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Tag: gratitude

  • Emotional First Aid: Fear

    When Fear Keeps Us Paralyzed

    Fear has a job—to keep us safe. It’s wired into us to notice danger, to warn us when something feels off. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need. But there’s a fine line between fear that protects and fear that paralyses and controls.

    I’ve written getting to know fear and how it can show up in the body and how to make a plan to deal with fear, but when fear starts speaking louder than everything else, when it keeps us from showing up, speaking out, or trying again, it’s no longer serving us. It’s holding us back.

    Fear doesn’t always look like full-blown panic. Sometimes it shows up quietly.
    In the hesitation.
    In the excuse.
    In the “maybe later” that becomes never.

    It can look like avoidance, distraction, shutting down—or keeping yourself so busy you don’t have time to feel it. It can convince you that staying small or quiet is safer than risking the unknown.

    And I get it. Fear is persuasive. Especially when it’s rooted in real experiences or old wounds.

    But here’s what I’ve learned:

    Fear can shrink our lives.
    It narrows our world, until everything starts to feel like a risk.
    Until we stop trusting, stop trying, stop living the way we really want to.

    Maybe fear has told you it’s safer not to trust people.
    Or that your voice doesn’t matter.
    Or that if you’re too much—or too honest—people will leave.

    Sometimes the walls we build to protect ourselves become the very thing that keeps us stuck.

    This post isn’t about “being fearless.”
    I don’t think that’s the goal.
    What I do think is important—is noticing when fear is driving the car.
    And starting to take the wheel back.

    That starts with awareness.
    With curiosity.
    With asking: Is this fear keeping me safe… or is it keeping me small?

    Tomorrow, I’ll share my own story—about how fear hijacked my body after a scary experience, and how I’m still, day by day, working to find safety in places that once felt threatening.

    If you’ve ever felt afraid to live fully… I hope you’ll come back.
    You’re not alone in this.

  • Lucy, The Unexpected Ally

    Lucy, the Unexpected Ally

    This is Lucy. She was a cellar spider that lived in our dining room. The first time I noticed her, my immediate reaction was fear—I wanted her gone. But then, I saw what she was doing.

    Lucy had captured a harlequin lady beetle, better known as an Asian beetle. These invasive pests are everywhere in the upper Midwest, especially in the fall. They bite, they smell, and they always seem to find their way inside. But Lucy, with her messy, disorganized web, had managed to catch one—one less beetle for me to vacuum up.

    At the time, my kids were just toddlers, and like me, they were afraid of spiders. But instead of passing my fear down to them, I chose to break the cycle. We watched Lucy together, learning about her instead of fearing her. I told them how cellar spiders are harmless and actually help keep other pests in check. And just like that, Lucy wasn’t a scary, unwanted guest anymore—she was part of the house. We even gave her a name.

    Sometimes, the things we fear have a purpose. And when we take the time to learn about them, that fear can begin to fade. Of course, it’s easier with something tangible—like a spider—but the same idea applies to the fears we carry inside. If we lean in, just a little, and try to understand them, maybe they won’t seem so scary after all.

  • My Walk with Fear

    The Old Me

    As a child, I hated being scared. My brothers used to hide in my room or sneak up behind me. They would jump out and say, “Boo.” I would fall to the floor in tears. I know it was all in good fun, and I’m sure my big reaction kept them coming back for more. Fast forward several decades, and now I have kids of my own. One of my darling children attempted a jump scare at me, and boy, did it work.

    My big reaction to fear has always been just that—I scream, I cry, I freeze. While working through day treatment, I came to understand that my body was basically always in fight-or-flight mode. At times, the normal sounds of the house would make me jump—the air turning on, a sudden noise from another room. I absolutely hated it, but learning the why behind it forced me to see that my heightened startle response made perfect sense.

