Author: Gail Shurtleff

Gail Shurtleff is a California-licensed marriage and family therapist residing in the Netherlands, where she is registered as a clinical psychologist. She also authors "The Gift of Being Heard" blog, where she explores trauma and grief (including the experience of losing her husband, Jon, to suicide from bipolar disorder), the spiritual journey, disability, and life.

I Miss (Revisit)

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Beyond Grief, The Suicide and its Aftermath

Originally posted on June 1, 2022.

Last night while reading, my mind was blown by what was on the pages. It seemed as if I had been sent sailing into the outer limits of my mind, and that I was needing to process all the fantastic thoughts that were coming to me. I realized that my out-of-this-dimension-process-person was gone. OUCH!

In realizing this, I also noticed that I wasn’t shedding tears, I wasn’t angry, or even sad: I just missed him and the easy access to processing wild thoughts. Now who do I do this with? The one person who might go there with me no longer speaks to me due to where my life has gone. (That’s an entirely different post.) What do I do now?

The prospect of finding a new conversation partner for exploring the out-of-the-box things that need to be spoken, pondered, turned over in the mind, and configured into working theory and thought is difficult. He is gone.

I began to reflect on those long conversations that took us into first one and then another subject, until the wee hours of the morning when my intellect was stimulated and all we could do was collapse into bed, not remembering exactly where we began—only knowing where we wound up.

While walking on the treadmill this morning, I realized that somehow, without my knowing it, something inside of me had shifted. What piece of the grief puzzle, the loss, the resolution, had gently moved into place?

Is it that in our journeying and self-discovery and the multiple examinations of the past relationship, we resolve the ugly, the painful, the hidden along with the happy and joyous parts of the relationship?

In contemplating this, my thoughts turned to the fact that death is for the most part traumatic. It is traumatic for the dying and for those left behind. We don’t expect it will happen when it does, or how it happens. We don’t get to have closure. Yes, if there is a terminal illness involved, we might be able to have some of those conversations—but not all of them. We move forward, and in time, shifts happen and things change.

There are no certain answers with the grief process. There is no ready formula that creates resolution and stops the tears. There is no end point. Time doesn’t resolve the pain and loss. There are people who are in the same struggle ten years after they’ve lost someone—the pain is just as intense. I think there are things that can stimulate forward movement. I’ll talk about a few of them in no particular order of importance.

Be open to the tears, because tears tend to cleanse our souls and open new paths of healing. If we fail to care for ourselves by honoring times when we need to let the tears flow by pretending that shedding the tears is weakness, we shut ourselves down to legitimate growth. It is natural to cry in pain, to feel the hurt fully, and to allow our bodies to respond naturally when we’ve been assaulted by physical, mental, or emotional pain. Tears are a cue to the self that all is not right within us.

Shrines are damaging, so don’t build them. Shrines to anyone tend to block progress. They stifle our development by keeping us in a memory loop that can lead to not being able to move forward. We become trapped in the past life we had with this person.

Reclaiming a space that may have been the domain of another person is difficult and emotional work. It is a good idea to go into a bedroom or workspace with a supportive friend or family member to enable the beginning of the process of restructuring the new space.

Photographing things we want to remember enables us to move forward and hold onto memories. It also allows us to create new spaces for the living. I think people create shrines in fear of forgetting. This doesn’t mean that we go in and take everything away. What all of this means is that we give careful thought to finding some of their possessions new and loving homes. We become selective about what will really mean something to us. We might store some things in order to determine at a later time what we want to hold onto. There is an element of realism to this. In sorting through things, we can remember and face some of the work around remembrance that must be done in all relationships. I had sufficient space to store some things until I could realistically come to terms with what I wanted to do with them. Intentionally packing things away, asking others about some of the items, and coming to terms with how I felt about things enabled me to not erect any type of shrine that would be unhealthy.

In stating the above, it does not mean that I’ve wiped my husband out of the home. There are photos and other special memories tucked away that I can enjoy when I want to do so. No shrine.

Stare it all down. If we’re not willing to look at something, we need to as ourselves why we’re avoiding doing so. If we’re in a rush to explore everything, why is it a rush? Would allowing time and a gentle approach serve us better? There are some realities that we’re forced into dealing with, and meeting them with courage rather than denial does wonders for us and others. Denial, in its own way, is a shrine to the unknown.

Recognize that if you listen to your heart, your head, and your gut, you will gain insights into the when and the how of looking at issues. You will also have a better sense of when you are stuck and need to seek help in moving forward to the place where you become unstuck. For most people, the process of looking at it all and facing the reality of whatever loss it is seems to be the most difficult. We’re not animals who are designed to move on. We’re humans, and we function differently than out pets, who may remember and miss their pet housemates or human companions, but who will move on as the scent fades with time. We’re wired to remember, and we should!

Speak the person’s name! Speaking of memories and uttering their name is a good, healthy thing. Burying the person is one thing and keeping them alive in a healthy way is another area of work. Out of sight is not out of mind. Talking helps us all process the loss.

There will come a time when you will be able to remember and reframe the relationship that was lost in a better and clearer manner. Allowing for gentle time, courage, and uncertainty as to when it will all come together is key in moving on. Yes, I miss him in a different way now, and it is both sad and good at the same time.

The Secrets We Keep

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

Since coming home from the rehab center, I’ve been playing catch-up. This weekend I binge watched Netflix. 

Why? There are two reasons. My birthday was this last Friday, and I needed a break to reboot it all.

The physical therapist is doing house calls right now because I’m not walking distances yet. In talking with her today, I told her what I’d done, and how good it felt. She commented on the fact that I’d been through a great deal with it all. Yes, I have, and no one has asked me about dealing with the stress of it all! I commented on this fact, and her response was that it’s different for each person. Here I am writing this, because someone should ask everyone about the stress of such injuries.

The fact is, injury that requires a rehab stay is hard, and dealing with it all is difficult. I knew the signs and still felt that I couldn’t ask to talk to someone! I will now.

This is all about understanding our needs and tuning into ourselves, and yet I was overwhelmed and couldn’t ask. When you’re in the soup, you can’t see out of where you are. Trauma of all sorts causes us to need assistance. A grieving person is stuck in the soup, and they need people to come and “please do” for them. It might be the dishes, the garbage, a meal, or something else.

I try to be independent, and I need help at times. My enneagram type eight can be a hindrance if I don’t get to my two arrow, which softens me, and then I can ask for what I need. So now I’ll go there and get what I need. 

This makes me think of all the things that are hard, that we don’t speak about, and that we keep in until we discover that we’re not alone in our thinking. I get that we need to hold things confidential. Confidential isn’t a secret, and we keep things secret to ourselves. There are many things that we all fail to process in the time period they are happening to us. Then it makes it easier to hide from the facts. My spiritual director has been a real resource for this. She calls me out and asks good questions, and in reflection I learn where I am. My therapist makes me work to fix what is going on within, and I go there when I need to do short-term work and fix-it work. Both are helpful.

My hunch is that we don’t talk about some of the stuff we need to talk about because of old taboos. In the past, depression and sexual assault and molestation were two of the biggies that got buried deep down. Addiction, and all of its variants, was another area that was not to be spoken of. Here we are in a time when we can speak, and we hesitate until it gets so bad that it may be critical. Opening up about what ails us can be good for the soul.

Sometimes we wind up on a new soul journey, and as we navigate the river, it feels like we might be evaluating old relationships with all areas of our lives. I think we’ve crossed a river of time in how we talk—and don’t talk—about things. We’re distracted, and so, maybe we hide it all. What a wild web it all is.   

We’re distracted by tech, the fast pace of life, and the stuff that happens automatically that we don’t see. We’re caught off guard by the global pace of change. What we need to do is build in time for ourselves to reflect. This weekend was all done on instinct. My psyche knew what I was ignoring: I needed to vegetate and do nothing. Today I can face the world again. The time not thinking seems to have reset an internal clock that needed resetting. This week, the catch-up will hopefully move to the caught-up phase. This week I’ll ask for more help. Lesson learned.

Just As it Should Be

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability

About ten days ago, I walked-rolled through my front door. My front door is still a mess; I can’t lock it well. I can’t go out because my left leg is still weak, and I’m playing catch-up here at home. It could be worse. 

What I noticed was how everything seemed shorter, as I was able to stand up again. The sink, the toilet, closet shelves, and the bed! For someone who must live in a wheelchair the rest of their life, the world is seen from a different angle. When I was using wheels, it seemed normal, and when I stood up again, my world changed.

The physical therapist just left. I have to climb the stairs differently, do some chair exercises, and all of this is to build strength.

When I went to the surgeon, I saw that it was a busted femur with two long screws inside. OK, that makes sense. I’ve been so out-of-whack that my logic hasn’t worked well. Painkillers mess you up. These painkillers don’t work like they used to. 

Back to playing catch-up. The only way I know to do this is to do one project at a time. Next are the taxes and finishing up a project that began in early February. I’m hoping to get these done this week, along with the normal stuff.

Why is it that when our lives get interrupted, it is hard to hold the focus on where we were? Maybe because where we were isn’t quite where we left it. Stuff moves around, and we move around, and we change. My kerplop on the landing, by its necessity, moved me into new territory.

This is like the funeral bubble, and kind of not like that bubble. The difference is that you don’t go to thin places—you go to new places of self-understanding. This time I’ve grown, and I’ve experienced an area of disability that I’ve learned from.

The first night I was there, the nurse got in my face and said, “You can do this.” Well, of course I can—I must. When I think back on all of it, I must have looked really scared. She was using a wheeled device to transfer me to the toilet. I was irritated by her telling me what I knew I had to do. I did set about doing it. Not rapidly. As I gained confidence that I could do a spin on one leg and not fall, I picked up my momentum. Then dressing became easier, and so did other things. 

People often say that the disabled are courageous, and maybe there are times that we are showing courage. For the most part, I believe that our acts are a part of daily living, and this is what we need to do to survive and live our lives.

Maybe there are “please do’s” for the disabled that I should list here. Just as with grief and loss, there are some helpful things you can do for us.

Do:

Allow us to do what we do normally. Things like crossing the street are second nature to low-vision and blind people. If you see someone in a wheelchair who can’t reach an item high on a shelf, ask if you may reach it for them. Do ask, and if you don’t know about a specific disability, ask us if we can explain things. Sometimes this is doable, and at other times it isn’t welcome. Use common sense. Be polite and, above all, accept the answer given. It is also OK to tell us you’re asking because you’d like to become informed. Can we refer you to a good source? With a phone it is simple to jump to a website.

Teach children how to interact with all diversity. Kids pick up queues from adults. When adults can teach proper manners and behaviours, kids learn. Kids want to be smart.

Don’t:

Don’t try to force us to do something. Being helpful also means that the person needs to do the simple things him- or herself.

Don’t rush someone. You might be able to do it faster, but it feels awful to be made to feel like you need it done to suit your own pace. I’ve had people do this with me, and it feels degrading. 

If you think it is rude, don’t do or say it.

If you mock, your children will mock, and in the long run they’ll be seen as ignorant. Kids want to be seen as fitting in appropriately.

I’m home with a new way of thinking—just as it should be.

I Will Walk Out of Here

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability, Soul Peace and Journeys
photo of person using wheelchair

I never thought I’d be spending six weeks in a wheelchair. I also never thought I’d get so good at wheeling myself around. This ability has surprised me, and I’m proud of the fact that I’ve been able to get better at it the past six weeks. I’ve learned a few things as well.

I’ve become more patient with myself. Walking is something most people do without thinking about it. Once we’ve learned to put one foot in front of the other foot, we do it automatically. If we suffer a stroke or other brain injury, then the task of learning how to walk is something that must happen again.

Learning how to not walk is another challenge; we must wheel ourselves around just to shower, to dress, and to do all things that go along with preparing for the day. I can’t walk to what I need; right now I roll to what I need, and I must think it out. So I roll to underwear, socks, and then what I want to wear. Then, once I have that secured, I can roll to shower myself, and this will take assistance. 

