attention to. And I started to dive in online to find my own answers – and realized that what the “authorities” had to say was not so accurate.

I will try to keep the science here to a minimum, but to put it very simply – chlorine, without any stabilizer, is very unstable and will burn off in the sunlight quickly. So we need to add SOME stabilizer to it. But the thing with stabilizer is that IT is VERY stable – and it NEVER goes away. So if you keep on adding stabilizer, it accumulates to levels much higher than you need rather quickly – and in fact – it causes your hot tub to be unsafe – since it is making the chlorine TOO stable – and not actually sanitizing your hot tub. As an added bonus – it messes with your pH which is important for basic functioning of the tub and the other chemicals. But almost NO stores sell unstabilized chlorine – so most people just keep on adding more and more stabilizer and then need to eventually drain the hot tub and refill it and add all the chemicals again since the only way to reduce stabilizer is to dilute it with lots more water. I will spare you more details, but if you are wrestling with actual chlorine hot tub chemistry I am very happy to talk about what I’ve learned. Lucky for me, there is ONE store in Kingston that sells unstabilized chlorine, Aqua Bay – and I found out about it from a friend of Carlyn’s – and that has solved that issue.

There were other chemistry lessons that I won’t go into – but one of the main hurdles to figuring this all out was the testing process. Most stores sell these dip strips that quickly read all 6 chemical levels and tell you where you are at so you can figure out how to balance it. But guess what? Most of these test strips are highly inaccurate – so they will get to you add or not add what you need and the hot tub will get more out of whack and need further interventions later to restore balance. So, after further research, I finally bought an advanced testing kit online that is more work to use, but is highly accurate and has showed me where my levels are at for myself so I can manage it properly without depending on pool stores. Turns out a little knowledge is a powerful thing.

So why on earth am I explaining all of this to you? How are there secret life lessons to be had?

The thing is, that while I was wrestling with these questions in chemistry, I was also wrestling with a parallel set of questions in biology. Mine. And the patterns were eerily similar.

In the winter before we moved I started have some new and interesting physical symptoms. I’ve always had low blood sugar, anxiety and depression, and been somewhat underweight. But in winter of 2022 I started having new and unexplained dizzy spells and fatigue, and was at my lowest weight as an adult. In the past I would get dizzy or weak if I went too long without eating – but this was NOT that – even if I had just eaten in the last hour I would still get winded and tired after 10 minutes of exercise.

So, as a good citizen, I went to my local expert, my family doctor, and asked about it. I had always been wrestling with low blood sugar and iron, and had done some tests over the years with him, leading to vague answers. Usually that I was borderline with my blood sugar, or my iron was low, so I should take more, despite eating a very healthy diet. Which was somewhat satisfying, but didn’t answer the underlying question – WHY? He did a few more tests, including a celiac test, and nothing. I asked what other options we had to investigate or other ideas he had – and he said he had nothing else to try. Basically, his answer was: this is the way you are, you need to adapt to it. You are only borderline on these charts, so you don’t have a real problem – just take supplements for the rest of your life. Then he retired and left me without a doctor.

I tried other avenues including a naturopath, auricular testing, and finally a functional medicine nurse practitioner over the last 2 years – seeking answers to the questions that the health care system could not provide. I tried vitamins, not eating gluten for a year, nutritional supplements, and more. And finally, only recently, did I start getting some hot leads on directions to investigate. After doing an in-depth blood panel with the nurse practitioner, we saw I was low in a lot of key nutrients. But she didn’t stop there. Because her orientation was functional medicine, rather than main stream medicine that seems to be more reactive and putting out fires and responding to red zone issues – she wanted to find what I needed to be in optimal health. So the next thing we did was a GI Map test where we sent a stool sample to New Jersey (sorry New Jersey), and they sent back a 10 page booklet. With Answers. Like revealing that I had VERY low healthy bacteria in my gut. And not only this, but on the next page the big reveal…. I had a parasite. Blastocystis. It had a name. And what does it do? It just so happens to EAT MY FOOD. Before me. Especially my iron. So all of these things, low energy, low weight, low mood, poor sleeping, low nutrients, low healthy bacteria – start making a lot more sense.

The next steps have been to try taking an anti-parasitic to knock this fella out of my gut, which I got special ordered a few weeks ago and have just finished the first round. I will see how that goes, continue with supplements, probiotics, and getting blood work checked in a few weeks to see. It very well might take some more fine tuning and tweaking and trying new things – but I have gotten a lead in the mystery that is taking me in whole new directions.

So what did I learn from these 2 seemingly disparate experiences? What’s the connection?

1. The importance of self-advocacy. We have lots of amazing systems in place that help us travel, learn, send information, provide health care, food, and more. But they aren’t exactly designed with ME in mind. And often it seems like they are not holistically “designed” by anyone, they just are the way they have evolved. So while I can get upset at the healthcare system, I also couldn’t do any better if I had to. Same with the hot tub commercial industry. They don’t exist to help ME find my way. I need to do that. By asking good questions. Not being satisfied with the easy answers. And keep on asking questions. And importantly..
2. Learning to find my own answers. Talking to multiple people. Reading various sources online. And getting good data – like the pool test kit, or the advanced blood work – that can give insight into the unique mystery of who I am and what I in particular am facing. Then I can start paying attention to…
3. The details that matter. I’ve always been more of a big picture, intuitive, emotional decision maker, preferring to skip over the details in service of efficiency. But the details really do matter. In my hot tub I could have amazingly balanced 5 of 6 chemicals, but if one of them is off (even if people tell me that one doesn’t matter) – it can affect all of them, profoundly. And the same in my body – even if my results show I’m only on the margins of dysfunction, there can be a devil in those details – like my friendly neighbourhood parasite lurking in my stomach just skimming off my nutrient profits hoping nobody notices the con. But even with some directions…
4. Change takes time. Not only does it take time to find answers – but even once I have some insight, it still takes time to make the chance come to fruition. You can’t change pool pH in a heartbeat – it takes time to adjust it over hours. And the same with my bloodwork – it takes months to bring up iron or B12 or rebuild gut flora. So I need to be operating with good data because change over months is not easy to track or understand on a daily intuitive level. But even when I think I have it all figured out, I really need to…
5. Keep living with questions. The biggest obstacles to my edification with both of these processes were my own thinking that I knew all the answers. That stopped me from looking, listening, and paying attention. But when I kept my questions alive – I kept learning and refining, and getting closer to something resembling the truth.

So. Do I have all the answers now? I suspect not. I think I have more to learn on both fronts. And that is probably a good thing…

Finding the Edge

Well. It looks like it has been 2+ years since my last post – a lot has happened since then, but with the changing seasons, it seems like a good time to reconnect with the practice of writing here. It’s been a hectic couple of years – in the spring of 2022 we bought a new house in the countryside north of Kingston, with 20 acres of land to work with as our homesteading canvas. And it’s been quite a whirlwind so far, with a lot of updating to the house, and projects on the land like roadwork, a pond, and solar panels – but as we ease into winter here, I find myself with a little more space than I’ve had for a while – and while the achiever in me wants to continue to check things off to-do lists – I’m inclined to not rush to fill it all in so quickly…

There have been a lot of homesteading projects that I’ve tackled over the last 18 months that were at the edge of what I thought I could do. I already felt pretty comfortable with cutting wood and gardening basics from my farming experiences, but this is a new scale of independent gardening that has been exciting. I’m a pretty big fan of gradually scaling up challenges over time. In Kingston we had a wee garden plot of around 15×20 which we maximized – but now we have jumped to 50×100 – a whole new scale of project, that has been going well with some learning experiences… That has included basic plumbing for the irrigation system, as well as small engine maintenance – something I’ve never really had in my skill set. The powerful lesson for me has been that more things are possible than I imagined – something like changing the oil filter in the ATV, putting in a new car battery, or building a wood shed, are things that are actually doable by regular people – and I’ve done them. With a little help from the internet – reading manuals, watching videos, and asking for advice – these are now things that I can do. And with each small victory comes the confidence to consider taking on a new more demanding challenge.

