Peer Reflections

Nurturing Wellness through Creativity and Compassion
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  • Spark of Light

    Photo by Shannon

    Bright colors catch our attention—do we dare take the time to mindfully notice? Notice the way the lights intertwine, the lines as they burst outward from the screen, alive with motion and energy.

    Happiness shows up in small and unexpected ways. Sometimes it’s quiet and subtle, and other times, it’s loud—vibrant—right in our faces.

    When happiness finds you, I hope you take a moment to mindfully notice. Notice the way it washes over you. Notice the corners of your lips curl even if it’s slightly upward. Be brave enough to let down your guard and allow happiness in. 

    Trust me, I’ll practice doing the same.

  • My Walk with Happiness

    Before understanding happiness

    I had been depressed for a long while—it was a postpartum thing. Then one day, my darling husband told me we could finally purchase an electric fireplace for our living room. He worked overnight shifts and slept during the day, so I recruited some close family friends to help assemble the unit.

    When they arrived, I was thrilled—genuinely, overwhelmingly thrilled. I was skipping around the house, radiating joy like a child on Christmas morning. It felt good to feel that way again. But then, one of the individuals made a comment:
    “Your happiness seems to be too much for the situation.”

    Just like that, the air left my lungs. It was such blatant judgment—of my happiness, my expression, my being. I shut down. They finished building the fireplace and left, but the joy I had felt was gone. The balloon that had been floating so high inside me popped in an instant. I sank. I went back to bed, unable to even place the unit or decorate the mantel—something I had looked forward to for days.

    Their comment made me feel stupid, small, and confused about happiness and joy. Looking back now, I realize that their words shouldn’t have held so much weight. They didn’t know my story. They didn’t know how long I had been dreaming of that fireplace. They didn’t know I was clawing my way through postpartum depression. And honestly, they may not have had the emotional capacity to hold space for someone else’s joy.

    Moving Forward

    From that moment forward, I started to notice how others responded to my joy. It was big. It was bold. And sometimes, it made people uncomfortable. But most people don’t know my past. They don’t know the dark places I’ve crawled out of or the heaviness I’ve carried. Life hadn’t given me many reasons to celebrate, so when joy finally showed up, I wanted to feel every ounce of it.

    “The worst kind of person is someone who makes you feel bad, dumb, or stupid for being excited about something.” – Taylor Swift

    So many people are struggling to find even a flicker of happiness in their lives. Why in the world would anyone try to take that away from someone? These days, I let my joy overflow. I don’t care who it splashes on. They can judge me if they want to—my little heart needs to express happiness in the ways that matter to me. As long as I’m not hurting myself or others, I will celebrate freely and fully.

    I Am Still Learning

    To be honest, happiness is still one of the emotions I struggle with most. It’s not that I’m a negative person—it’s that it’s hard to let my guard down enough to fully feel the moment. I’m still learning. I’ve been bringing this into sessions with my therapist because I want to be honest—with myself and with you, my readers.

    So often, when happiness finds me, it shows up hand-in-hand with grief. Like when something good happens, and I immediately think of the loved ones who aren’t here to share in the joy. Or times in my past when I thought I was happy, only to find out later it wasn’t real. The joy is there—but it’s complicated. It’s layered. And I’ve learned that it’s okay to feel more than one thing at once.

    I get tired sometimes—tired of my grief stealing the spotlight from the good things. But I’m still learning. Still growing. And I’m continuing to walk this road of happiness, learning to balance my emotions with grace.

  • Getting to Know: Happiness

    Happiness: A Fleeting Feeling or a Piece of the Puzzle?

    Happiness is one of the most sought-after emotions, yet it remains one of the most misunderstood. Unlike fear, which keeps us safe, or sadness, which allows us to process loss, happiness doesn’t seem to have a survival function. It often feels fleeting, appearing in bursts—when we hear our favorite song, experience an exciting moment, or spend time in a place that feels magical.