I’ve had to learn to safely transfer from a bed to a wheelchair. Soon it will be devices such as a walker or a rolling walker that will give me more mobility, and then independent walking, putting one foot in front of the other.

Before I leave the chair, there are lessons that I’ll take with me.

I can do more than I thought I could do in this chair. I’m fairly self sufficient, and for a person with only 12% of her sight, that is pretty darn good. I can roll this thing anywhere I need to go. I’m still building arm strength. The arm that was damaged in the minor stroke that I had is coming into new strength. I’m asking why this wasn’t done at the time of the original rehab. It is happening now, and I’ll look for ways to keep the arm building up strength. Rolling is good physical therapy.

If I need something from nursing staff, I buzz, and then go into a queue. I’m becoming patient, and realizing that others here may not be as able as I am, and so I’m learning to wait. Waiting has also been motivation for me. Can I do the transfer alone? Can I do what I thought I needed someone to help me with on my own? Each success has built on a foundation of a new understanding and wiped out the fear that happened with the fall I took. I can do this! I’m doing this! With low vision I’m pulling this off. WOW-lesson learned: when you are put into situations that limit you, the human spirit chooses to crash, to rise, or to slowly trust that there is a way to rise to new highs. Fear only has a hold on us when we believe there is no way out of where we are. Hope offers ways to get to new places.

This week they’ll x-ray my leg, and I’ll be told if it’s safe to walk on the leg again. I’ll enter a new cycle of fear, learning to trust that I can put pressure on the leg in real time, and trusting the physiotherapists to not allow me to go faster then is prudent.

Physiotherapy by its nature is going to cause me pain. My mind by nature is questioning what happened, and if it will happen again. Now I know it can happen, and I’m doing the prep work to “Gail-proof” that house with some security measures. When stuff happens, we get cautious as we have thoughts about it happening again. It is why a grandparent warns children to not get too close to the edge: it isn’t that they want to deny fun to the children, but rather because they’ve lived long enough to know that unexpected things happen to all of us. We trust our bodies to be predictable when in reality they can be faulty, and when the faulty stuff happens we wind up in the ER asking why and hoping for good news. Listen to older people because they’ve seen more than you have by nature of living longer.

It is true that what I’m talking about is not wisdom. I’m talking about life experiences and general knowing.

Ultimately, we’re led to do the journeying our souls and hearts need to do. The unexpected has a way of bringing us surprises that can benefit us. My fall was a seven-week life detour, and while I haven’t enjoyed it, I’ve learned from doing it.

Last week they moved me. The room I’d been in since my arrival had a view of the tree and the window in the house across the street. The image that I saw daily looked like the perfect cover for an old Nancy Drew mystery. They’ve move me to a place further away from the tree, and now I’m looking at the employee parking lot. The movement came with other changes as well. The biggest change is that I can see how far I’ve come in six weeks. I think the huge change is the fact that I’m expressing far more gratitude for what I can do and for those who have engaged with me to bring about the change. The charge nurse on my first day here looked me in the eyes and said “YOU CAN DO THIS,” and I was annoyed by that statement. Now I’ve done much, and in the next ten days I must launch myself to new heights. I will walk again. I will walk out of here. 

Exiting the Box

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Soul Peace and Journeys
kittens on box

I was raised in a high-demand religion that placed me in a box. When you’re young, you only sense that something is off, and it was my nature to knock down barriers. Boxes are barriers, and so it began at a young age, the push–pull of trying to walk the line, yet break free of the box. The breaking out was needful, and the process almost broke me.

Breaking free is a process that takes time, knowledge, exploration, and courage. How many of us realize that we each live in a box? Our boxes are made up of different restrictions, in or out of high-demand religions and other groups. It takes strength to knock walls down. It takes strength to call it out when others remain silent. I discovered that it was lonely being the only one in the room who understood that I was trapped. It was lonely not being able to put the pieces together at a young age. It took so much time to fully connect the dots.

I’ve been knocking walls down since my adolescence. I must admit that I wouldn’t know how to live a life without breaking personal barriers, and if it helps others I’ll bring them along. I’ve spoken about this in the sledgehammer piece I wrote. I think over what I’ve done, and I want to share more. How did I find the courage to move to a new place in life?

When I look back at all of this, I’m caught up in the WOW of it all, and I think back to how I navigated the choppy parts of the river. Who was in my boat? People who were living outside of the box I’d been in. At first I didn’t understand this. The further I moved away from what had been, the more I understood out-of-the-box thinking in real time. Being in the box won’t free you to do the thinking you must do outside of the box. First you must get out!

The people outside the box enabled me to leave the bench I was sitting on and move forward. I’ll admit that this process has been both velvet in its feel and scary as I’ve crossed into the underworld and new territory.

Leaving the box causes others in the box to not understand why you would choose to leave the secure space. In my boxed situation, I was told not to “leave the boat,” and I was asked where I would go if I left the boat. I jumped into the water and into the waiting dinghy that was there for me. As I rowed into new, warmer waters, I discovered that there was new growth and so many new places to explore! What an expansive universe I lived in!

I found myself discovering so many new things! The current was swift, and as I stretched myself to learn and to ask new questions, I grew in ways that I never thought I could. Over fifty years spent in a box, and while I mourned, I also moved on. I must also admit that Jon’s suicide was a catalyst for personal growth. How could it not be a process of moving me forward? I wasn’t willing to roll over and play dead.

I discovered that it was time to put the sledgehammer away, and to discover more peaceful means of breaking down walls and moving forward. I was truly sad about stowing the sledge, as it had been a lifelong companion. I was comfortable with it, and I understood the sledge’s use, and there were better ways of creating change.

My soul work moved me forward. I now find myself in a place of peace and contentment, and it’s weird because I never imagined myself in this place. In the box, this was not possible. Outside of the box, it is doable. I think the difference is that I’ve discovered more of who* I am, what the world is all about, and that I’m finding lots of wonderful new ways of looking at everything I encounter.

While my exit from the box was velvet in its nature, it did cause me great pain. There are people who have turned their backs on me, and they’ve walked away. There are others who won’t talk about the hard things. You know—the things that really need to be said. In the box, people can’t go to these places. How I long for people I have known to go to the harder places! The price we pay for breaking ourselves out of the box is the loss of people we thought were friends. So, we must grieve again.

I’ve found that the the grief process here is no different from other grief, and that the “please do” that must be a part of our process in the exit is a major must. This is a lonely process, and it is often one that is done alone because our new village might not understand what we need in our lives.

The box I was in taught me some good things. It taught me to give to others, and to do it when it might not always be convenient. It taught me to listen to myself, and that enabled me to “jump ship” and get out of there. Who I was, and who I am, was not to be found in the tiny box.

I move on, forward, into the unknown, which is exciting, wonderful, and scary. It never ends, this discovery business. I wonder what I’ll learn around the next bend?

Relics

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Everything Mental Health
polaroid picture on a box

This last week was interesting. My church decided to sell 200 million dollars worth of relics to the Mormon Church. The Mormons like relics. Relics are about the past, and not about the future. I’m a forward thinker, and in the end, while there are some disturbing components, the sale is not a negative. Both churches won.

Relics and the past led me to think about my sister, who died when I was eighteen and heading off to go to college. She died one month before I had to be there to register and orient myself. It wasn’t good timing; it never is. Life and death do their own thing and do it on their own time. Births, for the most part, are not planned, and deaths tend to be inconvenient all the way around. It is all part of the nature of existence.

My mother woke up one morning and announced that Joyce’s room would not become a shrine. We got to work and decided that one of her friends would get the bedspread and matching curtains. I inventoried her clothes, taking the one dress I could wear. Joyce was big and bold in her style, and I took the one calmer red dress because I could pull that one off.

By the time I left for Idaho, the room was neutral. Eventually, the room served as a place for all of us when we returned home on breaks. We all could lay claim to that space. This has made me think about moving forward from loss and how we grieve. In the beginning, the tears are out of our control, and we want them to go away. It feels awful to cry when it doesn’t make sense to cry. It feels awful to get triggered all the time, and days turn into weeks, and then months. Grief sucks.

Eventually, the crazy tears go away. What the crazy is replaced with is tears that are calmer, and tears that we can identify for what they are. When Jon died, I decided to send his things to new homes. I kept tiny things of his that I liked. It was hard and needful to part with his things, and yet I knew that I needed to say goodbye to the things in our closet. I still had his side of the bed to smell and enjoy. That changed when I bought a new bed for myself. I was ready for the goodbye to the bed and the old room, and I was ready for the changes I would be making, from a milk chocolate brown to an ice blue! A very blue bed came in, and new colors flooded into the room. It was now a Gail space! Goodbye to the old and hello to the new. Still, there were tears.

Those tears! Will they ever not be present? I suspect that they will always return in unexpected ways. Now it is different, and I can identify the “why” around them. We move past the old in search of something new. We can’t get to the new without looking at the past. And so, we keep stuff that reminds us of the good in hopes of moving on. Sometimes we deceive ourselves into thinking that if we don’t look, we won’t cry. It never works that way.

Grief, and the work that we must do to resolve it, all has a nasty way of biting at us when we least expect it. It says, “Hello, remember me? I’m here to remind you to look at your past.” Then, if we are wise, we do. If we’re holding on to relics and making shrines, the chances of taking a truthful look are slim. We don’t cross the river Styx. I’ve mentioned before that it took me into my third year to really look at my relationship with Jon, and to deconstruct it. It needed to be done, and I came out stronger for having faced the ugly truths and the deep truths of love that lay beyond the surface of it all. He tried to make it a good thing despite the bipolar depression that plagued his life on a daily basis.

Relics lead us to truths that we need, and they trap us in the past that may not be useful. I choose paths that keep me in the present and guide me to a future that is not known. I’ve found this to be the best way to do the work of grief and loss. What I learned from unpacking the relationship was that the relationship was neither all good nor all bad, and that the various shades of colors were there for good reason. One of the trial notes for his decision of suicide was long. He said that he’d wanted to give me so much more but couldn’t. Reading that pierced my heart: a guy who woke to depression most every morning, feeling trapped because he couldn’t do what he really wanted to do, his truth laid out for me to see and hold. I had to look, and I had to be sad for the past.

Oh, my Jonnythan. I love you for your vulnerability, your strength, your brain that took us both to places on the outside of thought. As I write this in 2024, it seems like a different world. It was a world of sadness, a world that might have been, and a world that was what it was. It was sad, happy, joyful, and humorous. It was a world in which we were both helpful and supportive of each other, and at times not so much. It all stands for what is was. I can live with all of this. The looking back into the dark places no longer brings tears. I’ve moved on, and in this situation that is good. It feels good to breathe the air of progress. This new shore is a great place to get off the boat I’ve been on, and to go into the interior environs and poke around. 

Change, One Fall at a Time

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability, Musings and Insights
person sitting on wheelchair

“Raise your leg.”

It is spoken easily, and yet how often do we think about the effort it takes to lift a leg? Many of us don’t give it a second thought. We do it; we move our legs, our arms, without thought. Three weeks ago, that changed for me. I fell and broke my hip. I got lucky, as my hip didn’t shatter, and the surgeon put two screws in. I still need to stay off the hip for six weeks. I’m in a rehab center.

The “How’d you do it?” phase has come and gone. Let’s face it, citing the fall is only good for so long. What is before me is six weeks of learning to sit in a wheelchair, and being confident that I will leave here walking. It is about intention, and about understanding my reality. Right now, my reality is about getting my leg to do as I need it to do six times per day. Right now, getting my leg to raise a wee bit more with each cycle is the goal and the world I live in. Listening to my body with intention is altering the way I go about things.

This place has a two-month turnaround. Friendships aren’t made here because Europeans don’t do US-style friendships. This I know, and so I don’t expect any such thing here. I expect to work hard, to build strength, and to rehab a hip. And so I will focus on that. I watch as I tell myself to raise a leg, and I watch as the leg struggles to obey. Each day a little higher, a little easier, and somewhat stronger. I marvel at what I do as I sit in a wheelchair that is locked in the center of my room, and I am becoming more secure in many things. I need to do this, and so I dive into it.