One thing that has helped me to navigate this edge and survive the stress and chaos of the last year has been accommodation. It’s a theme I’ve been reflecting on for a while – almost more as a general philosophy as well as a HR procedure or workplace practice. In my work life I’ve struggled to find balance over the last decade, with the social nature of my job as a career counsellor – I need to talk to lots of people – and with social anxiety and depression this can be extremely challenging – made even more so by the varying levels of capacity I have day to day. I can go from feeling excited to connect to loathing the torture of being in the spotlight in front of a group.

As I’ve written about in the past, there are a lot of tools I work with to try to navigate the challenges of this existence. Medication, therapy, meditation, journaling, exercise, time in nature, good food, time with friends all have their place and support me thriving. But one factor stands out as being a major difference maker recently – working with accommodations. I’ve been lucky enough to work with some very capable professionals at Queen’s to get to a place in my work that sets me up for success. With the support of my doctor/therapist, I’ve worked over the past years to refine the conditions where I tend to thrive – less group presentations, more focus on smaller groups of mature audiences, more 1-1 and more project time, and working 60% full time (3 days a week). This navigation has required some careful negotiation and consideration of what my employer needs, what I can offer, and what works for my life and those around me. I’m grateful to have been able to find a place that is working for the time being, with a supportive partner, manager, and team. This re-balancing has let me find more balance, with time to spend on homesteading projects working outside on physical tasks to balance the social focus of my time in the office, and which contribute to the home economy in a different way.

I used to have a bias against accommodations, I’ll admit it. I would look at it as a sign of weakness. That someone is using it to get out of work. To be lazy or shirk responsibility. And that critical voice is still in my head, frequently – worrying I’m not being productive enough, making enough money, or comparing myself to people who can do more. But over time I’ve come to see things from new angles too. When I was at my worst, I could have asked to be totally off of work – but I didn’t actually want to. I could have been home being paid – which immature me would have thought of as a sweet gig. But in the moment then, and still now, I didn’t want that – I wanted the opportunity to work. I wanted to be able to contribute and connect. And reap the many rewards that can come from meaningful work – purpose, competency, mastery, impact, challenge, and satisfaction. So I kept working, but reduced to 50%. And started to come out of the darkness. Instead of looking at each day with a feeling of dread, worrying about what my inner rollercoaster ride might be that day – I started to open up with more and more positivity.

I was lucky enough to have a director that saw what I could offer and wanted to work to put me into a position where I could use my strengths in a sustainable way – and had a new role created as “Senior Career Consultant”. In this role I am really starting to feel like I’ve arrived at work, showing up with a new degree of optimism and confidence. I spend a decent chunk of time bringing my 20 years of work experience to bear on working on various projects and creative tasks, support individual students and scholarship programs, and lead some specific group activities – like co-teaching a Design Your Life course for the first time over a whole semester, and leading the development of a new Career & Academic Advising Certificate for staff at Queen’s. Willingly. Instead of being forced to do these projects, I’m the one coming up with them, feeling confident that I can accomplish things.

There was a useful idea I’ve grabbed on to from a Trauma-Informed coaching workshop at Cannexus, that talked about levels of trauma response and activation – similar to a traffic light. In the green zone, all systems are go – we are free to use our strengths and interact with the world freely. In the yellow zone, we are in caution mode, activating stress responses to shut down regular orientations towards connection, resting, digesting, playing, and creativity, more focused on threat response of fight or flight. In the red zone, we move more into learned helplessness, shutting down and giving up. And I had been spending way too much of my time in the red and yellow zones to be healthy.

The tricky thing to figure out about this for me has been that as humans, we tend to be pretty darn resilient. Elastic. Capable to bouncing back. And tolerating hardship. For a long time. Which seems amazing, right? But it can also be a problem – because we CAN put up with non-ideal conditions longer that is ideal. I often find it helpful to think of how I would treat a plant that I loved – I would want to know what it needs to thrive – in simple terms like how much water does it need, how much light, any nutrition, and more. While I could get away with leaving a plant to slowly wither and fade and only water it when it is desperate and wilting – I could also consider giving it what it wants to be its best plant self.

So for me, that looks like finding the sweet spot. The edge. I often work with students who are reluctant to be with discomfort in any way, and can stay stuck because of it. But just as problematic can be taking on too much challenge, and pushing ourselves too far into the red zone. That sweet spot to me is elusive – it’s a dynamic, fluid place – somewhere just pushing the edge of what I think I can do and handle. In learning theory, we call this the Zone of Proximal Development – that space just pushing our limits. That’s where the magic happens. Coming back to the plant metaphor – at the beginning when we have tender babies, we give them everything we can to have a good life. Lights, heat mats, water, soil – but when it is time to put them out into the harsh world – we harden them off, gradually. Putting them out into the elements for an hour, then 2, then 4, then a whole day – and they respond, amazingly – by toughening up. But if we just throw them in the ground and fend for themselves, many of them are shocked and die. The trauma of the change is too much. But with support, they put down deep roots and strengthen their stem, grow leaves, and start to be self-sustaining and resilient.

Another theory from work comes up for me with this – the concept of Self Authorship. That as we mature into adulthood, we move from a place where we are managed by other people – parents and teachers – who tell us what to do, where, when, and how – and slowly over time we take over responsibility for our lives. And much of this growth happens in response to crisis and disequilibrium. When faced with a challenge where our previous understanding and skills don’t seem to be up to the task, we are given the choice of failure or growth. Growth is not always the outcome of crisis, but it CAN be – with supports along the way and room to make mistakes and try new things.

For me, and many others, the past few years have been tremendously challenging. There has been suffering, heartbreak, loss, and more. But there has also been growth. And signs of hope. People coming together. Innovation and creativity. And setting boundaries and considering self-care. For me, working with challenges used to be about pushing through or giving up. But now I see there are more options at play – what kinds of ways can I support myself through this period ahead? Are there resources or modifications that I can employ? How can I grow from this? While there will always be unexpected disruptions and crises that are out of my control, can I try to be moving towards setting up my life to put myself in a position where I can thrive? To spend more time in the green zone, and less in the red and yellow zones? Where I can be at my best, not just for me, but for those around me? With this general mindset of trying to set myself up for success, I can start to feel more confident that I can handle the occasional shock, knowing that there is more elasticity and resiliency in the system if I’m not spending so much time stretched to my limits. In finding my edge, and spending time there, I can also find strength, courage, and hope for the future.

Remembering Joni.