    Learning a New Skill

    During treatment, I was introduced to the mantra: “I am safe.” I was encouraged to repeat it whenever my body went into fight-or-flight mode, helping to rewire my brain and calm my nervous system. At first, it felt ridiculous—like I was lying to myself. My mind fought against it. Of course, you’re not safe. No one is 100% safe all the time. I would scoff, You’re lying to yourself. But over time, as I practiced, something interesting happened. My body began to respond. It didn’t mean I never felt fear, but my reactions started to shift.

    Once my kids reached elementary age, I finally found my voice. After one particularly bad jump scare, I gathered my children and my husband and calmly explained that I did not like being scared. I shared that it was not a fun emotion for me and that my body reacted strongly to fear. My brilliant little humans, as curious as ever, asked why my body reacted this way and what had happened to me as a child.

    Holding back tears, I told them, Mommy’s life was hard. My childhood was full of angry people, and it made me live on edge. I’m working with my body to remind myself that I am safe now.

    My life Now

    It took years, but I remember the day I was sitting on the deck, reading a book in the sunshine. The air conditioner unit clicked on. I heard it—but I didn’t jump. I noticed the sound, but my body stayed calm. It was a small moment, yet it was proof that something had changed. My body no longer treated a harmless noise as a threat.

    Why do I share these stories with strangers on the internet? Because I know I’m not the only one who struggles with fear and feeling “jumpy.” I know others have lived through similar experiences, and these are not easy things to talk about. It’s not like you can casually tell a friend, “The air conditioner didn’t make me jump today!” without them looking at you strangely. Vulnerability on this level isn’t always met with compassion and understanding.

    I want others to know—they are not alone in their walk with fear. Small victories are worth celebrating. Every time we notice progress, our brain rewires a little more. I used to think I was alone and weird. But looking back, it all makes sense. And I want to empower others to know that in time, things can and do get better. Slowly, with practice, patience, and self-compassion, we heal.

    To this day, I still mute my television when a scary advertisement pops up—and I’m not embarrassed by it. Because I am doing what I need to do to protect my own body and mind.

  • Box Office Gratitude

    I’m going to be a bit vulnerable today. When it comes to TV shows and movies, I tend to stick with old favorites. Even my kids can predict the general order of what I’ll choose to watch—Gilmore Girls, How I Met Your Mother, Friends, New Girl, and documentaries on Earth, wildlife, Egypt, and space. It’s a familiar cycle.

    I re-watch these shows because I know exactly what’s coming. There are no unexpected triggers, no emotional landmines. This is also why I absolutely detest going to the movie theater. My movie choices follow the same pattern—I cycle through The Mummy (1-3), Harry Potter (1-7), and Jurassic Park (all of them).

    I avoid movies that make me cry. The Croods, almost anything Disney, and Inside Out—I can’t do it. Don’t get me wrong, they’re beautifully made, but they hit too close to home. The emotions they stir up aren’t just about sadness; they bring up grief, loss, and truths that are hard to face.

    Recently, I made the mistake of going to see Inside Out 2 with my family. I had told them I didn’t want to go. I even suggested my husband take them instead. But they were sweet, encouraging me to come along. And so, I did.

    I bawled.

    Not just a few tears—I sobbed. The movie hit me hard, forcing me to confront emotions I wasn’t ready for. By the time the credits rolled and the lights came on, my kids turned to me and said, “Yup, you were right. You cried.”

    My kids are at the age where they ask hard questions. They’re curious, thoughtful, and I’ve done a good job raising them to be unafraid of emotions. They wanted to understand—What part made you cry?

    It was difficult to explain. I shared a little about my past, just enough to help them make sense of my reaction. But their questions lingered throughout the week, popping up at random moments. I wanted to meet their curiosity with honesty, but I also wanted to protect them.

    And then, a realization hit me.

    Their inability to fully understand my grief is a good thing. They’ve never had to hide under a parked car to protect themselves from someone chasing them. They don’t have to fear that when their dad and I get upset, we’ll break their bedroom door in half.

    They don’t carry that kind of fear because they are safe. They are loved.

    And that fills me with pride.