The courage to heal from pain and trauma in one’s life is a challenge that some choose to hold on to with all they have, because they understand that the only way forward is to go through it. Every time someone writes or phones a therapist, an act of courage is taking place. Saying that you need help is an intentional act.

The evening shift just came on. The transition to less-intense activities has begun: dinner, and then the evening. My work hours are coming up; many here will retire to bed and television. I’m on the younger side for this place.

I think about intentions. What will I learn tomorrow that I didn’t know today? What new low level will I need to grasp on to and raise to a new height? It’s about simple range of motion that I don’t have yet. Just like all change: raise it higher and fight the pain. I am learning, once again, to tell myself to raise the leg higher with each try! This is how change happens. One fall at a time.

After the Raging Storm

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Beyond Grief, The Suicide and its Aftermath

The wind blows, and I’m inside, sheltered from its intensity. I live in a windy place where storms travel across the North Sea and greet me. Sometimes the raging winds howl outside, and I wonder if my windows will break to admit the destruction into this home. At other times it is a softer wind that I hear, and I can look outside to see the umbrella cover being moved: that is how I know there is wind outside.

Beyond the walls of my home, the storms can rage. There are times that mental storms rage for people, and the fix or cure is to talk them out. Sometimes you need a professional to do the listening, and to provide the safety of shelter from the storm.

Grief can rage with an intensity, and at the same time can be the quiet storm that calls us to a peaceful reflection. I’ve experienced both sides of the storm. I’ve known the intensity of the wind as I feel it might break through all of me and leave me splattered on the ground.

I remember a night early on in the process where the storm raged outside of my home, and inside it brought up the question: How will I survive this alone? I raged at myself, at Jon, and at God. The rage wasn’t about how this could happen to me. The rage was about the unknown I was facing. At the time, it was November, and his death had been in late August. I was waking up to what was. I was raging at myself because I was now alone. A disabled person who had relaxed into having another person present to help when I needed a pair of eyes that worked well. Now he was gone and I thought to myself that I’d been foolish to relax my independence. I’d become lazy in relying on him. NO MORE.

I raged at Jon for exiting and honoring his own need to not live through another psychotic episode that would take years to walk out from. Yet, in that rage, I knew the trauma that he had chosen to avoid. It would have been too much for him, and too much to ask me to hold as I cared for him. At the end of his life, I was suffering from compassion fatigue. I wasn’t in a good place.

I was raging at God because I could safely let God hold my rage. This wasn’t about God. God didn’t do anything to me or to Jon. That is not a God I could ever believe in. I just needed to rage on that stormy night. It was enough. When the tears faded out and the body stopped shaking, I was able to rest in the bed we had shared. It was a beginning of closing out the old and entering a new space where that bed would be replaced for something that was all mine.

The bedroom went from a milk-chocolate brown to an ice blue.

I purchased the new bed on a stormy day. That night, sirens blared at accidents that had happened. The snow stayed for days, and I hunkered down as the powerful wind howled beyond my office, rattling the windows, and I wondered if I’d survive it all. Somewhere out there, the storm I was surviving was raging in someone’s head. By then, the head storm of that November night in 2016 had passed, and I understood that I could do what I had to do if I was smart about it. Jon’s storm had ended, and my storm had begun.

We’d talked about how his suicide would hurt me, and others. We’d talked about it in the very room I slept in. He knew what it would do to those left behind. I couldn’t hold it against him, because to stay would have meant suffering mental terror that no one should suffer. Psychosis is traumatic.

When you are in the storm or trauma, you can’t look to the edge and see much hope. This is why grief can be the unwelcome storm that rages out of control. We have no control over any of it. We can manage some of our behavior as we gain experience in meeting the winds. We are not in a place to stop any of it. Storms, by their nature, tend to blow themselves out when they finally get to a point of dying down.

Grief by its own nature will calm itself when we allow our bodies and souls to do the work that must be done. We navigate harsh waters; we travel underground, and we bore through mountains. In the end, we stand on new ground.

The rage inside and outside has stopped. We question how it happened, and we can conclude that the process of it all, while useful to understand, isn’t needful to focus on. In many ways it is enough to respect the wind for its power to carry us to a new place in life where we come to believe that we can face the other storms that come our way.

Dancing in the Sunlight

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights, Soul Peace and Journeys

The paths we walk are each different, and sometimes we are so engaged with our own selves that we are brought up short when others make fantastical progress. And so, it was a client this week, who went to that place. For some time, I’ve noticed that movement from the past and into the present. Then, like the wind carrying the leaves to new places, the miracle of change blew in, in its full color!

“I want to know more about…” The words caught me off guard. I’d hoped for these words, and as a therapist I understand that I can only watch, and lead, this person to new waters. Drinking is their choice. All a sudden, they were ready for the next step, and it was a moment to bask in, not for myself but for someone who has done some very hard work.

Insight therapy is about becoming acquainted with the you that is locked deep inside and for whatever reason hasn’t been able to dance in the sun. This week a client made the break to enter into the warm sunlight. This week, someone stepped off the old conveyor belt and into the unknown. They don’t know that yet; I do. I’ll continue to watch and to learn from them. I try to learn from everyone. Some of the lessons are easy, and others are hard.

There is something about growth that has always energized me. I’ve never been able to pin it down; I just understand that it causes me to burn with passion. Whether it is myself or others, it is the process and progress that ignite amazing things in our souls. It is a soul journey that takes us to new places of the heart and mind. Growth feeds our souls and our spirits. It causes us to gaze back for the WOW moments, and to look from our boats out on the river of life. Yes, we have crossed into new places: new territory that opens its arms to welcome us to a new and brave uncertainty. Sometimes, we’re on the river, and at other times we’re inland. It seems that our souls intuit where we need to be and move us to the places of exploration.

Growth is friendly, painful, and wonderful, and it is always a challenge. Growth calls us to the crossroads of being and enables us to question our past and our present, and then wisdom takes hold and we understand that we can’t go back. Going back is self-betrayal.

When you see this on someone’s face or hear it in their questions, you understand what this work is all about. It isn’t about the research, the studying you’ve done that has delivered you to this point in time. It is about the gift of standing with someone in their courage, and having your eyes opened to their sun dance. I can’t claim this dance; all I can do is witness what is now, and hope for what will become.

I entered therapy to grow, to change, and to discover my own path in life. I became a therapist for reasons I thought were good, and I thought that I would walk a different path than I have walked. Tonight, as I type these words, I marvel at my own journey and maybe, just maybe, I’m doing my own dance in the sun.

As I sit here, the tears come, and I’m gratified by them. They are tears of joy and thankfulness. I’ve been given a gift of a dance in the sun, and I feel alive!

Changes

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

This past week I spent four days in Wales at the home of some lovely friends. I was fed and watered and dosed with a smidge of teasing, and it was sad to leave and fly home. The letdown was coming home to a cold, empty home.

It is often said that grief and loss alter the address book of those who have lost. What happens when we have someone exit our lives, or when death comes into our life, can be challenging or devasting for those left behind. Due to two different events in my life, my husband’s death and a faith transition, I lost ninety percent of my address book. The rebuild is being done in new ways, and with new understanding.

The above being said, that isn’t what I’m going to talk about. I’d like to talk about the changes that come because of the work we do in our process of rebuilding our lives after a deeply life-changing event or a death. The fact is that all of this can shake us to the core. I haven’t really heard this spoken about, as everyone talks about coping.

We might be sobered, or become more of a risk-taker. We could do a complete about-face and change our career path. We might change from not questioning our faith to abandoning what we once believed. Grief does a number on the body and soul. It is something that must be experienced to fully understand its jarring reality.

Grief sends the bereaved to the emergency room thinking they’re having a heart attack. It sends others into a hermit-like state of existence, and the unique possibilities are too numerous to mention, so I’ll stick to two of the most common ones.

So, as a friend, please do the good stuff of listening to the hard things a friend needs to speak. You might feel squeamish, but as you open your heart and mind to their reality, it gets easier. There are added do’s for suicide and trauma. Like death, everyone has a different version of trauma. Don’t compare.

I’ve often had to stop and reflect about how Jon’s suicide altered me personally. What I once valued changed. I had to question some major assumptions about myself and those around me. I found that certainty had been wiped out from my life. I discovered that my family didn’t know what to say after the suicide. I’ve now established a boundary around the subject because no one really wanted to ask and talk about the suicide right after it happened, or in the first year. Going on eight years later, it would be much too little, and way too late.

So how have I changed? In some ways, I’ve become more selfish, and in other ways much more generous. The pandemic and the lockdown caused me to question my safety. I was now alone, and it was not an easy world to adjust to. Most of all, certainty has been taken out of my life. For the most part, the loss of certainty is a good thing. Certainty can make one arrogant.

As I did the work, there were wow moments of realizing that things had been altered. There were also gentle velvet times that softened the harsh reality of my new life. Somewhere in all of this mess, I awoke to a new sense of self. Eights are strong souls, and we can tell it like it is. I was stunned when I began to realize how all of this had altered me. I saw myself not as the gentle soul I thought myself to be but a harsher person who I didn’t like. When we’re forced to see our new reality, it can get ugly fast. I’m needing to adjust to the me I really am. It isn’t that I’ve never been this way: I have. It is that I’ve never needed to soften the hard edges in the way I realize I need to do now. I’ve cried, I’ve become depressed for a few days, and then risen up to fight for a better me. I was blind to who I was, and grief called me out to new growth. It is a process that takes years. No one should be the same person at the end of any year. I’m not the same person I was in 2016. I’ve lived eight more years.

My beliefs have changed; my attitudes have changed, and I understand things I didn’t, and couldn’t, understand before. I also know that this process can breed trauma. I accept the trauma not as drama. I accept how I’ve been affected by all of this with an understanding that there are resources out there. I look back and I wonder how I could have ever thought there wouldn’t be some trauma with this loss. Time and wisdom have sobered me to a new reality. While change is good, it can be harsh.

Saying “WOW!”

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

This last weekend, I began a project that I thought could be done in three days. It turns out that it won’t be done until I move through everything slowly. I’m reading every post on my blog! It is bringing up memories, tears, and moments where I pause with a “WOW, did I write that?!”

Reading through everything has been on my mind for some time, and I’d hoped to do it over the holiday period. It didn’t happen because another project that would also take me into emotional places took precedence. And so, life rolls on with its twists and turns. The bumps on the path are many.

What I’m learning from the reading is that grief and loss are teachers, and some of what they instruct us in is the unknown. The fact is a psychic with a crystal ball could not have told me what I now am understanding. When I gaze back over time, I wouldn’t take any of what I’ve learned back—none of it. It has sobered me, broadened my understanding, and increased my empathy. It has also pulled me up short and challenged me not to judge in new ways. I’ve gone back to school. For this I’m thankful.

The reason the reading is going slowly is that reading all of my writing is bringing back so much. The tears come, and the feelings of where I was then flood into my mind. I must pause and think about it all. What I thought would be a technical exercise is not technical at all: it is a feeling exercise.

I recall the day I sat here, and as I gazed out my window to my right, and saw the sun on a window across the way, I reflected on the bad parts of the marriage. I sobbed. I had given myself full permission to do the work of serious searching. You can’t grieve only the easy and safe things. Grief work is about the good and the bad, and it is ugly. I sat there looking out and continued to sob. Then, when it had been let out, I was able to give it voice and admit to it. Compassion fatigue had blocked some things out. 

So many people write on grief, and some of them mistakenly think that their solution, their workbook or program will fix it all. When I went back to work after Jon’s death, I was advised to write up a program and package it in a workbook. I declined that idea for one reason: no two people will have the same circumstances around grief and loss. I won’t grieve like you, and you certainly will not walk the path I’ve been on. The best resources I’ve found are good books and a good spiritual director. This time around I’d done the therapy work. I needed to refocus in new ways. I didn’t find that in a book: I found this path via community who were doing grief work in different ways. At this point in my life, the spiritual called out to me.

I’m not saying not to look at things. Just know that you might find helpful tools but not complete solutions.