Today our beloved dog Joni breathed her last breath. She lived 12 plus years of life to the fullest, filled with things she loved (and hated). Her last day was a quiet affair, mostly spent in the back yard with us as we waited for the appointment with the vet, feeding her by hand and carrying her around, and loving her up. To remember her tonight, we felt inspired to share a list of a few of her favourite things….

1. Eating almost anything in sight.
2. Snuggling.
3. Chasing animals.
4. Bunnies specifically.
5. Swimming.
6. Shaking off right beside people who are dry.
7. Rolling in snow, dirt, mud, and smelly things.
8. Especially shoes. Slippers. Feet. She even ate a sock once.
9. Treats.
10. Eating cooking scraps like cabbage and other crunchy foods.
11. Digging.
12. Lying in the dirt, especially in her sand hole.
13. Running with her friend Schade.
14. Belly rubs, butt rubs, head scratches, and deep tissue massage.
15. Being in the same room as us.
16. Drinking water from salmon/tuna cans.
17. Getting in the car. Anyone’s car. Anytime.
18. Head-pressing.
19. Running in ecstatic joy circles.
20. Chasing toys.
21. Chewing on toys.
22. Tug of war.
23. Licking dirty plates.
24. Licking herself.
25. Licking people.
26. Licking the car.
27. Eating dirt.
28. Eating grass.
29. Eating dead animals.
30. Eating shit.
31. Lying on people.
32. Resting her head on your leg to beg for treats.
33. Eating anything you drop at anytime.
34. Lying in sunbeams.
35. Being in charge.
36. Being first.
37. Her many friends. Mostly humans, but a few dogs.
38. Her family.

While the things she loved were many, she did have things she definitely did not love too:

1. Fire alarms.
2. Vacuum cleaners.
3. Most other dogs.
4. Walking on gravel.
5. Citrus, vinegar, spicy food, and ketchup. The only things she wouldn’t eat.
6. Slippery floors.
7. Going down stairs.
8. Having things thrown at her to catch.
9. Being clean.
10. Going to the vet.
11. Being left behind.

Thanks for being our loving friend and companion for more than a decade. You were loved. Rest in peace, Joni.

The In-Between

A few things have changed since I last wrote about my upcoming return to work in February, to put it mildly. On the world stage, the global pandemic and social upheavals have turned our lives upside-down, leaving almost no one unaffected (albeit in drastically different ways). On the personal side, after an unexpected month off to end the school year, I returned to work at Queen’s a few weeks early to resume my role, this time working from home on my computer.

I’ve found the many disruptions and changes in life to be complex to make sense of, but definitely with lots of opportunities for insight. One change has been going from not working, to working – and I’ve seen how that has affected me quite vividly. From the outset I had a lot of gratitude to be able to be working at all when so many were out of work, and also so appreciative of the chance to contribute, help others, and be challenged after a month where my biggest challenge was boredom and isolation. But quickly the positives were tempered by feelings of overwhelm, with so much change to navigate in the remote workplace, getting up to speed with all the projects of those who report to me, and getting back into the groove of helping students during this time that is so challenging for so many. For the most part I’ve had a fairly steady progression of getting more grounded and feeling progressively in control of the workflow, although I’ve definitely had some setbacks.

Outside of work, life is obviously disrupted in a big way by the pandemic with our contact with other’s drastically limited by social distancing and other precautions. Part of me really misses the intimate interaction with friends and family (and even strangers I suppose), of having fun, playing games, music, sharing food, and hugs. But part of me also appreciates the forced opportunity to take the social side down a notch (not that I ever was SO social). So I’ve spent a lot more time reading, playing music alone, meditating, hiking, cooking, gardening, and of course lots of time hanging with my main bubble and life mates Carlyn and Joni. For the most part though, the pandemic for me has been mostly an inconvenience, and I have been lucky enough to feel safe most of the time – lucky to work from home, and not be on the front lines taking on risks like so many others are. I suppose it also contributes to my persistent levels of anxiety by taking it all up a notch just with all the social and economic uncertainty that is happening in our society as well.

And related to that, there have been so many significant events on the social side of things, it seems futile to even try to touch on them. With daily stories and events related to racism unfolding, it feels like the ground is shifting beneath our feet at a time when society was already destabilized by the pandemic, so many of our basic assumptions and patterns are being brought to light by protests, arrests, killings, and stories shared by people from equity seeking groups like people of colour, LGTBQ+, women, and more. I’ve been trying to get more informed by listening, reading, and reflecting on everything – reading books like White Fragility, and fiction like The Marrow Thieves, and Kindred in my book club, and having conversations with thoughtful people in my life.

In one sense, I feel sheltered from some of these currents sweeping our world. Living a life with privilege, having food, shelter, opportunity, education, relationships, and health. I’m deeply affected by hearing about the suffering of others during these challenging times, and struggle to know how to respond. As a white person of privilege, I’m overwhelmed by complex feelings and thoughts, a mix of guilt and confusion at having it relatively easy, of having benefited from my place in society at this time in history, from the oppression of others living and dead. Even trying to put this in to words is so tricky – I worry of saying the wrong thing, or offending someone unintentionally without being aware of all the ways my words could impact someone else.

When the Black Lives Matter movement was really heating up, there was an intense and polarized debate that took place online in, of all places, a birdwatching group on Facebook. People were sharing posts about black birders, and the struggles they have faced – and a strong backlash of people not wanting those “political” posts in their birding group – they wanted the right to be able to enjoy birding without having to think about issues of race. I found that so striking – because the posts they wanted to ignore were about people who had no choice but to think about issues of race when THEY were birding. And so as I went out and about, I became hyper aware of my privilege in being able to go birding, affording equipment, time in nature, and feeling safe – made even more so by the presence of camping homeless folks in Belle Park where we often birded.

As I’m reflecting now on all these recent events and constant changes, I’m seeing some emerging themes. On a grand scale with public health, the environment, the economy, and social forces like systemic racism, but also on a private scale as I navigate my own inner challenges of anxiety and depression – I see some parallels.

One is inter-connectivity – as much as we like to try and compartmentalize and split off parts of our experience and world, we are being reminded that we are all deeply connected. We can’t ignore things any longer – pandemics, environmental crises, and social upheavals all show this dramatically. And with this inter-connectivity is a responsibility. The pandemic requires each of us to take care of our own shit – we need to wear masks to protect OTHERS, not ourselves, and depend on others to do the same. Likewise, working through racist patterns in ourselves, and in society, requires each of us to work on ourselves, for the sake of others. So I try to become aware, of what is inside me, and what I’m doing unawares – seeing as White Privilege explained to me that racism is present in everyone, and we need to become aware to root it out in ourselves – much the way that germs and bacteria come with us everywhere, so we need to improve our personal hygiene. We’ve become conscious – and this consciousness can be crippling and terrifying at first – but with time we can develop new habits to take this into account.

On the inside, I see parts of myself as inconvenient, that I’d like to split off and hide from my awareness are also making themselves heard and demanding attention. Feelings of sadness, anger, and anxiety have always been a challenge for me. Having had a lot of space this past year with my leave, it’s been easier with time to process and space to feel my way through things. With the return to work, comes the challenge of trying to navigate my usual ups and downs, along with the constant demands and stress from counselling students and leading a team. And these feelings aren’t going away – as inconvenient as that is – they are getting louder again. Protesting. Rioting. Putting up a fight. And I try to put them away – and it works for a little while, but they come back again. So eventually I have to give up my illusion of being in control and being separated from them and just listen. Give them space, genuinely hear what they want, and sincerely respond – because I’m not separate. I AM them.