    At the same time, grief sneaks in—because I didn’t get that same childhood. I didn’t grow up in a home where emotions were handled with care. But instead of letting that consume me, I remind myself: I am breaking cycles. I am giving them what I never had.

    And for that, I am grateful.

  • Love/Hate Relationship with Emotions

    I continue to have a love/hate relationship with emotions. Logically, I know that emotions help us figure out our needs, and I love that. It’s something I am continually learning, as each emotion and situation has its own nuances. Emotions are complex, and I often find myself lost in them. But I’m grateful that I can take a curious approach to them. Over time, I’ve learned not to fight my emotions but to sit with them and ask: What does this mean? How can I support myself?

    The frustrating part—the part I still struggle to flow with—is when a random emotion hits out of nowhere.

    I wake up in a good mood, feeling rested, going about my day, and then BAM! Like a rogue wave crashing over me, an emotion floods in suddenly and intensely. I’m not always graceful or accepting in moments like this. I get frustrated and overwhelmed. But living with PTSD means this will be a continual battle, and the best way I know to thrive through emotional or physical flashbacks is to give my emotions space.

    The hardest part for me is not knowing what triggered the rogue wave of emotions. I’ve spent hours—even days—trying to figure it out, digging for the root cause. But my best success comes when I acknowledge and validate the emotion rather than interrogate it. Instead of chasing the “why,” I focus on supporting myself through it.

    Sometimes, that support looks like allowing myself to cry. Other times, it’s reaching out to a trusted person who won’t make the emotion worse. It’s giving myself space and time to take care of myself.

    Sometimes, this interferes with my plans—because the emotions feel too big to function. Other times, I can box them up and carry on, dealing with the gnawing annoyance of them in the back of my mind.

    But no matter what, I will carry on.

    I will take the time to address things as they arise and remind myself that taking care of me is not just important—it’s necessary.

  • Gratitude Through Vulnerability

    Relearning Emotions

    During my recovery and fight against mental illness, I had to break down my version and definition of what emotions were. They were labeled poorly—shaped by unhealthy core beliefs and the lessons imprinted on me as a young child. My understanding of emotions, molded by these flawed beliefs, was fundamentally broken. The beliefs I carried about emotions weren’t truly my own; they were absorbed from the people and environments around me.

    Life Before

    As a child, when I cried, I was told to stop or risk being given something to cry about. When I was angry, I heard, “It’s not that big of a deal,” or, “You’re being unreasonable.” Over time, I internalized these messages: certain emotions were unacceptable. Feeling sadness, anger, or frustration meant I was wrong, unreasonable, or dramatic. These beliefs became roadblocks that made it nearly impossible to express or process my emotions in healthy ways.

    Reconstructing my understanding of emotions during recovery was humbling and uncomfortable. At times, I felt like a toddler learning to walk—clumsy, unsure, and frustrated by my lack of control. I had to learn to pause, look inward, and identify what I was feeling. I had to give myself permission to feel emotions I had long been told were unacceptable.

    Life Now

    But even now, the process isn’t easy. Sharing my feelings with others often makes me feel vulnerable, like I’m navigating unsteady terrain. It’s especially difficult when someone responds harshly or tells me I’m being dramatic. In those moments, I remind myself of an important truth: their reaction is often a reflection of their own struggles with emotional awareness, not mine.

    I’ve learned to take a step back and ask myself a simple but profound question: Is this mine to carry? More often than not, the answer is no. Their judgment is a sign of their discomfort with emotions, not a reflection of my worth. I’ve learned to approach these moments with gratitude—for the clarity to discern what’s mine and the strength to let go of what isn’t.

    Powerful Realization

    Through this process, I came to a powerful realization: there are no good or bad emotions. They’re all part of the human experience, each one offering us valuable insight if we’re willing to listen. Ironically, the emotions most people consider “easy,” like joy and happiness, were—and still are—the hardest for me to embrace.

    I had spent so much of my life feeling anger, frustration, neglect, and abandonment that those emotions felt familiar—even comfortable in a strange way. But joy? Love? Happiness? Those were foreign to me. I didn’t know what they felt like, and I didn’t know how to let myself fully experience them.