I will continue to read the entire blog, and it will teach me new things. I will continue to be amazed at the teacher in my own words. How time allows us to reach back, and move us forward. Time pushes us off the bench for a second and third walk forward. When will it end? The journey doesn’t end: the view on the horizon changes, and as we look back and see the carnage of our past, we look forward and say “WOW!”

Calling Each Other Out to Growth

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights, Soul Peace and Journeys

I call things out. I call myself out, which is ugly; my spiritual director calls me out, and I call others out professionally. Being called out is a must if we’re willing to risk personal growth. If my readers haven’t figured this out yet, you sure will by the end of this post. 

I’ll begin with calling myself out. Growing up, I was hard on myself. I expected to do the work of personal change, and to move forward in life. As a child it wasn’t as noticeable as it was when I entered the university to study. 

As I look back on it now, I need to divide it up into categories. There was the mainstreaming of Gail, in which I was made to feel, and was told, that I should keep up with abled peers, despite the fact that I was not abled. Mainstreaming can cause confusion. I was visually and hearing impaired. From the very beginning of my education, I was at a disadvantage. I had to work harder, study longer, and still turn out quality work. It was marginal work. When I transferred to a California university, it got better. I discovered that I could think with the best of them. I had a reader and was able to learn what I needed at a faster pace, and I could type it all up and turn it in. I became less critical of what I was doing. In the nineties, when PCs and Macs became a real thing, my ability to keep up with my grad school peers was increased. I had readers for that as well, and cruising through books was a must. Now I just get it via Audible or Kindle. The two years of certification work for the Spiritual Direction work I now do along with the therapy I provide, and access to Audible, meant I could take my reading outside and sit under my large parasol.  

I escaped the harshness of a religion I was raised in because I blew off the crazy of perfection. I knew that wasn’t right, and when I left the LDS Church, that was one burden I did not have to resolve. I’d dropped the concept by age twelve. 

I was all about being my best self; it was personal. I constantly pushed to do better, and to grow myself in new ways. I learned from my parents to be my best self, and my mother encouraged me not to beat myself up. I could call myself out on things and resolve to improve. I’m invested in my own personal, emotional, and spiritual growth. I’ve learned to be gentle on myself. As an Enneagram type eight, it has become part of the journey. 

My spiritual director calls me out. Direction is not about fixing someone. Direction is about listening to where you are being led spiritually. For some people it is about God; for others it is about whatever they define as being within themselves that guides them. My spiritual director calls me out when she hears me saying or doing something that I need to be aware of. This last session she called me on the carpet by asking me if I meant “never” or “not now,” and as I sat in thought I realized that the binary options I was presented with also had an “I don’t know” option. As I sat with the not knowing versus the two options that were more certain, it caused me to rethink multiple thoughts. Sometimes our not knowing is the best place to go. 

Not knowing is liberating! It frees us from certainty, and it allows us to sit, and to think about multiple possibilities. Not knowing opens us up to the unexpected options that are out there. The more I dwell in uncertainty, the more I appreciate what it offers. “I don’t know” is a legitimate answer to many questions. 

Because of uncertainty, my family and friendship connections are things I cherish more than I have in the past. My desire to leave something lasting has become something I want to do. 

Recently, my younger brother (and now my only sibling) and I were talking about the fact that our two older siblings had both died rather young. They both had not listened to their bodies. My brother died of a list of complications long enough that we’ll never know what caused his death. My sister died from liver cancer, and fought. In the end I think she wasn’t too certain of letting go. It was a hard death that could have been shortened by her willingness to let go and let it play out on its own. I bring this up because I think certainty killed her. Being certain is a trap. 

Certainty cuts us off from all possibilities. So, I let my spiritual director call me out. My past therapists never did call me out as they should have. I’m better for the call-out situations that have come into my life. 

That brings up the client and directee call outs. I approached therapy with the thought that I was doing the work to grow, and to be a better person. I was listened to but never called out on the hard stuff that I needed to be called out on. Maybe the therapist didn’t believe in doing such things. Maybe the shrink was afraid I’d walk out and never return. This is a legitimate concern, as clients leave out of fear for the work ahead of them. Another possibility is that the therapist didn’t think I was ready to be called out. Another option is that the therapist failed to understand that calling clients out can be a good thing for the client. For whatever reason, it never happened to me, and it took me longer than it might have to move to where I needed to go. I believe in calling stuff out. 

This brings up the point that the average client may stay no longer than six sessions. It takes about six weeks to begin the deeper work. I do insight work with my clients. Insight work is challenging because it means that a person is essentially doing soul work. Working in the shadows is dangerous, and it requires the person to sit in the unknown. Grief and loss require us to take leaps into the unknown. More than anything else, what I went through after my husband’s suicide took me deep into the shadowlands of my soul. I bored through the mountain and came out someplace else, and on a different path. I’ve talked about it in terms of navigation on a river and crossing the River Styx. In time, I’ll most likely post some new insight along these lines. 

Are we willing to be called out?  Do we have the strength and courage to explore the hard things?  

When I stop and think about why I go to this place, even though it is hard, I think it is because of what my disabilities have taught me. Society discounts the disabled person. Spirituality places the disabled on equal footing with every other human. It is like the deep roots of a tree that extend into places we go independently, and without the need for assistance. It is a good thing this growth stuff.

The Tram

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability, Soul Peace and Journeys

I’m standing on the inbound platform at the UMC station as the tram pulls in, and I board. The tram isn’t full, and I find a seat facing forward, not too far from the doors. I notice the quietness of the tram, and we pull away. The next stop changes everything.

I’m in what is the medical area, and the science park. The med students board, taking every vacant seat and filling the vacant standing areas. The next stop allows for more students to board, and the tram is filled with the chatter of the students.

I’ve taken this tram ride multiple times, and this time I stop to notice the voices, the animation with which the students are speaking. Then I look at the physical behavior of the passengers. They are alive with excitement, enthusiasm, and hope, and it is catching. For the first time I’m noticing the vibrant nature of the students.

Something tells me to stop my thinking, and to watch carefully. I listen to that suggestion and I quiet my mind to listen and observe what is happening around me. That 20-minute tram ride altered how I think about others in group settings.

Normally, I avoid groups because it is chaotic, and I can’t hear others well enough to converse with them. I wrote about this in “When Sanctuary Is Offered.” As I’ve sat with this experience the past few months, some things have changed.

Could it be that I opened up to some type of new understanding? Did I rethink the present hearing aids I have? Was it a combination of things? I realized that things needed to change and I took steps, and some risks, to change things. It pays to rethink things: it did!!!

With the new gadgets approved and all mine, I will venture into new situations. With an appointment at the UMC this month, it will be interesting to experience the ride on the tram in a new way.

I’m also having a new doorbell installed in my house. It will use light, and not sound, to let me know that someone is at my door. No more missed doorbells for me! Oh, and it’s covered by the insurance!!! As mentioned in a previous post, I went shopping for a better hearing situation!

I hear the noise of the organics being picked up and pause to think about the winter winds that blew all the leaves in the universe into my front yard space. I think about the storms that put it all there, and the storms that have blown unpleasantness into my life due to disability. I recall the time when I asked Jon to answer the question of the one gift he’d give me if he could. I still feel the same way about my body. Why would I want to change my core self? Yes, it would make some things easier. It would mean that I would not need to deal with people who show frustration at the way I do things: slower than they can do the same thing. I am happy with who I am. I’m proud to advocate for those with disabilities. I’m proud to be me. It isn’t my issue; it’s yours if you can’t deal with me as a disabled person.

Once we’ve taken an inner journey and done our soul work, things change. Going inside is liberating!

This time around, the work I had to do to get to new hearing aids wasn’t as intense as other things I’ve done.

How do you know when you’ve done enough work? My experience is that the things that were hard or difficult become easier to deal with. Doing the work wipes out a level of fear that can be present when confronting the nasty and the unknown. In this phase of things, and when dealing with our lives in new ways, it is important to tack a mental reminder up: one byte at a time. I think this isn’t something we all start out doing at first; it is something we learn our way into.

Taking it slowly and not being overwhelmed by things isn’t something that comes easily for some of us. We labor under the misguided notion that we can take it all on at once. Then getting overwhelmed by the task before us hits us with a grand force of wind. POW! Sometimes anxiety builds, and we stop it all, only to discover that we’re not where we want to be with any of what we’ve dealt with.

Going inside myself enabled me to flesh it all out. This time, I’m navigating a new stretch of the river that I’m surprised I’m on. I suspect it has some new places to tie my boat up to, to leave, and to explore the new interiors I’ll engage with. I suspect that this part of the soul journey will bring new things, people, and joy into my life.

I return to the tram, and as I watch and listen, I realize that I’m learning something about myself that I haven’t been able to admit as I’ve needed to: the isolation of my hearing situation must come to an end. I’m not the widow who is sitting alone on the tram. I am the widow who is claiming the life she knows is out there in new ways. I’ll risk large groups. I now have a tool that will enable me to do just that.

This all happened because I became quiet in what I once viewed as chaos. Had I not done that, I wonder what would have happened. Time to muse on this experience some more.  

The Gift of the Season

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Soul Peace and Journeys

2023, and I’m thinking about the lyrics to “Proud Mary,” and how times have changed. What I’m thinking about is the holidays, of giving, receiving, and how those who have little often give of what they have, and that the giving comes from the heart. It is a different way of giving than that of those of us who have shelter, food, and safety.

I have a cousin who lived in an abusive home. Her daughter left as a teen and lived on the streets. For her, it was a choice to leave and not have a father sexually assaulting her. I heard about this during my grad-school years and wondered why she would risk living on the streets rather than trying to become an emancipated minor. People on the streets were forming “families” of sorts and attempting to help each other survive. It seemed harsh to me. It still seems harsh as I think of it now. The realities of an economy that doesn’t work for everyone, the state of the world, and the attitudes of many people are all subjects for another post.

This week, as the Christian day of Christmas comes closer, I am focused in thought about what many Christians believe, and what many world religions do. They give. I must admit that I do have a healthy dose of holy envy at times. My client base is diverse, and I’m in a position to learn from so many good people who find their way to me. 

This is about each of us doing it well, and going into our hearts and souls. It is about finding the inner spark that drives us to find out how, and why, we’re motivated to share and to give to others. 

Lately, I’ve become aware of how many people fail to give because they believe that the only giving that matters is related to monetary giving. True giving comes from what we have within ourselves.

The catch for some people is that they feel empty inside. If I am nothing to myself, how can I give something to others? Some who have little give abundantly in love, nurturing of others, and sharing of their meager meals. When all you have is a cardboard roof over your head, and you live in a third-world nation, you may find motivation in different ways. Personally, I think consumerism is killing the human soul of those who live in Western nations.

At this time of year, in the cold of day and the longer nights, what is needed is the spirit of hope. How do we give hope when these days hope seems to be at a minimum?

I’m not a “Pollyanna” in any way. What I’m seeing in others, and within myself, is a realism that is needed to focus on the things that can enable the soul to free itself, and to learn to have more love: love for ourselves, love for each other, and love for our burdened planet. 

My work with the enneagram has taught me so much about becoming a better self. This past year has taken me to some deep soul work, and in doing the work, I’ve experienced highs and lows. The insight therapy that I do with my clients and the spiritual direction that my directees choose to engage in move the soul to places of compassion for the self, and into areas where giving to others becomes more of a natural choice. When we fill our souls with healthier ways of thinking, living it brings peace and an inner joy to ourselves.

I know what some of you are thinking. Before you shut this down or go off on a rant about how this author is clueless and is spouting crap, please, hear me out! 

I’ve been there, I’ve done the angry-at-the-author thing, and I’ve learned that there are realistic avenues to making peace with the self.

I’m not promoting religion or even God. What I’m promoting here is deep inner work that moves each of us to challenge, and to question, who we each are, and why we feel the way we do about ourselves deep down where the soup is made. This is when we go into the places that force us to rethink, restructure, and renew. These are the thin or liminal places. These are the places where people with depression, anxiety disorders, ADHD, and so many other mental issues dwell. These are the deep places of dark questions. If we find a good therapist, spiritual director, or other support, we can work through all of it and come out on a new shore. It is as I described in Styx. Pollyanna types don’t venture into these dark places. Maybe that is why I’m turned off by the book and film. I wanted to slap her silly. Excessive positivity is damaging to the psyche.