I’m reading a thought provoking book right now by James Hollis called Living Between Worlds – Finding Personal Resilience in Challenging Times. A major theme is from depth psychology – that says when we were younger we learned ways to survive in the face of challenges and trauma, and these stories helped us get to where we are now, but we are still limited by these stories. When issues bubble up to the surface in the form of pathology like anxiety or depression, they are an invitation to become aware of these stuck places, where we are still acting in old ways that aren’t serving us anymore. It’s a chance to address these splits in ourselves of ways we’ve clamped down to try and avoid old wounds, and to work towards wholeness. To work towards including these shut off parts of ourselves, and indeed this healing can be more than just removing a negative, it can be accessing the vitality that was being used in holding those stuck patterns in place. So our job is to access that, and give birth to what our soul is trying to express.

In my experience, when I finally turn to face a painful feeling, it is terribly uncomfortable. I’ve tried a million strategies to avoid it – ignoring it, working on it, exercising, journalling, therapy, drinking, shopping… you name it. But eventually I give up. I enter a phase of hopelessness where I can’t escape from it (which Pema Chodron writes about so well in When Things Fall Apart). And this hopelessness means I give up trying to NOT feel that way and I turn to face it and go IN. And as I soften, it does too. We both start getting less polarized. I’m less scared of it, and I start to see a tenderness within the pain and tightness that had built up to protect that wound or stuck energy. It starts to loosen, and lighten, and I become more free, and start filling up with energy again, and joy, and possibility and hope.

And again I’ll get hooked, and shut down, and close down from fear and trying to avoid discomfort and pain. And again I will eventually give up and open to it and listen and integrate it into my experience, growing lighter and stronger and freer each time.

In the same way I’ve been working at singing – where I notice constrictions in my body, my throat, my voice – from insecurities, efforting, trying to sound like someone else – but as I work through these to open up and loosen up, and practice – I become clearer. At first it’s embarrassing, to risk singing poorly, but if I am patient with myself and let myself be vulnerable, I can improve and find my own voice, singing with lightness and clarity and joy instead of insecurity.

As I’m writing this, I can’t help but think of the macro and the micro simultaneously. Working on ourselves, and working systemically I see many striking similarities. The discomfort, the constrictions, the avoidance, the initial pain and fear of going in to uncomfortable places – but also the promise of hope, of integration, healing, and potential being unleashed.

So what in the world is going on? As I try to navigate this new emerging world order, I’m continually re-writing the story in my mind to make sense of the changing landscape. At first it was apocalyptic – a disaster that kept getting worse. But now my story is starting to have tones of hope – that maybe this is what healing looks like. The messy, wound opening, cleaning up, and airing out that is so necessary to move on and regain a healthier way of living and interbeing.

This new story helps me in my own life, when shit feels like it is hitting the fan – to re-title that chapter to be about healing and progress instead of doom and failure. It helps me find strength, humility, and courage to face myself and the world, and continue the journey forward.

I often catch myself future dreaming – that soon things will be different and this or that problem will go away – then I will be comfortable and safe. That there is some kind of preferred future where there is no pain and discomfort. Clearly, that is not the case. I always seem to find myself in the in-between. In this place between the past and future where things aren’t quite clear, the world doesn’t quite seem settled, my feelings are complex and murky – and I can’t quite find my footing. The present is a messy place – but that mess is where life happens. A glorious mess indeed.

Getting Back to Work.

It’s been 8 months since I started my leave last summer, and with 2 months to go, I’ve turned my attention more seriously to what is next (although I’ve been thinking about it constantly since October, I won’t lie). And I’m finally getting some clarity after months of indecision and anguish.

This has probably been the hardest decision of my life, actually. For some reason, most of my previous big life decisions have been mostly pretty clear. I knew what I wanted and what I needed to do. But this one has been complicated, and I just haven’t been able to think my way through it. Lord knows, I’ve tried.

I took my leave last summer knowing that I needed a break from my job at Queen’s, where I had been working for the last 8 years. I’ve written about this part before, but I had reached a point of burnout, especially after the last 2 years working close to full-time as team lead. The work itself has been very rewarding for many reasons, but there have been a few challenges for me specifically with my mental health (namely anxiety and episodes of depression) that made it more taxing, and lead to me needing to take a break (which I was lucky enough to be able to do).

At the time, I didn’t really know what would come of it. I just knew I needed to change things up. So I did, in a big way. After a summer working on the cabin, on retreat, and doing some cooking, I’ve spent the last 6 months in Chef School at SLC in Kingston – and it has been just what the doctor ordered. A change of scenery and focus, new skills, new ideas, new friends, and a whole new world.

And what started as just a break, started to take on more meaning and weight. I began to entertain the idea that this could actually be a good fit for me in the long term. There are so many things about cooking that I love – the immediacy, the physicality of it, working with food, being a part of a team, the excitement, the learning involved. So I dove in farther, learning in my classes, practicing in my labs, and even allowing myself to imagine an alternative future.

But the whole time, I felt torn. There was this persistent feeling of stuckness. Not being able to let go of my work in counselling, even though it felt so good to be doing something new. And so I’d oscillate between the two opposite worlds of counselling and cooking, leaning this way and that, never ready to go to one side or the other.

But as a good career counsellor would advise, I explored possibilities. Kept my options open, and let myself imagine different possible futures. Continued to reflect on what I was experiencing, and talked things through with different folks. I even networked my way into a job interview, did a trial shift at a local restaurant, and got a job offer.

Which, oddly, is when I finally got some clarity. That offer somehow gave me permission to consider my work at Queen’s in a new light. Instead of feeling stuck in a situation where I was struggling, it was now a choice. I was free to go to the new place, but because of that, I could finally consider my work for all it had to offer. Which is a lot. I have a supportive supervisor, great colleagues, a chance for meaningful connection with engaged clients, an established network and credibility, and a dynamic workplace and innovative projects.

One of the things that made this decision more complex is the mental health component of things. I recently read a great book from CERIC about how career development can contribute to mental health – a fascinating read professionally and personally. A key point though, is that they separate mental health from mental illness, and instead of putting them on two ends of a spectrum, put them on two intersecting axes (the plural of axis, I checked). So while you can have mental illness, you can ALSO have mental health – which consists of positive, life enhancing factors, qualities, and behaviours. And mental health factors, can make dealing with mental illness easier.

I’ve noticed a trend in myself (and many humans it seems), to tend to project my struggles outward onto my environment. So over time, I tend to see my situation as causing my suffering, instead of it being internal to myself. So imagine then, working for eight years somewhere and feeling increasing anxiety and depression over that time – seems natural to want to pin it on the workplace. But since having the break, I get to see that it’s not only from the workplace. Because even when I’m NOT there, I still have to contend with anxiety and depression – albeit, not as extreme. So there is a clue for me in that – the work matters, but the maxim holds “Wherever you go, there you are.”