    Relearning my emotions has been one of the hardest and most rewarding parts of my recovery. It’s taught me to sit with discomfort, embrace vulnerability, and, most importantly, find gratitude—not just for the easy moments, but for the strength to keep going when joy feels out of reach.

    Gratitude became my anchor. It allowed me to shift my focus from what I couldn’t control to the small, meaningful moments of growth and healing I could celebrate. With time, I began to see my emotions not as burdens but as guides—tools that help me navigate life and connect more deeply with myself and others. I welcomed the vulnerability needed to address and share my emotions.

    Have you ever found certain emotions harder to embrace? What beliefs about emotions are you carrying, and are they serving you?

    Remember: there are no “wrong” emotions. They are all valid, and they all matter. The courage to feel them, even when it’s hard, is something to be proud of.

  • Thankful For Day Treatment

    Grateful for the Day Treatment Program

    I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but attending the day treatment program truly changed my life, and I’m deeply grateful for the nudge to attend—even though at the time it made me feel broken. The truth was, I was struggling with serious and persistent mental health issues. At first, attending was something I had to do. But at some point in the middle, I decided to fully commit and try the skills and suggestions being offered.

    It was through the trial-and-error phase that I learned the most about myself and experienced the most growth. The cool thing is, I can now see both sides of the coin. It would have been amazing to write a letter to my past self, to let her know that things would get better, that there would come a day when I would be proud of myself and have compassion for myself.

    Hindsight is a powerful place to observe, but it reignites a fire within me to continue sharing these stories of hardship and struggle. The world is full of people who suffer and struggle, and having been there, my heart breaks for both the pain of others and the old me.

    It makes sense now why I did things the way I did and made the choices I made back then. Being on this side of healing doesn’t make life any less challenging or problem-free, but I am grateful that I’ve learned to use the skills I gained to not only survive—but to thrive.

    And now, I feel called to share my journey with others—those just beginning their own paths or those currently in the depths of pain. There’s always room for the hard and ugly moments in life, and down the road, those struggles can actually become your superpower.

  • Tunnel of Despair

    Digital Art by Shannon

    Tunnel of Despair
    This image captures the essence of despair while illuminating the light of hope that waits at the end of the tunnel. The contrast of darkness and light symbolizes the delicate dance between depression and hope—how even small sparks of validation, support, and resilience can begin to calm the storm within and guide us forward.

    The twists and swirls within the image represent life’s roller coaster of emotions—hard days and easier days blending together in an unpredictable journey. Though the darkness lingers, the light intertwines with it, showing that hope doesn’t mean erasing struggles but learning to live alongside them. It’s about nurturing the light while making space for the darkness, honoring both the struggles and the triumphs that shape us rather than define us.

    Recovery is not linear, and the pull to retreat into the safety of darkness can feel overwhelming. But with perseverance, time, skills, and support, the path forward becomes more manageable—and even joyful. A tiny spark of light, no matter how faint, can grow, transforming your journey one step at a time. The pride, warmth, and peace that come after navigating through despair are powerful and contagious. Keep walking toward the light, because thriving is always within reach.

  • Gratitude Reflections: Pet Peeve

    If you’ve ever struggled with mental health and been fortunate enough to have someone to talk to during depression or hard days, you might have heard the phrase, “But you have so much to be thankful for.” While the intention behind these words is likely to offer comfort and support, for someone in the midst of a struggle, they can feel more like a slap in the face.

    The first time someone said this to me during my struggle, I felt like the smallest human in the world. I was already drowning in harmful, endless mind chatter: You’re a burden. No one understands you. You’re completely alone. These words, meant to comfort, only pushed me further into the hole of darkness I was trying to escape.

    In moments like these, gratitude felt impossible. I wasn’t thankful for anything because my focus was consumed by just wanting the suffering to end. Hearing about all the things I “should” be grateful for only made it worse, because I wasn’t thankful for them—and that felt like yet another failure on my part.