Soul work, and exploring our shadow side, is a gamble that pays off in large dividends. I suppose I will continue to go deeper as I do the self-work that contributes to moving forward.

When I think about creating peace within the self, and peace in the world which enables us to give to each other, I realize that it is a complex issue. I understand that what matters most is that we take the first step, uncap our heads, and do a deep inner dive to discover the good, the bad, and the ugly truth about ourselves so that we can present a better self to ourselves and to those around us.

The gift of the season is deep inner work.

Who I’m Becoming

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Soul Peace and Journeys

Lately, I’ve been on a spree of noticing the good people in the world. As I’ve put the sledgehammer down, it has opened up a pathway to the understanding that there are so many good souls in the world. This is liberating! I’ve noticed that focusing on the good in the world is creating space within me to reduce stress. That is a huge discovery for me.

The path that I’ve been walking since making the transition from the Eight who was the warrior to the Eight who is learning to see the world from its peaceful and gentler place is illuminating. In the past few months, my life has become calmer and more creative, and I’ve seen the old rainbow in powerful new ways. I’m finding I’m an all-around better soul for the switch. I see more goodness in the world, and in the general population as a whole. I see more goodness in myself. The feedback from others is that they are seeing it in me.

I’m willing to offer up more generosity and new ways of viewing others’ actions. This doesn’t mean I’m an easy sale. I can still question and think things through. There are still ways that I’m a skeptic. I choose to question my assumptions and to pause to act from trust and insight. I’m trying to think before I “fire” at someone. The joke about enneagram type Eights is that we speak or “fire” before we should. While we don’t do this all of the time, we do do it, and I’ve noticed that my stress levels are down. I need to work on getting better at it.

I’m open to the positive of less stress and more peace. While talking with my spiritual director, I mentioned that what I’m feeling is a good “weird,” and that I like it. It is growth that I thought I’d never do. I was invested in my Eight type in so many ways. Growth in every way is good. What makes the growth journey so worth the price we pay for doing the work is that there is always a wonderful surprise hidden inside. I’ll take mine with a creamy chocolate center filled with mint. This reminds me that I need to run to my favorite chocolate shoppe for a taste of what I love to celebrate with. Self-care is important.

I admit that in many ways I’m stumped by all of this, and I don’t know what to think or write. 

Enneagram type Eight behaviors stem from feelings of needing to protect others as well as ourselves. We are vigilant warriors who observe those around us. In our not-so-healthy places, we don’t stop to ask ourselves, or others, if they want our protection. We react. We skip the ready and aim, and we jump straight to the fire portion. And then we pay a price.

Recently, I tried to protect someone who didn’t want me to step in to protect them. I realized what I’d done, and in noticing the error of my ways, I am attempting to notice when I feel the urge to do this unwanted firing thing.

I’m learning to offer up space that allows for someone to do what they would do without my interference. Oh my, I’m learning from my mother. She was good at setting this boundary with herself and others. While she had her share of stress with two disabled children, she didn’t have time to cross the boundary with others.

As I think about all of this, I wonder why I didn’t see it sooner. I didn’t see it sooner because I didn’t understand what I was doing, and how it affected me and others. Sometimes, the only way to create change in ourselves is to do the thing in such a way that we can’t help but notice it. The last few weeks I’ve been noticing the not-so-helpful behaviors. I’m not embarrassed; I’m thankful that I at least caught myself in the process and can begin to change it all.

Often, when people catch themselves going to these uncomfortable places, the tendency is to run a negative script that berates the self. I have a family member who would exclaim, “I’m an idiot.” While it was said in humor, it wasn’t, and isn’t, funny. By now my regular readers know what’s coming: cut yourself a bit of slack and practice some grace for yourself.

How do I fix things? The first step is recognizing that there are no bad people, and that mistakes are present for us to learn from them. As we learn, we can do better. It helps to step back and think of someone in our life who showed us they cared about us. We can ask ourselves if they would want us to get into a place of blaming ourselves.

Breaking the negative cycle of self-talk is difficult, and the longer we put it off, the more it builds within us.

Changing requires getting feedback from those you can trust. It doesn’t take a village to offer the feedback: a few good people who you respect and trust will do the job. One observation is that the more we can learn to trust ourselves, the more we can create an attitude of trusting others. I realize trust is an entirely different post. Trust is about creating solid relationships, and relationships take time, and hard work. Relationships are a good place to learn and grow, and they are a place where we should be free to make mistakes. Relationships are laboratories of learning. We become more of ourselves when we engage with others. Who I’m becoming is a better person, and that is good enough.  

It Pays to Rethink Things

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability

26 April, 2023, is the day I spoke my truth for the first time. I wrote about in “When Sanctuary is Offered.” I meant every word then. Really, I did. I was also willing to give up the social life that was so destructive to my mental health.

27 November, 2023: the day my hearing deficiency was dealt with.

I don’t do 9:00 a.m. appointments. If I have to walk, take the bus, and be out of the house that early, it doesn’t work. I’ve set that limit with people. Today I had no choice and arrived ten minutes late. As it turned out, 9:30 would have been soon enough. The Monday chaos of gathering, prepping for the day, and being ready for the first clientele was interesting, and frustrating, to watch. Oh well, with my morning caffeine in me, I walked into the room. I had an agenda: better hearing aids that would be covered by the insurance. I had a list of requirements. Was I nuts? I’d soon find out.

An intense trio of hearing tests confirmed my suspicions: I’d lost a wee bit more hearing. I wasn’t shocked by the news, as I was prepared to hear the number. What I wasn’t expecting was what happened next. 

I love the “gadgets” that I’ve worn for seven years. I’ve put off getting new ones because they were the best! Well, they were the best until they weren’t, and I finally broke down and made the appointment at the ungodly hour of 9:00 in the morning. UGH!

If one has to do the unthinkable, then I advise a list of the absolute requirements. If those can’t be met, don’t do it. This is how the second half of the appointment began.

The new ear molds had been made. My ears are even petite. First item: Are these things covered? Yes. OK, let’s move on. I want the chargeable, and not the battery, type. Now, here’s the crazy part. If you go with batteries, the insurance will cover some of the cost. At 90 euros per box, and a three-week battery life per set, you will go through some boxes. I’ll buy the charger, thank you. Personally, I think the insurance didn’t think that all the way through.

Moving forward: What can you do for my hearing in a social situation? How about a microphone that does a couple of things? It will link with your desktop, and it will serve as a microphone when you need to talk with someone in a densely populated social setting. I WANT!!!! The insurance covers it. Oh yes, I’ll do it. This is the answer to multiple issues. 

By now, I’m feeling like I just had Christmas, and Santa answered my every need and want. It is true that I just inherited more chargers that will replace the ones that will be given away, but it’s a good trade-off.

My bag had three boxes in it when I left some two and a half hours later. As I walked home, I noticed the feeling of gratitude that I was feeling and took the time to honor it properly. As the gentle rain hit my umbrella, I had to focus on the path I was on. My heart was full, and as I entered my home, I was excited to try out the new gadgets. I cried when the mic put the sound into a better hearing place for me. I was calm, relaxed as the stress of listening changed from difficult to much better. 

Tomorrow is Giving Tuesday. It is a day when people in the US give to charities. While I do have a co-pay on this new hearing aid, it is not what I would have needed to spend had the insurance not covered things. 

I have no more words for what happened today. They aren’t needed. The gratitude that I feel for what I have sitting in my ears is goon enough.

The sun set around 4:30, and I’m thankful to be in a warm house. It is time for some dinner and a relaxing evening. I need to start thinking social again. Yes, I just said I’d socialize again.

Switch-a-Roo

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

Nothing ever happens on track one. It is lovely to look at. I call it the saltine track because the wall is made up of blue tile and looks like the old Saltine Cracker boxes of my childhood.

Today, we all went to track two and waited patiently for the Utrecht Centraal train to pull in… until… that little blue notice popped up. I saw mass movement, and then read the thing… go to track one! Like I said, nothing happens on track one… until it happens. I went to track one where everyone, and a dog, waited for the train. That is how the trip began.

It didn’t get any better on the tram!!! The train for “Science Park” was on the wrong track. Fortunately, they had staff down there for confused travelers like me. Where are you going? UMC. Over there. Another switch-a-roo! At least this one was a quickie. Have I mentioned before that these trams fly? I’m constantly amazed at the tech that runs things, and I’m always thankful that it pulls into the station, letting me off with a short walk to the sky bridge. Once I board the train in Hilversum, it is all covered. On a day like today, when the cold has arrived, it is a gift. 

Traveling is something I’ve written about previously, and on the eve of what will be celebrated tomorrow as Thanksgiving in the US, I pause to give thoughtful thanks for the things that work smoothly, even when they might sprout a glitch or two. 

Gratitude has been a challenging lesson for me. I’ve had to learn to come to terms with a disability that has caused me pain, and taught me much. I’ve had to grapple with shyness, isolation, and compassion fatigue. The disability has challenged me to do things I thought I couldn’t do. I spent twenty-two years caring for my husband as we both witnessed the disintegration of his functionality. Yet, on this early evening, tears of gratitude come to me.

Today, a pause to give thanks to those who have loved me, given me support, taught me to go beyond where I am. Today I’m giving thanks for parents who cared, and did a good enough job parenting me.

Tomorrow my family will gather for the traditional picnic that we do at Lovers Point in Monterey, California. I will think of them eating whatever it is they decide to eat, especially the pumpkin pies that will be served up. I wish I could be there for that.

I pause to give thankfulness for the life I have. It isn’t perfect by any means, but it is mine, and I claim it.

As I sit in my warm home, and think about the fact that I have it, I’m content. I’m content to slow down some, work smart, and enjoy some of the simple pleasures to be had. 

I’m keeping this post short because short works, and I need to switch off for the day. Hug those you love, send gratitude out to the four corners of the world. Most of all, practice self-love, care for yourself, and send a smile to those you greet. Smiles make the switch-a-roo go well.

Gail

The Because Place

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

How does it feel to not be believed? Think about it for a minute. It’s infuriating and humiliating, and it can raise self-doubt. When another human being or institution denies someone’s reality, there is something wrong.

I had to go into the hospital yet again, and yet again deal with people who did not believe me about having bad veins. Once again, medical staff proceeded to make multiple attempts to start an IV. They left me bruised and looking like I was the victim of domestic abuse. I kept telling them to go in with an echo, find a vein, and all would go smoothly. Finally, they did just that. I should have been believed. As I write this, my right hand is still injured and there is pain when I touch it. It has been over a week.

The multiple attempts at IV placement caused me to feel so many emotions. The question I ask is this: Why don’t medical personnel learn to believe a patient’s reality? I wasn’t spinning a tale. I was telling them outright that there is a right and a wrong way to do this with my sorry veins.

Believing the Person

My clients are important to me, and believing their reality is also important. As a therapist, I honor the realities clients present. Sometimes the reality is skewed in some manner, and my job is to help the person see it clearly. I need to call it out. Sometimes I’m gentle, and at other times I’m blunt. What people fail to think about is that they are paying me to enable them to make life changes, and sometimes the change process requires me to point out some uncomfortable realities and have people sit with them. It isn’t easy sitting in the shadows.

Shadow work is the hardest work of all. It requires of us the ability to sit in uncertainty. We don’t know where we’re headed. Much like crossing Styx, we must journey to the new shore to discover what our soul’s treasure is deep within. This journey is voluntary, and it is one we make multiple times in our lives because shadows are a constant.

My hospital stay has put me in a place of looking at what I know about myself, and the truth of my physical state. Due to PXE, my veins have taken a powder. I might build them back up with walking, and it will take time. My treadmill is waiting for me. How do I deal with not being believed from the beginning? I now have a shot of what my hand looks like. You’ve seen it. I plan on showing it as evidence, and not consenting to an IV unless it is done without trauma and pain. There is a time when a person must say “ENOUGH!!!” I’ve reached that point in time.