And in all this experiencing and reflecting, I’m starting to see a way forward. I’m grateful to be working with my employer to put accommodations in place to make my worklife more workable for all parties. To be able to accommodate my social anxiety and depression in such a way that doesn’t lead to burnout. I’m hoping that a relatively simple tweak of reduced hours and workshops will do the trick and not have too much of an impact on operations.

But here is where the idea of Getting Back to Work comes in to its other meaning (there’s always another meaning with me). The internal side of things. As much as the environment matters, I need to be careful not to take my mental health for granted. Just like physical health demands some attention and maintenance (more for some than others), so too does my mental health. I need to do things to keep mentally fit. I know I can be inclined to waste time on my phone playing games, ruminate, or avoid anxiety inducing situations. But this vicious cycle can lead to worse mental health for me. So I need to do the work.

For me the work can include a lot of things. Simple self-care like meditation, journalling, exercise, eating well. Digital hygiene like limiting screen time (including disabling apps like Facebook on my phone, or setting my phone to black and white mode to make it more boring to look at). Psychology homework like independent study about burnout, stress, and trauma, doing regular CBT exercises, seeing a therapist, and considering medication when appropriate. And social activity, connecting, reaching out, and taking social risks. Going outside. Gardening. Cooking. All of those things that look like living a good life to me.

It’s kind of funny/sad, but if I told people I had a heart condition and that was why I needed to take a year off to rest and recover – it would just be so much easier to talk about. But when it is something like burnout, stress, and mental illness – there is this layer of shame to it all for me. Even writing this, I’m still a bit afraid to share these things (although I’ve shared things in the past and found it to be mutually beneficial). Intellectually, I know that mental health struggles are common place. And that it is possible to have mental illness and still be a successful and valued member of society. But that doesn’t make it not scary to admit to it. Probably also means it is worth talking about it.

So? I’m feeling somewhat optimistic. I’ve just finished reading a great book called How to Be Yourself, about social anxiety, and am launching into a new one on stress and trauma called Widen the Window that looks equally amazing. And I’m starting to be able to see ideas about the next chapter of my life. When I’ve not had this hopeful story going on this past year, I’ve really struggled to carry on. And when I have had a story I could believe in, it has made a huge difference.

I’ve learned a lot about food this past year – and I’ve probably learned even more about myself. But, even though my next job isn’t going to be as a cook, I know there is a lot I’ve gained from my time at SLC. I know my cooking skills have improved, as has my bravery in the kitchen. And who knows where those skills might come to play in the future – maybe a B&B, food system development, volunteering at Martha’s Table, or just keeping Carlyn happy and well fed.

Ironically, all this turmoil and gradual resettling and clarification has been not just personally useful, but professionally so as well. It has renewed my belief in the importance of career development, direction, and purpose. And refreshed my empathy for others finding their way through their own career journeys. And it’s gotten me back to the point where I’m not doing this work because I feel like I have to. It’s because I want to. And that is something I want for others too.

What’s cooking?

So, I’m now three weeks in to chef school at St. Lawrence College here in Kingston, and starting to find my feet a little bit. A lot of people have been asking what it’s like, so I figured it was maybe time to tell you!

Before my first day of school, I was a cocktail of excited and anxious – it had been a long time since diving in to something so new for me. It was easy to take for granted the comfort offered by routines and stability in a 9 to 5 job for the last 8 years – I knew so well the timing of everything I needed to do in my day and how to do the tasks. But now, I was starting again. I didn’t know my way around, I didn’t know how to do anything, and I didn’t know anybody!

Looking around on orientation day at my new classmates, I was struck by how young everyone was. Most people in my class are just out of high school or in their early twenties. Not surprisingly, I am actually fine with that, being used to dealing with that age from my work, and having a mostly youthful outlook on life. I also felt a lot of empathy for everyone who was embarking on something new for the first time, never having done this – leaving home or going to a big new scary place. I am particularly impressed by the number of international students in my class that are taking on an even bigger adventure!

The first few weeks have had a steep learning curve. A lot of emphasis on safety and basic techniques in the kitchen that will be a foundation for more complex endeavours later on. Knife cuts, stocks, breads, sauces, and the basics of food science, nutrition, and kitchen management. I’m loving that for the most part – it is a great blend of learning theory paced to match the practical lab components in the kitchen where we spend more than half of our time. Understanding how starches gelatinize, proteins coagulate, yeasts ferment, and different cooking methods affect the food in different ways all informs how I think while I’m in the kitchen working on something.

Probably the most significant lesson I’m learning from the first few weeks is the importance of the details. In general I’ve been more of an intuitive, efficient, action oriented person who likes to do things quickly and “good enough” – but I’m seeing how there are some crucial points where the details make all the difference. Like making a good stock, for example – I don’t want to actually boil it or stir it to avoid clouding it and releasing impurities. So being more patient with the process produces a stronger final product.

The other process, separate from the content and science piece, is the formation of a group that is happening. While our whole class has something like 80 students, our kitchen lab section has around 20. And this group is starting to gel. In the first week we were stumbling around the kitchen, not knowing where things are, what to do, and how to stay on top of all the work. But after a few baking labs that finished more than an hour late (already a 4 hour lab), we are starting to pay more attention to “cleaning as we go” and doing the dishes and tidy up constantly. People are helping each other more and more, sharing extra butter or utensils that you know someone is going to need in 5 minutes.

I suppose, another aspect that I’ve found surprising is the level of discipline and authority structure at play. It seems more like an army troop than an office place – with a clear leader (always addressed as Chef!), who everyone has to listen to at the drop of a hat. We need to wear clean uniforms, follow procedures, sign up for roles in the lab, and be on time or be locked out. The independent adult in me kind of chaffs at this, but I’m surrendering to the process and finding it somewhat comforting. In a setting like a kitchen where safety is paramount to prevent burns, cuts, and poisoning, and time is of the essence, we don’t have time to be touchy feely. You do what you are told, and do it quickly. After years spent working in counselling where I listen to my clients carefully, trying to draw out their deeper thoughts and aspirations, this is a real shift – where the task focus is the main piece. Not that people aren’t still considerate or polite, they are all quite friendly and accommodating.

So, three weeks in, and I think that I can see this is actually a decent fit so far. My initial anxiety about “what am I getting myself into?” is passing. I am feeling like this is a place I can feel somewhat at home and belong. Learning, cooking, and growing as a group. I am enjoying the practical hands on components, and applying things to my life already. Using these technical, scientific, creative, task-focused, problem-solving parts of myself feels good.

I guess the last thing I’m reflecting on at this stage, is other people’s reactions to what I’m doing this year. People are excited about it. A lot of people I talk to have something that THEY would like to be doing instead of what they are doing now (and many even specifically mention cooking). It strikes me how many of us feel chained to our current lives, continuing to do things how we’ve done them, afraid to disrupt the routine. I was terrified at the idea of stopping working full-time, but was lucky to get the leave to try this out, and be supported by Carlyn in doing it. And also just desperate enough to do it after a few years of battling depression and anxiety. So maybe things had to get bad enough to take a leap? But did they have to? Couldn’t I have tried this sooner? I guess I was ready when I was ready. But if I had to say something to myself from the other side of the the leap into the unknown, it would be that it is possible to survive the leap. Life there is not so foreign and scary. It is navigable. And more than that, it feels good. Good to be alive. So present in the current new reality I am in, finding my way and awake to what life is putting on my plate.