    In fact, the things I should have felt gratitude for were the very things I felt worst about. Being a mom felt impossible because I had nothing left to give. I felt like I was disappointing my husband by not keeping up with my marital duties. I convinced myself that my family would be better off without me. In the depths of that darkness, those words of “encouragement” only deepened my pain.

    What Would Have Helped Instead

    Down the road, I discovered phrases that were far more helpful. Simple, validating statements like:

    • “That’s a hard place to be in.”
    • “I know life feels heavy right now, but it can get better. What’s one thing you can do today for self-care?”
    • “How can I help?”

    Validation is such an underused superpower. It was exactly what I needed more of. For someone on the outside, it might have seemed like my misery was self-induced, but depression is a mental illness—my brain was fighting against my heart, and it was winning. The dark, distorted thoughts felt so real that I accepted them as truth. The only way out for me was professional and medical support.

    What to Avoid

    It’s hard for many people to understand that depression and mental illness aren’t about willpower or lack of faith. Telling someone they just need to pray more, or that they’re struggling because they’ve fallen away from God, isn’t helpful—it’s harmful.

    Pointing out someone’s struggles with addiction, drinking, or other coping mechanisms as the root of their problem also isn’t the answer. For someone deep in depression’s grip, drinking or other numbing behaviors might be the only way they know to shut off the overwhelming thoughts. These moments aren’t the time for interventions or lectures.

    What We Really Need

    In the darkest times, what we need most is someone to sit with us. To listen. To remind us that we are not alone. That our load is heavy, but we don’t have to carry it by ourselves.

    We need someone to cover us with love, to remind us that we are worthy, and to support us in seeking the help we need. PTSD research shows that those who struggle often experience real, physical changes in their brain. This isn’t a fault or a failure.

    We need to feel like we’re not a burden or an inconvenience. Sometimes, simply having someone acknowledge that truth can make all the difference. Together, we can lighten the load, and step by step, find a way to win the battle over the mind

    .

  • Closing January: Gratitude as a Foundation

    We’ve reached the final week of January, and this month has been all about exploring the skill of gratitude. The process may have seemed slow at times, but breaking things down into small, manageable steps allows us to truly understand what gratitude is as a practice and why it can be so beneficial to begin. Gratitude is simple, personal, and transformative.

    Taking the time to reflect and set our intentions for our own gratitude journey gives the practice meaning and purpose in our lives. It isn’t about perfection or meeting some external standard; it’s about finding those small moments that bring light and warmth, even in the darkest times.

    Now that we’ve laid the foundation together, it’s time to shift gears. But please know that gratitude will remain a central part of this space. Every Wednesday, I’ll continue to share Gratitude Reflections—posts dedicated to my own gratitude journey, insights, and the lessons I’ve learned. I hope these reflections will inspire and encourage you to keep exploring gratitude in your own life, too.

    Why We Began with Gratitude

    Gratitude was the first skill that truly changed my life during some of my darkest mental health struggles. It was the practice of gratitude that helped me shift from a pattern of negative thinking to a more optimistic and hopeful mindset.

    That’s why I chose to start with gratitude here on the blog. It’s a foundational skill, one that can help pave the way for other skills and practices we’ll explore together. By taking the time this month to focus on gratitude, we’ve laid the groundwork for what’s to come.

    Looking Ahead to February

    As we move into February, our focus will transition to understanding emotional regulation. Emotional regulation is a crucial skill for managing mental health and navigating life’s ups and downs. While gratitude helps us shift our perspective, emotional regulation helps us manage and respond to the emotions we experience along the way.

    This doesn’t mean we’re leaving gratitude behind—it will continue to weave through everything we discuss. Each skill we explore builds on the last, creating a toolkit you can use to support yourself in your journey.

    Thank you for being here this month as we’ve explored gratitude together. I hope you’ve found moments of inspiration and connection in the process. Let’s carry the light of gratitude forward as we take our next steps into February.