Validation

What do you do when your reality isn’t validated? The gift of being heard is the greatest gift we can give to each other. To stand as a witness of another’s truth, and to validate another human, is a powerful happening in any life. It is the title of this blog, and I will forever be thankful to Jon’s psychiatrist for the validation he offered me.

I wish validation were the norm. I wish that children who disclosed abuse were always heard, believed, and protected. I wish women who suffer the daily insult of abuse in all of its forms were always heard, believed, and helped to find their way out of such relationships. I want for people who see the moon purple to not have to argue their reality—even if it is impossible. Somewhere in their words there is a truth that much be heard. I think of my five Anns, and how important it is to hold every person in high regard.

I believe that more often than we think, we fail to validate each other. People are left to sift through the experience on their own. It is hard work, and it is made more difficult when the lack of validation causes one to fantasize about ways of getting back at someone. I’ve found in sitting with my hospital experience that finding an evidence-based response is helpful. 

Here are some tips for how to get deeper into the self:

  • Play detective with yourself by asking questions.
  • Become a kid and keep asking why. “Why?” is a curious question. Sometimes the why question takes us “I don’t know.” This leads us to the BECAUSE place. “Because” leads us to realization due to the fact that it can be a place where we think we’ve hit a brick wall, and in facing that wall we push just a wee bit and dislodge one of the bricks. Once that happens, other things fall, and suddenly we have more information than we ever thought we’d have.
  • Sometimes sitting with the non-validating aspects of our lives moves us to new places. It isn’t that we didn’t need the validation. It is that the lack thereof requires us to rise in defense of ourselves and take constructive action. Rosa Parks and the Civil Rights actions are a great example of this. An entire race, blacks in the US, shouted in unison, “No more!” While this is a highly simplified explanation for one event during the Civil Rights Movement, deep reading and exploration of its planning will show its genesis to have been well thought out. Sitting with the question, and realizing its solution within ourselves, can cause an upheaval. Movement is good.
  • Sitting with it all is about being on the way to someplace else. We discover in our process of thought, and deeper reflection, that going deep inside is rewarding, and getting to the “because” of it all is a process of liberation.

It is true that some statements are easy, and others require time to sort out. Find a therapist if you need to.

The bruising from the multiple IV attempts hasn’t turned to the lighter colors yet, and there is still tenderness around each of them. I have the shot, and in a weird kind of way it is a multi-level touchstone. The thought process that spans out like a web began because of lack of validation, and it has carried me to new points on the horizon because I got a brick to leave the wall.

Wrong Species, Pooch.

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights
Displaying Doggie (1).png

What a crazy week it was.

When this fails to plug into what you need, and you need to inquire about what is going on: Apple Inc., you are certainly not having the best interest of your customers in mind, and governments must now legislate what you must sell to us so that we’re not stuck paying double the cost for what we should be able to get at a lower rate. Oh, and while I’m on the subject, I don’t want unwanted business calls at any time. Yes!!!! If I need you, I’ll find you. And while it’s on my mind, would the world governments get it together and agree on one time for the entire world? Forward or back, just make up your mind.

Yes, I’m really on one of my rants today, as it’s been an awful, bad last week, and I’m not a happy camper.

So, do tell me why corporations can’t be honest with consumers, and why they think it is OK to rip us off when all we really want is a good bang for our buck, or euro, or whatever else we trade in. I just want one cable that connects to all my “i-Gadgets.” Is it so much to ask? I don’t like profiteering.

Dear Apple: Have you thought that maybe you’d be better off serving you clientele with fewer cables and easier connections for charging our devices? I own an iPhone, an iPad, and a desktop version. The desktop plugs into the wall; the other two need separate charging devices. Why? So you can make more money. I lost my gadgets while in the ER on Thursday; the staff tell me they can’t find them, and of course, now I must shell out for new plugs and cables. On top of this, my vision requires that I get assistance to do this. Good golly, Miss Molly!!!! I don’t like this at all.

So, I’ll most likely go to Apple and pay more than I need to pay for what I shouldn’t need to pay for. Oh, and did I mention that the www.bol.nl website didn’t deliver, and that they told me I’d get it on Saturday? Nope, so there is also that. Yup, I’m on one rant, alright. I’m aggravated. Since mail doesn’t come here on Mondays, I can’t properly scream until late Tuesday. Nope, I’m not happy. If you want a snarky therapist, I’m your gal.

Then there are the unwanted business callers who interrupt me, telling me they aren’t salespeople. Salespeople: if I want you, I’ll look you up. I know that it’s worse in the US. If politicians wanted to do something useful, they’d do two things: outlaw robo calls and send anyone who makes such calls to a deep and dark dungeon with no connection to the outside world. This should include MLM types as well. If it isn’t on the shelves of a store or online where I can browse at my leisure, I don’t want it. Don’t call me, I’ll google you.

While I’m at it, some of us prefer to chat to a live human being who speaks to us in our native tongue. I cringe when I get transferred to a call center in a place that is running a script, and they are clueless about what I need. All so the corporate office can make a buck and pay a lower wage. Has anyone mentioned the evils of capitalism lately? I may be a US citizen, but I’d like to have things quiet down.

Does anyone else out there think I’m on to something here? 

Oh, and before I forget, there are the sites that think that if they bombard you with ads, you’ll pay for their useless service. www.doodle.com, get over yourself. I don’t want your service, and others who do can have it. Leave me be! Get over yourself, and that goes for the rest of you as well.   

Is anybody out there? Does anybody get this? Am I the only one? 

My friend just called; their dog is humping their mother. I needed a good laugh. Wrong species, pooch.

Slow-Cooked Relationships

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

I’m stating this up front: I’m going to write on the state of relationships. Really, I have to bring this up because I’ve started laughing about two statements that have changed with time.

Statement 1: “This relationship is no longer serving me well.”

In the past this would have been put into words such as this: “I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

Here are some other things the statement could be about: We all grow, and hopefully grow together. In saying that, I must also state that a couple’s growth is most likely at varying speeds, and in differing areas. When we merge, it is unifying, and then the growth and exploration cycle begins anew. There is no end to growth, as it is the stuff life is made of.

Growth in a relationship stops when both partners fail to hold space for the other to explore. When we fail to consider the needs of our partner and understand that they are on their own schedule, and so are we, we prevent progress and halt the growth process. When we stop wanting to expand our knowledge base, we might fall out of sync with the one we’re with.  

Jon and I shared a value of self-improvement. For us it was important to be in motion in this area. The relationship might not work if you are mismatched in this area.

Can people change? Yes. Can relationships end? Yes. My experience in seeing relationships end is that they got together for the wrong reasons in the first place. This also falls into the “We may not be right for each other” category.

While going through my own faith deconstruction, I witnessed couples who had married for the wrong reason: a church. As beliefs and values were explored, these couples awoke to the sad reality that, while they might be friends, the marriage they were in was all wrong because the reason for its existence was wrong. It wasn’t that they grew apart: they had never been together. They were a mismatched couple, and getting out changed it all.

I think there is a difference between a relationship not serving you well and a relationship that you’ve come to understand is based on differing values. Meeting each other’s needs, and communicating that to each other, is a major part of the relationship process. It is a dance of weaving in and out. It is a dance of joy and celebration, and it is difficult to make it happen correctly. Each dancer must do their part.

We enter relationships as individuals and slowly come to understand the needs of each other because we talk, learn, and ask questions. We come to understand how to meet each other’s needs. Assume nothing until you inquire of the person.

I believe that one of the things that has happened in the past two decades is that people have become complacent. We’ve forgotten that good things take time and there are no shortcuts. We’ve settled for fast or instant everything instead of savoring a slow-cooked soup that has simmered for hours. This fast pace has caused relationships to end rapidly. The “getting to know you process” is like the slow cooker that spreads its scent throughout the entire house. It creates anticipation and desire, as well as curiosity. Slow cooking a relationship is a wonderful thing!

Relationships, no matter what type they may be, should create healthy spaces for all, and when those spaces are not there, the reasons for the lack thereof need to be explored by everyone involved. This is why a healthy understanding of red-flag issues for ourselves, and for others, is an essential part of the relationship formation process.

The notion that opposites attract comes to mind here. Personally, I’ve never seen that to be the case in a deep and long-lasting relationship. Healthy relationships are built on common values and hold space for differing views. We can come to respect a person for challenging us in constructive ways. One of the things that I appreciated about Jon was that he would challenge my thinking, and it was the type of challenge that enabled me to clarify my own thoughts and values. I was confronted with my own need to do some deep exploration into my own thoughts and beliefs about my past faith tradition. We both did this, and it enriched our relationship.

I take all of my relationships seriously. I value them, and have chosen a small group of people that I take delight in rather than many who I can’t know well. I’ll admit that finding that things aren’t a match is usually a sad place to have to go to for me.

Statement 2: “We need to take our relationship to the next level.”

This one really makes me laugh and cry at the same time. What? What does this mean anyway? Are you playing a game? Does it mean that you are going exclusive, or that you want to move in together or marry? Twenty years ago you might have sat down and asked each other about how you felt about the other person.

I have a cousin who was dating five guys at the same time. She liked them all. The guys, on the other hand, wanted to spend more time with her. Back in the late ’70s, that meant “dropping” someone. And so, she got honest with herself, cut it to three guys, then two, and then one. Her ability to face the issue honestly created a lifelong relationship. Her ability to sort out what she wanted and needed in a vetting process enabled her to make a choice she was happy with.

It isn’t a game. Deepening our relationships is, as I’ve stated above, a process. It is two sided.

US relationship culture is different from European relationship culture. For some reason, maybe it was my father’s relative proximity to a German community that held those values for our family, even though we were in the US. My older siblings and I were fairly exclusive in our relationships from the beginning of each. Jon and I were exclusive from the beginning. We set some ground rules. We were also in our mid thirties when we met, and then married four years later.

Like my cousin, US culture tends to promote fun and loose connections at first. Putting yourself out on the “market” is a thing. Is it any wonder that people struggle with finding a match?

This brings me to my confession: I’m doing my work so that I can find someone new. I expect that I’ll go exclusive as I did before. For me, it’s about values. It’s about saying it straight. I do exclusive, one at a time. I’m not playing a game here because relationships are not a game.

Seasons (Revisit)

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Musings and Insights

With Autumn here at last, my thoughts turn to this post, originally published in 2020. Enjoy!!!! 

-Gail

The air was crisp and the trees were colorful. I was happy because my favorite season of the year was present. Autumn was present in every form including the warm colors of clothing that I loved so much.

For me autumn is what I like best about the year. The northern California Indian-summer days, and the crisp feel that you get when you are out and about, are wonderful. As a child, going back to school—which I didn’t like because I had to stop reading what I wanted—was only tolerable because it meant AUTUMN was in the air. For me the world was then, and is now, perfect in the autumn.

As you age, the seasons melt into the cycles of time. The playfulness of life and a budding spring and its excitement give way to the learning of summer. Oh, and summer is filled with exploration and the joys and perils of adventure: the challenges and joys of learning on your own, as you discover that the lessons of young childhood and early adulthood must become a basis for your fast-but-seemingly-slowly-approaching full onset of adulthood. There might be some true “yikes” moments during summer. Those “yikes” moments, when you catch yourself about to make a life decision that is better rethought, can be a good thing. “Yikes” means that you are aware of what is going on!!!!

Summer brings discovery of your real “self” emerging into view. Summer also brings a desire to have it all. You don’t want to see it end. You want to play hard and never see the sun go down. Summer brings a growth that you learn from trial and error. The lessons of spring and the early summer remain with you as you feel the time now fast approaching when autumn is on the way.

If you’ve had those yikes-type moments, and have taken the time to repair what needed fixing, you are in good shape now.

Autumn is the season of wisdom. Autumn is the time when the lessons of a young spring and summer are played out. Autumn is a time of realization, regrets, new focuses in life, and a time of hopes, as well as sorrows. Before autumn ends, and the onslaught of winter comes with its powerful resolution to destroy all that you hold dear, you must navigate through the autumn.