System Reset

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
Anaïs Nin AUTHOR, DIARIST

And all of a sudden, it is a year later? Huh. Life is looking quite a bit different now then it did then…

The last year has been pretty busy, mostly working full-time at Queen’s as Head Career Counsellor, with a few trips mixed in to Tobago, Point Pelee, a conference in Ottawa. But primarily just the routine of life – and it has gotten progressively harder to keep it going, as I’ve slowly been burning myself out in the process. The tricky thing is that my work can be so rewarding and meaningful, and I’m actually GOOD at it, but still take its toll – as much of the time I’m required to extrovert in public speaking, leading meetings and the team, and empathizing with students in career crises. So I’ve tried to keep going, to push away the signs, and gut it out – and it hasn’t worked. I’ve even tried yet another kind of medication to see if that deals with things, thinking maybe it is just a biological issue that needs addressing. It helped for a bit, but then things went back to the way they were. Struggling to get out of bed, episodes of depression, anxiety, and a sense of hopelessness that things would never change and that there was no meaning in what I was doing. I’ve slowly started learning about the emotional labour involved in this for me, and the cost of doing it full-time for a prolonged period.

Eventually it got to the point where I had to try something new, and was granted permission from my supportive supervisor to take a leave of absence for 10 months, which began at the start of July. The plan is to take this summer to reset, with time spent working at the family farm and fixing up the house, sandwiched around a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat, before going to St. Lawrence College to begin Chef School in September. Regardless of whether or not I ever eventually end up being an actual chef, this is something I’ve always wanted to learn and is a great break from emotional work of counselling and teaching with a focus on the physical and creative side of preparing food. So far the summer has been an excellent break, I’ve done a lot of work on the cabin (fixing the foundation, new stairs, staining the porches), and even worked a few shifts in the kitchen at Shanti Yoga Retreat on Wolfe Island for a taste of what lies ahead. Even this break already has me feeling a lot better and engaged with my life again.

But there is more work to be done – and not just externally. I’ve just gotten back from the 10-day retreat, which I haven’t done for a few years, and it was a deep dive into my inner world which I had been trying to put to the side. The structure is the same as the others I’ve been to in the past with 3 days of focus on breath to get my focus and calm the mind, and then 7 days of scanning the sensations in the body to process held emotions and stress, and to gain insight into the nature of the self and how we work as conscious human beings.

One of the most powerful parts of the experience for me was my exploration of consciousness from an experiential perspective. I’ve been reading lots over the years of different models of consciousness and enlightenment and just finished a very interesting read of Mastering the Core Teachings of the Buddha by Dan Ingram where he emphasizes a very rational and scientific approach to meditation and investigation – focusing on observing what you are currently experiencing and how it is changing, not you, and how attachment or aversion leads to suffering. With this approach I continuously investigated my experience for all my waking hours at the retreat and directly experienced some startling insights about how my mind works, and how a sense of self is constructed from my experience. While I would love to expound on all of the details of these insights, these are quite complex and hard to convey succinctly (maybe that will have to be another blog post in the future?). The end result is that I came out of it with a fresh perspective on my inner self from a more detached angle and being less identified with the content, an ability to experience my inner world more directly, compassionately, and openly, and deeper understanding and compassion for the experience of others around me.

The other dimension of the retreat experience for me is a processing of stress and blocked feelings stuck in my body. With the approach of directly feeling the subtlest sensations throughout the body in a non-judgmental way, I work through feeling things that I didn’t feel in the past – for various reasons. At first, most of the release tends to be more superficial and recent, but over time at the retreat, deeper things get released. This is harder work than it might sound, as the feelings that we repress tend to be things that we didn’t want to feel in the first place! Grief, fear, anger, sadness, guilt, shame… All the “bad” stuff. But the truth is, that NOT feeling it comes at a greater cost in the long run. So with that in mind, I do my best to be open to what is arising, and feeling it directly. This particular retreat had 2 main flavours of unearthing – anxiety/shame, and grief. I know, fun right?

In the first case, I started experiencing minor panic attacks around swallowing fits in the meditation hall. It started around halfway through the course on a hot day where I was thirsty and started swallowing a lot. In the group sits though, it is silent, and you aren’t supposed to move for an hour – so I sat there with this discomfort, swallowing lots, and experiencing anxiety which made my throat dry out further, and me flush with embarrassment. I happened to be sitting in the front row, right in front of the teacher where the old students who are supposed to be experienced meditators sit, and I had this strong image of myself as being a good meditator who wanted to do well in front of the teacher (achiever that I am!). In progressive sits, I did NOT want to repeat this experience, so I tried drink lots of water, have throat lozenges, force myself not to swallow – everything to avoid this anxiety and shame again. And it did not work. It just got worse. Eventually I gave up, and decided the only way through it was to feel the thing I wanted to avoid the most – in this case the shame of failure in the eyes of the teacher and the other meditators. With this feeling being something I didn’t want to feel, it had ended up controlling me and I had lost my free will. But when I faced it willingly (somewhat) it actually had nothing else it could do to me and slowly lost its power (although this took repeated sits of an hour each time just directly feeling the shame and anxiety around the shame).

The other thing that emerged was an intense pain in my chest. A sharp, hot pain that felt like a knife stabbing into my ribcage. Good times. It would appear now and then, getting stronger as the course progressed. Usually it would just appear when I was meditating deeply, but eventually it woke me up in the middle of the night, so intense I could hardly get out of bed. I was a wee bit worried I was having a stroke, especially since just a few days before someone had left in an ambulance in the middle of the night! I went back to sleep eventually, with the assumption that this was just unpacking emotion and fell into a deep dream – where in the dream I was having heart troubles and was talking to a friend who called a taxi to take me to the hospital. At the hospital the triage nurse asked me what was wrong and I clutched my chest and pointed to a picture of a person’s heart on a card on the desk, and then promptly collapsed on the floor. I woke up with my chest throbbing in pain, equal to any of the most intense pains in my life, and also a sense of grief, and started crying in a tremendous release of emotion, screaming into the pillow. The ache has since subsided somewhat, but not totally dissipated.

As the course neared completion I was contemplating the nature of grief, and all this work I had been doing and began to see something important about my attitude. I had been doing this work with the idea that I was feeling something that was stuck inside of me that needed to come out, in order to get rid of it and feel good again. While I was working to process things, it still had a sense of wanting to remove it from my experience eventually – and so I was ultimately rejecting it. But with my insights from the practice, seeing that I was not actually the content of my thoughts and feelings, but something deeper, the space that this is happening in – I was able to make room for the grief and anxiety in a way I hadn’t before. So instead of the model being one of processing and elimination, it became one of integration and working towards wholeness. I could see then that my inner being had been torn by trying to separate these parts of myself that could not be removed, devoting resources to maintaining this split, and bringing up tremendous suffering in the process.