    Think about it—many of our most “happy” moments come from vacations, theme parks, concerts, or special events, places designed to pull us out of our daily routines. A trip to Disneyland, for example, is crafted to create a sense of magic, nostalgia, and joy. It’s an environment free from stressors like bills, deadlines, or the unpredictability of daily life. And yet, the moment we leave, reality settles back in. If happiness only exists in spaces detached from real life, then it can’t be the goal—it’s not sustainable.

    What is Happiness?

    Happiness is commonly defined as a state of pleasure, joy, or satisfaction. It can be triggered by external events, such as a fun trip, a delicious meal, or an accomplishment. However, happiness is not a permanent state—it comes and goes like any other emotion. The way society portrays happiness often makes it seem like an ultimate destination, something we must strive for and hold onto, but in reality, happiness is momentary, just like sadness, anger, or fear.

    What Does Happiness Feel Like in the Body?

    Happiness manifests physically in many ways:

    • A lightness in the chest
    • Relaxed muscles
    • A genuine smile or laughter
    • Increased energy
    • A sense of warmth or excitement
    • A release of stress or tension

    Just as we notice the tension of anxiety or the heaviness of sadness, recognizing happiness in the body can help us appreciate it when it arises, even if only briefly.

    How to Cultivate Happiness

    Since happiness is fleeting, the focus shouldn’t be on trying to make it last forever, but rather on creating space for it to naturally occur. Some ways to invite happiness into daily life include:

    • Gratitude: Acknowledging small joys, like a warm cup of coffee or a kind conversation.
    • Mindfulness: Being present in the moment rather than waiting for happiness to come later.
    • Connection: Spending time with loved ones and engaging in meaningful conversations.
    • Engaging in Enjoyable Activities: Doing things that bring natural enjoyment, such as hobbies, music, or nature walks.

    Rethinking Happiness: The Role of Contentment

    Happiness is often presented as the ultimate goal, yet it remains fleeting—arriving in bursts, then fading. Unlike emotions like fear or anger, which serve clear survival purposes, happiness doesn’t seem essential for protection or problem-solving. So, what is its purpose?

    Perhaps happiness isn’t meant to be constant. Instead, it is the peak of an emotional wave, while contentment is the steady ground beneath it. Instead of chasing happiness as an all-or-nothing state, we might focus on cultivating contentment—a lasting sense of peace and balance. Contentment doesn’t mean life is perfect; it means we are okay even in the midst of challenges. It allows us to experience happiness when it comes, without the pressure to make it stay.

    Happiness can be big and loud—laughter, excitement, joyful energy. But it can also be small and quiet—a smirk, the warmth of the sun after a storm, the first sip of coffee. Happiness, in any form, is valid. Instead of asking, “Am I happy?” maybe the real question is, “Am I content?” Because contentment can carry us through even the hardest moments, making space for happiness to visit—without needing it to stay.

    *As a side note, I feel a conversation on joy might need to come into play eventually, but for now, we can begin to notice these few main emotions and investigate them with curiosity.

  • Through the Lens: Sadness

    Photo by Shannon

    Stillness Above The Surface

    Sadness can feel empty and hollow. We may struggle with feeling lifeless—just floating along—or find ourselves wanting to hunker down because the world might not understand the depth of our sorrow. This image reflects that sensation: black and white, gloomy, even eerie.

    But sadness is more than what we see on the surface. Not many people can understand your sadness in the way that you do. Because underneath this floating, lifeless branch, fish are taking shelter among the twisted wood. Life is still moving—just differently.

    The sadness we feel in the face of loss is equal to the care, passion, and love we had for the person or situation that has ended. As heavy as sadness can be, it is also a beautiful privilege to grieve so deeply.

  • My walk with Sadness

    A friend of mine was heartbroken after the loss of their animal companion. They were distraught and vulnerable—and on top of their grief, they were judging themselves for feeling it so deeply. “It was just a pet,” they said. “This shouldn’t be affecting me this much. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat…”

    But the truth is, the pain wasn’t just grief—it was layered with shame. And that shame was making everything feel heavier. I listened as they shared stories, and I asked about the bond they had with their beloved pet. We laughed together, and we cried together. I could feel their pain, and honestly, it brought up some of my own losses too.