Autumn is, in a sense, “karma collection,” or payback. Realizing that I could have made better choices has only come because I made the not-so-good choices. I took risks in life. The thing about autumn is that you can’t turn back. And, you can’t avoid it, because everything we do in life has a price attached. You must adapt, accept, let the leaves of autumn fall, and move on.

Autumn still offers me time to change, to learn, and to grow. I love autumn! Raking up autumn’s leaves is important, and like it is for a child who jumps in the pile of leaves (you know, the one he or she is told NOT to jump in), it can be exhilarating. I like to inventory the leaves and really see what is there. I learn from this inventory and that is always good. I love the process of change, even though, at times, change is an unwanted aspect of life. Getting through the trials of change still brings me hope. I am better for it.

As I now reflect on my spring, and the innocence in which I lived it, I’m amazed I did as well as I did. I look at my life and realize that it has had its challenges. Challenge is what it’s about. I’m not always thankful for that which has kicked me from behind or punched me in the front. But, I can honestly say that I’ve knocked down the walls that have sprung up in my path. Tearful days and nights have made me stronger and wiser when it comes to life. It is the mistakes that make you think about the new stuff in a self-confrontational manner.

If my spring was innocent, my summer was an adventure in learning. By being able to make both good and bad choices, and dealing with the consequences of those choices, I grew. Summer is a time when the life bank account is in “deposit mode,” and what you put in will, in the future, be withdrawn. You will have to pay for your summer. Some payments will work well, and others will hurt like having a tooth pulled without the Novocain. Life is like that, and you can’t turn from it. Sooner or later, the crisp days of autumn roll around and you enter that time when all accounts begin to go into “withdrawal mode.”

I am amazed when I hear someone say that they really haven’t had any challenging stuff happen in life. I wonder to myself what they haven’t been doing. The fact is, life is a series of challenges. Making mistakes is a good thing because it can mean that you are engaged in the life process. Learning from your mistakes means that you are progressing and committed to doing better as you move through life. Autumn is that time of the year when one can reflect.

I’ve come to the serious conclusion that few are blessed with all the wisdom they need to make life decisions at 20 or even 25 years old, and yet that is what is demanded of the young. I hear of more and more adults in their 40s or 50s who embrace the unknown of what they really want to do. They are happier for it. Autumn is a time to rethink, to take a risk, and to change the course of life. “If only I knew” becomes “Why not?”

Autumn is when you realize that it isn’t “too late” or “hopeless.” Grab the brass ring and do it!!!

Healing from the springs and summers of life makes everything more valuable. Reflection during our autumns causes us to sober up, to appreciate our youth for what it was, and to anticipate the future for what we can create as vibrant adults. Whether we’ve done it well enough in the past, or are choosing to do it well at this point in life, autumn is that time of life.

I’ve learned via observation that those who seem more at peace during their winters are those who have challenged themselves during their autumns. They are actively enjoying the lives they’ve built, and face with dignity the storms that life will still produce. I will always cherish what each autumn brings to me.

As I look out my window and notice the sun’s changing position, and feel the lowering temperature, I know that once again my favorite season is approaching. Autumn, with its crisp days and warmer colors, is just around the corner. I can’t wait.

Fluffy Towels

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Beyond Grief, The Suicide and its Aftermath

Memories flooded my mind this past weekend. My mother, my brother, and my sister all came up for me, and then the towels, and Jon.

Oh, those towels! I think back to when we purchased them. We needed to replace towels, and I wanted fluffy, warm towels that would feel good after leaving the heat of the shower. We disagreed. After his runaway spending, he couldn’t justify fluffy towels in his mind. I relented, and we got towels that I didn’t like. There would be no argument that way, and keeping the peace was important for my sanity. 

I sit here now crying over towels and the wreckage of bipolar in my life, and in our marriage. Crazy what brings one to tears, and even crazier that of all the things that could bring tears to my eyes, it is towels, and the memories, that surface.

It’s the non-logic of bipolar that traps the partner into the crazy. You don’t see it coming, and when you’re in it, you can’t figure out how it is that you got to this place. Seven years without Jon has enabled me to autopsy the “how” it happened.

We were in his car driving home from my work. Driving south on 680 headed homeward, and to this day I can’t remember what I said that triggered the rage. Whatever it was, he went off, and to me, having never witnessed that type of anger, I didn’t get that it was the bipolar talking. What had I said? I was somehow guilty of something, and I had to respond with an answer that would pacify him. He had me right where the dysfunctional mind wanted me. I’d been sucked into something I didn’t understand. His demand for an answer didn’t make sense. In that state of mind, when he was in that place, nothing made sense. Somehow, to him, things made sense, and so he’d demand answers.

I was raised with love, and gentleness, and had not experienced this type of anger or seen it in a relationship. Here it was. I was faced with something I didn’t want, and didn’t understand. This brilliant guy was showing me a side of himself that didn’t make sense. It was borderline narcissism, and it was manipulative rage.

I was years away from understanding what I needed to do in this situation. My response was to attempt to comfort him. What I should have done was leave the rage and let him work it out for himself. I was trapped in a car, and I couldn’t leave easily. It would take his psychiatrist telling me to walk away, and that was over a decade away.

That session was the most helpful session we had with the psychiatrist. This was a man who really cared not only about Jon—he cared about me. He turned to Jon and asked him if my leaving during a rage would be helpful, and Jon, much to my surprise, said that it would be very helpful. For me, those words lifted a burden, and a layer of care. I was already suffering from compassion fatigue, and here was someone telling me to let go! 

This wasn’t the first time this man would tell me to let go. In November of 2011, he took the time to talk with me in length about fully letting go and trusting that Jon would do what Jon would do, and that I needed to let the process unfold. Whether he chose life or death, it wasn’t my call, and I couldn’t do one thing to make it right.

In December of 2011, we walked outside to a waiting taxi, and I was off on a fifteen-month adventure at a rehab center where I learned some skills that enabled me to do more for myself as a visually impaired person. This was also a time of contemplation around the issue of being able to let go, and to let Jon live or not live his life.

I didn’t go to the Loo Erf without a plan for him. I had people that were willing to help and, with that, I could leave Jon at home.

I understand why people leave their partners when there are mental health issues. For those of us who stay, it is both a choice and a hope that things can get better. For Jon, that hope came with a two-year Dialectal Behavior Therapy (DBT) program. It required him to change his psychiatrist and take on a psychologist. DBT teaches skills, and for Jon, it moved him closer to an understanding of how to escape the crazy of his behavior. This switch did not occur until I was done with my vision rehab in Apeldoorn. Slowly, the burden of caretaking was lifted. It was helpful.

What was most helpful was Jon realizing how the rages had hurt me. His promise that he would not rage again was something that he kept until the 28th of August, 2016. With a psychotic episode looming near, there was one last burst of rage before he ended it. This was not the rage that I’d experienced that first night; it was the rage of escape, and ending. It is a rage that hurt, and it will stay with me forever. His three-minute outburst would justify his doing what he did in the final moments of our living relationship. It took me to a level of anger I had not allowed myself to feel for him in the twenty-two years I’d known him. I needed to cool down.

I sit here wondering how to conclude this. I think about the three other deaths that have affected me post Jon doing what he did. My mother died after a long life of love and giving to us as young children and adults. My brother died, leaving his wife and adult children. His death caused me to ask why he wouldn’t care for himself better. Why? My sister’s life came to an end after a courageous battle with liver cancer.

Looking back on all of this, I shake my head in wonder, but not in disbelief. I’ve lived through it all: all seven years of it.

Yesterday I sat at the computer and realized that putting it off wouldn’t fix the towel issue. What did I want? Fluffy towels! I needed three sets.

Looking at the choices I had, and the price I’d need to pay to replace the old, worn towels, I thought about what I wanted. I’ll take a yellow set, a blue set, and a light pink set. In the cart, to the checkout, confirm the order with the bank, and the confirmation mail hit my mailbox.

Towels: and I’m crying again.

Crossing Styx

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Beyond Grief, Soul Peace and Journeys

I remember a moment in my office when I realized that the journey of grief was about the past and the future. A new life could spring forth. It was the thought that I could plan how my life beyond would look. I got that idea from a book I’d read on grief. The trouble with that type of thinking is that it feels certain, and life is not anywhere near certain. The illusion of control is what would vanish during the next years of my life. While I can plan for some things, where I was led was, in ways, completely unexpected.

I sat looking out the window at the other houses, and I thought I knew where I was headed. I could have drawn up a plan of sorts. Wrong. While we can think about what we want, it is an illusion. Once again, certainty called me out.

There is something about this process that, if we allow it to do so, leads to wonderful and mystical surprises. Around each bend, things that we can’t imagine for ourselves appear, and disappear. Life has a way of doing that to us. Call it what you want: listening to your inner voice, your own knowing; or just letting go, and letting it happen. If we’re able to engage beyond our control, delightful things happen.

In my case I listen, and I have been doing the listening since early childhood. Whatever it is for you, it affects our footsteps as we walk on our path exiting out of the loss we’ve had to face. That day in my office a few years ago has come and gone, and it has proven me wrong. I had no way of making the connection that leads to a transition, because when you’re in it you can’t see it. When you’re in whatever you’re in, you don’t know what you’ve been sucked into.

The real work of grief and loss is found in the liminal spaces, and the times when we can enter back into that “funeral bubble” where life stops for us and we pause to collect the new understandings. We see old relationships in new ways and call them out for what they were. We allow their existence to come to new places within us. It took me somewhere between three and four years to get to this point in the process. Some of it is good, and some of it can be heart crushing. Like a river surging forward, it affects how we understand ourselves, as we leave a sheltered space to travel to a new destination within our personal knowing. Once again, we board a new boat. We’ve been on this boat since the loss happened. We don’t know we’re there because, their nature, death and other losses are traumatic.

During the past few weeks, I’ve begun researching for a book. The research involves reading memoirs involving grief journeys, and I’ve been taken to sadness, visiting old haunts, and a new understanding of where I was, what I could have done better, and ultimately seeing that I’m at yet another place on the river. While my eyes are wide open, I’m scared, and I have questions for myself. Can I navigate this? What is my new soul work? I think this is that space beyond grief where you know you’re someplace else, and once again you find yourself looking back, and this time knowing how you got to this new shore. For me this new place is an intersection that has involved the spiritual, my sexuality, and coming to terms with where I was in my young adult life. It is scary.

I’ve arrived in this liminal place with new skills, and yet, it’s so fresh to me that I wonder if I’m ready for it all. Arriving at a new point in time is more of a recognition than anything else. It is humbling. Once again, I faced a new set of demons down, and moved myself to the new beyond.

In realizing I’m on a new shore, I pause to shed fresh tears. This new set of questions is so different from that August 2016 day when I cried and wondered how I’d do any of this.

I think that in the beginning of the grief process, our knowing and certainty get ripped from us. While we’re busy having ourselves torn apart in the first days, months, and two years, we can’t fully understand the stirrings within. We get grabbed and taken to an underground we didn’t know was present. The underground is a dicey place for several reasons: 1) you don’t know you’re there; 2) you’re still moving along to someplace; and 3) the more inner work you do, the more you discover. The catch to all of this is that we’re underground, and we don’t realize it.

If I could go back and advise the woman of the past—the one that was scared and questioning the “how” of it all—I’d tell her to trust her footsteps. I’d tell her to honor the trauma that the suicide brought into her life, and to understand that this new journey of learning will bring a new calm, along with new acceptance of the essential things. I’d also let her know that grief is like the River Styx.

In a weird way, the living are the ones crossing the River Styx. We cross an underground river to make a grounded connection. Each living journey is unique to itself, and what we begin our crossing with is not what we’ll emerge with. We enter an underground that will propel us to a new, above-ground life. The living work of grief is to cross the River Styx to find ourselves alive in new ways, and on a new shore. At some point in time, we noticed that whatever needed to happen spit us out on this new shore. We’ve lived through our hard work to discover life post whatever tossed us into the boat and sent us shooting onto the waters of darkness. In places the current was strong, and we survived the journey.