So, now what? Coming back from retreat has always been a surreal experience. Working in the mundane level of everyday consciousness – shopping, social media, traffic, and superficial interactions. At this point, I’m trying to keep these insights in mind while going about my business. Keeping this attitude of compassion, openness, and inclusivity for my inner experience, and that of others. This is not work that is just done on retreat – it takes time to integrate these insights, to work them into habits, and to work to adopt new ways of being in the world that don’t lead to me burning out through ignoring and shunting my inner experience to the side (although there are times when that is necessary for coping and survival!). The same way that the 13 year old me couldn’t handle the feelings of grief when my mother died, the stressed out me couldn’t handle the feelings of stress when feeling burned out. So my intentions? Still evolving, but I suppose they are to stay on top of working with my inner experience during the everyday, but also acting in ways that are more in line with my self and what my feelings are asking for so I don’t have to push them to the side. Still getting the hang of this whole being a human thing, I guess…

On Purpose.

I’ve got meaning on my mind lately.

Both personally and professionally I’ve been grappling with how we find meaning in our lives, how to encourage it, and what it looks like when we have it or don’t. Although I’ve always been curious about meaning in life, lately I’ve been exploring the idea with renewed vigour – looking at ways my own life has meaning – and how I struggle when I don’t.

If you’ve read my last blog post, you know that for the last year I’ve been working to make some changes in my life – having hit a point a year and a half ago when I was really struggling to keep going. Last summer I started taking medication to help me get me out of my rut, but I never really intended for it to be a long term solution, or hoped that I wouldn’t need it (and in fact I am now in the process of getting off it). And indeed, it has been a real blessing – helping me through a transitional period where I’ve moved into a new position at work and started feeling more and more engaged with my career.

But after the initial excitement of the big changes, I’ve started slipping back into my previous rut of despair at times. Struggling to see why what I do matters – especially in the face of larger political and social changes happening with Trump and Ford setting us back decades if not more. And in my reflecting on meaning, I’m coming to a clearer understanding of what I’ve been going through for the last while.

When I started slipping into depression over a year ago, I was losing touch with my sense of purpose. I was caught up in the day to day activities of living and working – shopping, socializing, sleeping, saving money, spending money. And in the workplace, I was also getting caught up in the mundane details of the office, doing appointments and workshops, planning, and repeat. In my work, I often don’t get to see a lot of results from my work, as students often go off on their adventures or next steps, without me knowing if I helped or not. So I think I start getting a form of “mission creep” – where I’ve slipped off my initial conscious intention, and into the routines of life – forgetting the “why” that actually matters a tremendous amount to me. Without having a larger purpose for my actions, for my life – I start to quickly suffer and lose motivation. Why would I endure any kind of suffering, boredom, or hardship for no reason?

I am not alone in this, it turns out. People have been talking about purpose and meaning for ages. Some of my favourite philosophers and thinkers such as the existentialists or Viktor Frankl, weave our need for meaning deeply into their ideas. Frankl famously talks about it in Man’s Search for Meaning where he details his experiences of a nazi death camp in WWII, and his observations that those with a clear sense of purpose were the ones who tended to survive the ordeal, compared to those who had no reason larger than themselves to persist in the face of atrocity.

Will Damon revisits this again in his book The Path to Purpose where he explores young people’s experiences with meaning (or the lack of it), and finds strong connections between those living with a clear purpose and those who face life with apathy or confusion about their reason for living. Indeed, this sense of purpose tends to have a trickle down effect in terms of benefits – those who have some sense of purpose tend to be more resilient, more driven to persist in the face of setbacks, develop more skills, be more successful, and be happier and healthier. Positive feedback mechanisms at work. And of course, as you might expect, those who drift around looking for purpose, or give up the search altogether often struggle in a number of other ways.

Which brings me back to my own struggles – when I feel that I have lost my way – I tend to slip into a negative feedback loop of disengagement with life. Of not believing I can make a difference, or that I’m capable at all. I tend not to want to be as social, take less risks, push myself less, and play it small. But when I connect to something that matters to me personally, I am driven to persist and succeed. The thing is, that in my life it seems it is all to easy for me to lose sight of this purpose – it is not front of mind. Most my experience of the world tends to reinforce a consumerist mindset – of striving for money, material success, self interest, entertainment, and comfort. I need to counter these forces to remind myself of WHY I am doing any of this – of what matters to me.

And reading and thinking about meaning lately has helped me to get back in touch with what I find meaningful. One of the classic pathways to meaning explained by Mark Savickas, is that what we have endured and struggled through can become something that we most want to help others with – so one of my main ways of finding meaning, is to help other people find theirs. Since I struggle with my own why, it deeply resonates with me to help others with theirs. Not only does this use my strengths and relate to my interests, it is also a chance to profoundly connect with other people about deeper topics – like the meaning of life.

One of my favourite reframings on meaning lately came from Business Model You – a career planning book we read as a team at work this summer. Throughout the book they guide the reader to map out their lives using a business model canvas, and in one reflective exercise they ask you to look at three important things – who do you want to help, what value do you want to provide them, and what skills or resources do you want to use to provide this value. This other focused purpose helps me connect to deeper purpose – I want to help those who are lost, despairing, or confused about their path to reconnect to a deeper source of meaning, using my skills, education, and my authentic self.

This isn’t my only way of finding meaning, but it is a big one for me, and a central theme in my work – that I can easily lose sight of when caught up in the details of booking appointments, scheduling, planning, helping people with resumes, or other seemingly mundane activities. Not only is this important for me personally, and professionally in helping clients, I think it is also important in my new role as a supervisor – in helping people I work with to connect with the meaning in their work. This makes it more fulfilling for them, and likely makes them more effective in their work.

As a society, it can be all to easy to lose sight of our purpose as we run the rat race towards retirement – getting comfortable, being entertained, looking after our personal needs and security. But before we know it, we’ll be looking back on our lives and wondering what we were doing – why did we waste our time on things that didn’t matter to us? While traditional religion had helped many in the past to connect to a larger purpose, modern life doesn’t provide so many off-the-shelf solutions. We each need to connect to what matters to us, and remind ourselves constantly to avoid slipping into ennui. Not only does reconnecting with our purpose help us engage with our lives more fully, make better decisions, and be healthier and happier, but it serves as an example to others to inspire deeper commitment to values and a meaningful existence.

Asking questions can be a great starting point for me. Why am I living my life the way I am? What matters to me? When have I felt most engaged? How do I want to look back on my life? What impact do I want to have had? This might confirm where I am heading and help me feel better – or it might show me some changes that need to be made, either small or large – to live in better alignment with my deeper values.

In our entertainment filled, hyper-connected, medicated world – it can be hard to carve out some time and space to reflect and connect with who we are. There might be a vague sense of disatisfaction lingering that we keep at bay with various mechanisms, or a persistent hunger for more – but when I listen to these feelings for clues instead of looking to keep them at bay or mute them, I can be moved in new directions. For me, lately, this looks like less time watching tv or playing games on my phone, and more time outside, with friends and family, gardening, reading, meditating, playing music, or taking pictures. Things that fill me up and replenish me, instead the “junk food” of entertainment and shopping – temporarily filling but not deeply nourishing. Even with this shift in focus for the last few weeks, I’ve started feeling better already – but I know I’ve got to pay attention to warning signs to help me stay on track – and keep navigating towards an evolving sense of purpose.

Flipping the script.

This blog post has taken me a year to write. Every time I felt close to writing it, some less risky activity would distract me and I’d decide to let it simmer on the back burner just a little while longer. But today, I’m feeling inspired – maybe in part by other people who have taken risks themselves. So, I’m feeling somewhat ready and have logged into WordPress for the first time since LAST March – actually a year ago.