    As a Peer Support Specialist, I gently reminded them: “The depth of your grief shows the depth of your love.” This pet wasn’t just a pet—it was a support animal, someone who had been by their side every day for years. Of course it was going to hurt. It was beautiful to witness a love so deep that the loss could echo that powerfully.

    That moment reminded me to offer myself the same compassion. The sadness I’ve felt in my own life has revealed just how deeply I love and care for the people I’ve lost. Someone once asked me why I was still grieving a situation from years ago. My answer was simple: “Because I love them. And I always will.”

    Once I stopped fighting my sadness and started accepting it, I learned something important—my job wasn’t to get rid of it or pretend it wasn’t there. My path forward only opened up when I made space for grief to walk beside me.

    It took me until my 40s to really begin understanding grief and loss—and of course, I took the hard road. I experienced a loss that brought me to my knees. I barely ate. Depression settled in, and I spent months mostly sleeping. I lost so much weight it became frightening. At that point, it felt like grief was winning. Nothing else seemed to matter.

    But here’s the truth: when grief becomes too heavy, asking for help is not weakness. Doing only the bare minimum for a while is not failure. Grief doesn’t arrive because we’re weak—it shows up because we’re strong enough to face what’s real.

    And that reality? It hurts. Grief is raw and tender at the same time. But allowing ourselves to feel it fully is one of the most courageous things we can do.

  • Emotional Regulation: Sadness

    Getting to Know Sadness

    Sadness is an emotion we all experience, yet it remains one of the most complex and misunderstood. Many assume sadness is simply about tears—crying when we grieve. And while grief is generally accepted, it often comes with an unspoken time limit. When we lose someone we love, there’s an expectation to mourn, but only for so long. Eventually, the world expects us to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and move on. Sadness has been placed in a box—acknowledged, but rarely explored beyond the surface.

    What does sadness feel like?

    But sadness isn’t just about crying. It’s often linked to depression because many of their symptoms overlap. Sadness can look like a quiet withdrawal, struggling to laugh or smile, speaking in softer tones. It can mean feeling detached, sleeping more, losing motivation, and finding it hard to keep up with routines. It can manifest as exhaustion—both physical and emotional.

    When someone dies, people expect sadness, but not everyone reacts the same way. Not everyone cries when they hear about the loss of a loved one. Sometimes, sadness is a deep emptiness—an ache in the pit of your stomach, a longing so intense it feels like your heart is physically breaking. And the agony that comes with it? It can feel unbearable, like you might actually die from the weight of it. This isn’t an exaggeration; for many, it’s a very real and visceral experience. Yet, it’s rarely talked about or fully understood.

    Sadness in the body

    • deep emptiness
    • quiet withdrawl
    • struggling to laugh or even smile
    • speaking softly
    • sleeping more
    • loss of motivation
    • changes in appetite

    Types of sadness

    Sadness and grief aren’t just tied to death. We grieve in so many ways—over the loss of a pet, the end of a friendship, moving away, or even setting a boundary that someone else doesn’t accept. Sometimes, grief follows happy moments too, like reaching a milestone or closing a meaningful chapter in life. The end of something good can still bring a sense of loss.

    Sadness is vast and layered, and it deserves more understanding. Instead of brushing it aside or trying to rush through it, maybe we need to sit with it—get to know it, listen to what it’s telling us, and allow ourselves to feel without judgment.

    Coping with Sadness

    When we take the time to get to know sadness it can reveal  the things that matter to us, it can show us where we need to adapt or make changes. Sadness can teach empathy and how to support others.  It is a privilege to have closure, but many things in this life we grieve don’t give us the luxury of closure and so I’ve found that taking the time to create closure for myself has been helpful.

    Allow Yourself the Time and Space to Grieve
    Sadness needs room to breathe. It’s okay to not “bounce back” right away. Giving yourself permission to grieve—without rushing or minimizing your feelings—can be deeply healing. Whether that looks like a quiet afternoon alone, crying it out, or simply naming what you’re feeling, this space allows your heart to process what it’s carrying. Taking time to reflect on the meaningful moments or the lessons learned can gently support the healing process and offer comfort as you move forward.