There is no way of knowing that the living also traverse the waters of Styx. Maybe this is why grief, and the journey out from it, is so elusive for so many. We fail to understand that where we are is not anything that anyone can warn us about. We are underground, yet seeing light. Our support systems are what provide the lanterns that shine in this underground of Styx. In this place the light dances, dims, and shines brighter until suddenly we’re out!

The work of grief is dark. Grief challenges us to look deep within ourselves, admitting all things and standing as a witness to our own life, and the life of the deceased. We must honor the truth of each life. Like in Speaker For The Dead by Orson Scott Card, we must recognize the truth of our life, and the lives of those gone from us. We find our truth while traveling in the darkness of the River Styx. The work of grief requires this.

I pause with this realization of the journey well-traveled: WOWZA!!!! I dig my feet into the warm sand on the new shore. This is the afterlife! Post Styx. Goodbye, Styx, and thank you for the boat that served me so well.

Eighty-Four Months

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in The Suicide and its Aftermath

During the summer of 2016, I sat in my office and realized that I needed to make a hard decision: do I leave Jon, or do I stay? Leaving him would mean that I would be able to pursue my own path, and I’d exit the caregiver role that had taken up so much of my emotional energy for the past twenty-two years. I was worn out. Staying in the marriage would mean that I’d continue to do what I’d been doing for most of our relationship.

Leaving him when he was not able to stand on his own yet could mean suicide. He was doing Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. DBT was created from Marsha Linehan’s work. I’m thankful that she had the insight to bring this forward for the mental health community. For Jon, it was a slow process, and one that would take many more years. The therapist needed to help him resolve family-of-origin issues, as well as provide him some life skills that would help during times of crisis. In the long run, I’d benefit from what he was doing.

What no one knew in July of 2016 was that in six weeks the horror of suicide would confront me. He was entering into another psychotic episode, and this was the one thing that would cause him to end his life. He wore a mask of fear around facing another psychotic episode and recovering from the damage it would cause. He had disclosed to me that if he felt himself moving in this direction, he would end his life. Not one of us who might have seen it coming saw things for what they were.

As I think back, compassion fatigue had burrowed deep into my mind. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

Looking Back

Where was I? If he told me to gather up the objects that would enable him to end his life, I would go through the house and do so. I would store them away until he felt safe from himself. When he stressed and had a crisis, I talked him down from it. Sometimes it took hours to get him to a point where he would swallow an extra dose of medication. Then I’d need to make sure he slept. When he overspent, I could no longer fight it. I had no energy to go up against the crazy. Everything combined took its toll on me. I felt like I was abused, and there were no bruises to show for the abuse I was enduring. If he felt something, I felt is as well. I was becoming nuts in my own way. How could I not feel for him? He was suffering in ways that cut deep into his soul. I couldn’t sense this in its fullness as it happened. Our humanity leads us to compassion for suffering of this magnitude. Compassion calls us to act when we can’t empathize with something that we haven’t experienced. I will never know what it is like to feel the level of darkness, dysfunction, and despair that he felt on a daily basis.

I asked questions to understand. It is one of the reasons I’ve placed his writing on this site in the form he constructed his blog Jon’s Hideaway. Jon struggled with sharing the little he did share. I’m glad he was courageous.

There were the comments, and the assumptions. I was told that I wasn’t putting enough into the marriage! Holy hell, I was dying inside! 

Being raised in a patriarchy and a high-demand religion wasn’t helping me in any way whatsoever. I raged inside as there was no place for me to turn. Had I gone full disclosure to my family, I would have been told to divorce him. I loved him, and I couldn’t see a path that would have served us both well. What I needed was mental and emotional relief from the situation. When you are dealing with compassion fatigue, you can’t understand the pulling apart of your own soul that is taking place at the time. The fatigue blocks it out.

The Needs of Caregivers

What do caretakers who deal with the bipolar population need? First, and above everything else, we need safe places that allow us to disclose our needs. We need a supportive friend who can listen and keep us objective, and also show empathy. We need someone to spell us off so that we can get out and get away from the stress when the stressful times increase. We need others to come in and help with housework or meals when our energy is low.

One of the huge issues I had with Jon was around keeping his dignity intact. Jon was a brilliant man. Mental illness robs people of dignity. As his caregiver, I fought to shelter him from people who didn’t understand. He was well aware of how mental illness is viewed. We talked about it often.

How do you explain to people that bipolar isn’t the person going creatively mad? Most of what bipolar brings into a person’s life is darkness, dysfunction, days and nights of sleeping, and not being able to care for yourself. Showering can be put off for days. Brushing teeth might not happen, and if a person is alone, they might not eat, or they might overeat.

During the time I was out of the home for a vision rehab program, I had people set up to deal with the crisis end of things. I didn’t have people set up to check in on him. At the end of one of my four days away from him, I walked in on a scene that scared me. He hadn’t fed himself, showered, taken out the trash for pick up, and had I not come home it would have become worse. I called the psychiatrist and got him in. Then, I took a week off from the program in order to stabilize things at home. I wasn’t worried about him attempting suicide: he didn’t have that kind of energy. I needed more help than I had.

What Else?

There is also the obsessive-compulsive factor that surrounds bipolar. Not all bipolars are also diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD); however, there are components of the disorder that show up for many people. For Jon it was being able to make his guitar. He needed to have the perfect neck for him to play. So, he never really played his guitar: he researched, purchased tools to “fix” it, and then never got to fixing it. There was also the thought that he would record his own music. So, he began to build his own recording studio. Trying to reason with him became a war zone. I stopped fighting with him. I didn’t want the war to resurface in our relationship.

Then the issue of me cleaning our house came up, and I wasn’t allowed to clean the house because I couldn’t see it all well enough to do the task right. He would put it off, and every once in a few months would take several hours and clean. I sunk further into despair. When we moved out of our home due to bankruptcy, and people came to help us move, I was the one blamed for the messy house. Once again, no one asked the why question, and it wasn’t safe to explain it all. As my mother used to say, “Assuming make an ass out of you and me.”

One thing led to another, and by the time he took his own life, I was beyond worn out: I was numb.

Aftermath

While I was able to understand on some level what the marriage had done to me, I wasn’t able to understand it in its completeness. It would take years for that to happen. It has taken over eighty-four months to write this post. It isn’t that I was unaware of compassion fatigue; it is about the fact that grief work involves sifting through so many aspects of life. For me to fully process this has taken almost eighty-five months. For some of you it will happen much sooner in the process.

When I look into the mirror, I see a face that isn’t stressed, a woman who can smile, and a life that is taking me along paths that I never imagined I’d walk. It is enough.

When No One Speaks

Posted on by Gail Shurtleff in Living With Disability

In July I attended a webinar on diversity. The presenter knew two things: people of color and compassion for the LGBTQIA2S community. And the presentation, or lack thereof, bombed. Just my opinion, but I know something about the subject.

What really bugged me is that he really didn’t have any presentation; he wanted people to ask him questions, and the hour was Americentric. It was an hour I’ll never get back.

Many people, when they attempt to speak about diversity, completely ignore the community that intersects all communities: the disabled. It is as if they have blinders to the reality that someday, they could become a card-carrying member of the disabled population.

When these conversations occur, if we’re mentioned at all, it is as an afterthought. This really bugs me! We have conversations about everything else that is diversity, and we even talk about use of white privilege and economic privilege, and the disabled are left blowing in the wind.

The voices that should stand for us don’t really show. Parents show for their children. Who stands for the vulnerable adults? Special interest groups? Many of those groups focus on children.

I’ve stood for myself, and I sure wish someone would use their privilege to stand for me. I’m worn out from being the justice warrior in this area. I may be an enneagram type eight, but who will speak for me when I need assistance? For the most part, I’m left to find it on my own.

Finding it on your own can be messy. And the mess in my life came to a crashing halt days after that webinar.

Lessons From Room A341

It began on July 20th, after a day in Utrecht. I woke up tired and attributed it to the running around I’d done the previous day. By Saturday morning, I had to fight to get out of bed, and Sunday I felt awful. Monday, I let the sick state of being take over, thinking that resting, plenty of fluids, and eating would fix the situation. It got worse. The next Sunday, I knew I’d better call the doctor’s office. I was sicker than I’d ever been in my life, and my gut was telling me that I needed to get to the hospital. I also needed the doctor to make a house call. My head was working well enough to know that I couldn’t care for myself. In the past week, I’d become disoriented during the night and couldn’t find my way out of my bed or my room. I couldn’t even think straight enough to turn my lamp on. This was bad. I also knew I was a physical mess. So, Monday morning I rang up the doctor’s office, and around 5:00 PM the doctor came. She called the ambulance, and I settled into more of the disorientation that was present. I was finally able to just lay in a bed.

After eight hours in an ER, and the staff finally able to get the proper IV and other things inserted into my body, I was moved to a room on the same floor for observation. That Tuesday, they finally sent me upstairs to a room. I think it was evening by then. Wednesday, after cultures were grown, I found out my diagnosis. I’ll say that it wasn’t the E. coli that was doing bad things to me—they could cure that with antibiotics—it was the kidneys and my diabetes that went completely out of control. My personal education was about to expand, and I was also about to expand other people’s education as I lay in a bed in room A341.

If there is one thing I don’t like, it is having to explain the why of, after over twenty years of living in this wonderful country, my Dutch is so bad, and why I can’t speak more of it. Being hearing impaired and learning Dutch do not pair well. As languages go, this one is like a spoiled child who keeps wanting to change the rules because no one has told them NO. I lay in the bed, minus my hearing aids, having to tell people to speak only English. The fact that my vision was bugging out on me was less of a worry. I also had to deal with that.

I’m having to explain this to people when I’m really sick, not fully understanding what is going on, and my head is being hit with not knowing what I need to do to process it all. And, to top it off, I’m weak.

I’ve come to the conclusion that teaching hospitals at universities work better for me. I don’t have to explain things.

I’m angry, and all I want is to be shown some consideration, because nothing is working correctly. Why do I need to explain this to everyone? I fantasized about what I’d say when I could write. I don’t remember what I thought. I do remember that it hurt to think about it. I was really too sick to think straight.

The Upside and the Downside

Having my meals brought to me, and discovering that someone in the kitchen was able to do fish that tasted amazing, was wonderful. I had to admit that if one is sick, this is the way to do it. Yet, not having physical visitors took its toll. Messenger and Zoom phone helped with that.

Most of what I’ve learned I’ve discovered since discharge. It’s been eye opening.

When I use the word “sick” in the bullet points below, I am speaking of the “sick” that puts one in the hospital, and that requires longer recovery periods:

  • Being sick can cause trauma to build.
  • Being sick can cause someone to become self-centered.
  • Being sick can close our eyes to the lessons we need to learn around our own situations, and how we treat others.
  • Being sick means we need to listen to others when they tell us to slow down and nap during the day.

I feel awful about the self-centeredness and realize now that it stemmed from trying to recover too fast.

I’m convinced that there are times when nursing staff don’t understand the behavior they are seeing. Trauma can build due to uncertainty, and in the early days of my hospitalization, I didn’t understand that what was going on could have killed me. I was in a daze, and nobody picked up on it. I had told a friend during my time at home that “I don’t have good sick skills.” This is because as a child, what I learned post all of the normal stuff children get was not much. I was a healthy person. It has caught up with me. It is also my personality. I don’t like to stay in bed. I share this because of the fourth bullet point listed above. My doctor told me to take the time to nap if I felt I was tired. She also told me to begin to build up walking strength slowly using my treadmill. I tried to ignore self-care the first few days I was home. Then I made an effort to follow her suggestions, and I found that my strength was returning! 

If we listen to our bodies, we can learn wonderful things! It’s been over a month since this began, and today I’m enjoying a pleasant afternoon at my computer. I’m gaining strength, enjoying insights, learning about myself and others, and understanding that my challenge is to keep healthy in new ways. I’ll keep this short so that I can exercise a wee bit of self-care. I’m doing well with this new routine of mine. I just wish I wouldn’t need to do so much explaining… and yet that is what we in the disabled community must do.