At that time, I was struggling through a bit of a midlife crisis point, trying to find meaningful direction and a way through mounting despair and anxiety. It’s not like I haven’t written about themes like this before, but this time, something was a bit different. It stuck around. Persisted beyond the winter, into the spring and summer, and with fall looming just intensified.

Throughout my life I’ve explored so many strategies for working on my mental health – I kind of feel like I’ve tried almost all of the reasonable ones that have presented themselves.  Reading self help books, journalling, creative endeavours, reinventing my career, psychotherapy, meditation, travel, spiritual seeking, and more. And they’ve all helped in different ways, to get me through tough times, or shift or ease my anguish in some way.

Last year, though, it felt different. I had basically all of the external things in place that should be contributing to a happy life. A happy home, a loving wife, great friends and family, an interesting job that I was good at, engaging hobbies, personal growth – so many things going for me. But it all felt meaningless. And I felt less and less engaged with things that used to bring me joy. I’ve dealt with lots of anxiety over the years at different times, but this was the first time that depression settled in for the long term. And I felt trapped, and like I was running out of options.

So, last summer, after talking about it with my therapist for a while, I started taking a prescription for an SSRI – antidepressant and anxiolitic for the first time in my life. To me, this was never a serious option – I always thought that it would mean some admission of failure, or to the seriousness of my situation that I wasn’t willing to concede. That if I took medication, then this wasn’t just something that will power and the right attitude could solve. But, I was desperate enough to explore this, and my thinking around it – and I realized that I had some pretty loaded assumptions and judgments about it.

I talked it through and starting thinking about my fears and hopes around it. Imagining what life could be like if it actually worked like I hoped it would. I was afraid it would make me dependent. Weak. Have terrifying side effects. That it would change me in ways I didn’t want it to. That it was an easy way out. That all my studies and practice about being with my emotions and thoughts were telling me that I just needed to make room for my uncomfortable content, listen to my feelings, and either be mindful of them and accept them, or make some deeper changes in my life or the world. That taking medication would be covering up this warning sign that my heart was giving me.

7 months later, I still wonder about all of these things. I am on a pretty low dose of 25 mg, when the max could be over 60. But it has had an effect, much of it for the better. After the first month at the very lowest dose, there were pretty minimal side effects (some nausea and headaches, fevers, weakness), but also pretty minimal benefits, so I went up from 10 to 25, the next level. And the side effects intensified, but stabilized after a few weeks, and then went away. And amazingly, the benefits increased, and drastically altered my experience of being alive.

Instead of suffering intense peaks of anxiety, I had lower peaks – not no anxiety, but less of it, and less frequently. And despair and depression did not stay – they came for shorter periods, and were less deep. Less hopeless. Less severe. Less considering giving up on everything meaningful in my life.

And not only did it help to reduce the pain, but it also had the positive benefits in terms of engaging with life that I was most hoping for. Not that I wasn’t before, but now I feel less overwhelmed with new projects, and less stressed in social and performance situations – and more and more like I could actually be myself.  In the fall I began taking on more of a leadership role at work, moving towards some kind of role as head counsellor.  More actively involved in projects with stakeholders across campus.  More of a mentor role in the office with other staff.  And eventually, I was officially promoted to be the actual Head Career Counsellor.

And instead of being in a negative feedback loop, so often associated with anxiety and depression, I found myself in a positive feedback loop. Instead of withdrawing more, and feeling lonely and depressed, I engaged more, and as a result felt more alive. Instead of it being a crutch in the negative sense – that I feared would make me weak – it became a crutch in the positive sense – promoting healthy activity and growth and healing.

At this point, I am still on the same dose, and think I will keep it likely for a while, not ready yet to disrupt the newfound stability that I’m developing. But I do think about a plan, maybe in a year or so, of weaning off, and seeing how these new changes in my life have affected my experience of being me. In the meantime, it still amazes me that something that I had written off for so long, has turned out to be so profoundly powerful and helpful.

And that’s the other side of this post – in terms of flipping the script – there have been other things that I have excluded from my experience, based on my biases and opinions, that have been worth exploring. Starting with the Emerging Leaders program last spring (something I never would have considered before) – when I started exploring the idea of management, and building on that with the beginning courses of a Business Certificate online through SLC (I’ve done HR and Accounting already), I’m continuing to move in directions I hadn’t thought would be so meaningful. I’d written off business too, as something not to be trusted, as shallow, or not important. But of course, learning tools of business can be so empowering for getting things done in our society – foolish me for denying it.

Beyond that is a larger theme of engagement with the world. My approach previously with work had been trying to keep it in its place. Something to make money, but not the main event – life was something outside of it. With study, volunteering, farming, travel, meditation, writing, art, and more. But yet another script is being flipped. Instead of trying to keep work in its place, now I am going further in. I am assuming a leadership role in the office, and investing myself in it. And finding it much more engaging in the process. I feel exhausted at the end of the day, but in a good way – knowing I was busy and challenged by the day.

And more broadly, it’s gotten me mindful of other scripts I have, and we all have. What stories are we telling ourselves that are limiting our perceptions, and experience of life? Who am I cutting myself off from, that I could open to? New people, new places, new ideas, new directions – the more I open myself to the world, the more I can feel that sense of aliveness, engagement, and connection.

So that brings me to my final script – about writing this post in the first place. Admitting to mental health challenges was one thing I had done in the past, but I never felt I was acknowledging the level in any clear way. By confessing to taking medication, there seems to be more heft. It is a declaration of the level of struggle I have been through. And it feels significant.

As much as I hate to admit it, testaments from others through campaigns like Bell Let’s Talk (which I have mixed feelings about due to the corporate involvement) have affected me. And most powerfully, a recent opening up by Demar DeRozan from the Toronto Raptors affected me even more. He’s a pretty big star in the NBA, but he admitted to his own struggles with mental health issues – and he did it to help other people. To ease the stigma – and it eased mine.

So that’s the main reason why I’m writing this. As much as it is liberating for me to admit to this, it would be more meaningful to me if someone else read this and felt a little safer to open up. This is not a cry for help, or attention – I am doing well. I’m writing this for other people who need to hear it, hoping that they might give themselves a little more permission to accept where they are at. To seek help. Or open up and share. That would make it is worth the risk of admitting to what many can perceive as weakness or admission of failure.

Instead I’m choosing to look at it as a success. What finally gave me permission to try the prescription was flipping my script. By relating to my struggle as I would a physical symptom – I gave myself permission to get help. Learning about the biopsychosocial approach to mental health in my master’s studies helped with this – seeing the multiple factors at play. If I had chest pains or headaches, I would not have any trouble with taking medication – I wouldn’t judge myself. I would just do it and move on with my life.

And taking medication, in conjunction with therapy, and positive life changes, meditation, journalling, reading, art, and so much more – all together, have proven a powerful combination for moving my life forward. I’m not saying that it is something for everyone, or every situation – but done mindfully, it can help. And start a positive feedback loop and build upwards momentum.

If anyone reading this is going through their own struggles and confusion about how to move forwards, I would encourage you to get help and talk to someone. It really can make a difference. And if you have your own story to share about your experiences, I would encourage you to add your voice to the growing choir to work to change our attitudes and stigma to mental illness towards a more healthy and inclusive one. Thanks for reading.