    Honor What Was Lost
    Sometimes, creating a tangible way to honor a loss can bring comfort and meaning. Planting a plant, writing a letter to express what you didn’t get to say, or gathering keepsakes into a memory box, helps externalize the pain and reflect on what mattered. These small acts can become sacred spaces for healing, allowing you to carry the memory with tenderness instead of only pain.

    The one thing about grief that I want to share is that it tends to show up when you least expect it. Even if you said good bye and went through a mourning period, grief can choose to show up whenever it wants. And these are the times that I struggle with most with grief. I’ve had to change plans because I needed more time. While visiting with a friend grief showed up and kind of spoiled that time but I learned that the people currently in my life, although they might not understand the pain of grief and to the level I feel it, they loving hold space for me and support me-even when triggers of grief arrive. 

  • 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.

  • Emotional Regulation: Fear

    Getting To Know Fear

    Fear is an interesting emotion; it can arise from a legitimate situation or a perceived threat. This makes fear a very complex emotion. In many ways, fear acts like an internal alarm system. The brain sends signals to the body, prompting automatic reactions. Most people are familiar with the fight-or-flight response, but there are also two other reactions: freeze and fawn.

    Fear is highly individualized. Some people seek it out—watching horror movies or chasing adrenaline through thrill-seeking activities. Others, like me, prefer to avoid it. I don’t even enjoy watching others engage in stunts, and even just seeing a trailer for a horror film can give me nightmares. This is where curiosity and noticing come into play.

    When we notice a threat, real or imagined, our body responds automatically: we might start to sweat, our hands may feel clammy, our heart races, and our breathing becomes shallow. For some, these sensations can trigger an anxiety or panic attack. Fear, when unchecked, can also manifest into phobias or generalized anxiety. It can stem from past experiences, trauma, or the fear of losing control.

    How to Cope with Fear

    This is where noticing becomes a valuable tool. I once had friends who loved horror movies. Thinking I could handle it, I joined them to watch Thinner by Stephen King. That decision led to months of nightmares. I realized that scary movies are not for me. The emotional rollercoaster and lingering effects weren’t worth it. Through noticing, I also discovered that haunted houses and jump scares are not my thing—I hate being scared.

    Coping with fear is a challenge. I try my best to remind myself to breathe and, if a situation is too overwhelming, I give myself permission to leave. Those who experience anxiety, panic, or PTSD might be more sensitive to fear, making it even more crucial to develop coping strategies.

    Interestingly, I’ve noticed that when a real threat arises, my body responds in different ways. If the threat involves someone I love, I am ready to fight. If the threat is directed at me, I have sometimes found myself fawning—a response shaped by past experiences. One thing I know for sure: the more I focus on fear, the bigger it becomes.

    Preparing for Fear Without Letting It Take Over

    Just like we prepare for tornadoes in the Midwest—having a safety kit, knowing where to take shelter, and staying weather-aware—we can also prepare for fear in healthy ways. The key is balance. Refreshing the radar every two minutes during a storm crosses into obsession, just as avoiding driving all winter might be letting fear take control. Preparation is empowering, but when fear dictates our actions entirely, it becomes limiting.

    Here are some ways to prepare for fear without letting it rule your life:

    Key notes

    1. Have a Fear Plan
      Just like an emergency plan for severe weather, you can create a plan for situations that trigger fear. Ask yourself:
      • What is my fear telling me?
      • What steps can I take to feel safer?
      • Who can I reach out to for support?
      • What is within my control, and what is not?
    2. Ground Yourself in Reality
      Fear thrives in uncertainty. If you find yourself caught in a spiral of what-ifs, try grounding techniques:
      • Five Senses Check-in: Name five things you see, four things you touch, three things you hear, two things you smell, and one thing you taste.
      • Fact vs. Fiction: Ask yourself, “What are the actual facts, and what is my fear assuming?”
    3. Take Incremental Steps
      If fear is stopping you from doing something, break it down into small, manageable steps. For example:
      • If driving in winter terrifies you, start by taking short, local drives on clear days and gradually build your confidence.
      • If social anxiety keeps you from attending events, start with brief interactions and build from there.
    4. Set Boundaries with Fear
      It’s okay to acknowledge fear, but it doesn’t have to dictate your choices. Think of it as setting a boundary:
      • Healthy Fear: “I won’t drive in an ice storm because it’s unsafe.”
      • Fear Taking Over: “I won’t drive at all this winter because something bad might happen.”
    5. Practice Self-Compassion
      Fear isn’t weakness—it’s a natural response. Instead of judging yourself for being afraid, try saying:
      • “It’s okay to feel this way.”
      • “Fear is trying to protect me, but I am safe.”
      • “I can make choices that support both my safety and my growth.”

    By preparing for fear the same way we prepare for storms—thoughtfully, without obsession—we can navigate life’s uncertainties with more confidence and resilience.

    Tune in tomorrow as I share more of my personal walk with fear..

  • My Walk with Anger

    The Old Me

    You might not believe this, but, I was known for my temper—the smallest things used to set me off. Once, while enjoying a beach day with a friend, words were exchanged, and the tension between us escalated. Back then, I didn’t understand the power of emotions or how to calm myself down so I could respond instead of react. And my reactions? They were explosive.

    As we left the beach, the argument continued in the car. I felt trapped and furious. We were both yelling, and I lost control. In a moment of pure emotional chaos, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door, fully intending to jump out of the moving vehicle.

    Looking back, I see that this reckless decision was my desperate attempt to remove myself from the situation. I didn’t have the skills or the understanding of anger—I only knew that when I was upset, my emotions took over, and I said and did things I never truly meant. I was reacting, not thinking.

    This wasn’t an isolated incident. When anger consumed me, I threw things, kicked things, and said horrible words that couldn’t be taken back. It wasn’t until I started learning about emotions that I began peeling back the layers of my anger.

    For the longest time, when the rage monster appeared, I didn’t even recognize the warning signs. I wasn’t aware of what made me angry or how my body reacted until the fight was already over. I didn’t notice my blood pressure rising or my muscles tensing—anger was so ingrained in me that I assumed those sensations were just part of who I was.

    The Change

    That changed when I started working with my therapist. I learned to recognize the subtle signs: my heart beating faster, my muscles tightening, that slow burn of frustration bubbling inside me. I was taught tools—how to walk away, how to remove myself from the situation, how to disengage before things spiraled out of control. Deep breaths, brisk walks, choosing not to see the other person as an enemy.

    I’ll never forget the first time I put these tools into action. In the middle of a heated argument, I paused and said, “I’m feeling elevated. Let’s take a walk and continue this conversation after.”

    The person I was speaking to didn’t take it well. They told me I was avoiding the conversation, abandoning their needs, and that taking a walk was a stupid idea. But in reality, they were angry because they couldn’t control my emotions or my actions like they had expected.

    So I stood up, listened to my body, and took the walk alone.

    When I returned, I felt calmer—ready to continue the hard conversation. But the other person escalated again, raising their voice and growing angrier. That’s when I realized: taking a break worked. I was in control of my emotions, and they weren’t.

    That moment was a turning point. The more I practiced, the more I noticed anger’s presence before it took over. I wasn’t perfect, but over time, the emotional explosions faded. I built healthier patterns.

    The New Me

    And then came the day I knew—without a doubt—that I had control over my anger. A loved one, struggling with deep insecurities, projected their pain onto me. In the past, I would have snapped, lashed out, or fed into the fight. But this time, something shifted. I felt the anger rise… and then it subsided before I even responded.

    I saw the situation for what it was—their pain, not mine. I remained calm, stood up for myself multiple times, and ultimately set a boundary: I needed space to process. That was the breaking point for them. They ended the relationship because they weren’t willing to respect my need for space.

    Losing that relationship hurt. The grief was real. But at the same time, I was so damn proud of myself. I hadn’t gotten defensive. I hadn’t engaged in their anger. I had given them my time, my patience, and multiple chances to work through it. Asking for space wasn’t unreasonable—anyone in my life today would understand and respect that.

    I handled it with clarity, self-respect, and emotional control.

    That friendship ended, but I walked away knowing my worth. Knowing that all the internal work I had done was real. That I managed my anger like a pro.

    And that? That was a victory.