How Overthinking Leads to Underserving

When a slight veil of coronavirus restriction lifted, my husband received notice that he could return to work. While the excitement for that bit of freedom was tangible, I did feel just a slight tingle of fear. Yet I carried on and cheered for the truth that this pandemic is just our right now and not our forever.  

That morning of his first day back, I drove him to the front door. Before he stepped out of the car, I looked him straight in the eye, and said, “You’re everything I have. Please take care of yourself. Mask up. Stay a healthy distance. Wash your hands. Do whatever necessary so when I come back here, you’re as healthy as you are now.” He smiled, kissed my cheek, and said, “Stop overthinking.”

As I watched him walk away, the mental floodgates opened, and questions flew in like a tidal wave.

• What if he gets sick?
• What hospital will take him?
• Can I go inside the hospital?
• Does he have his insurance card?
• How do I handle him being in the hospital and I can’t be there?
• Who will call me every two minutes with an update about his breathing?
• Will he have a TV in his room?  
• What if he’s too weak to hold a remote control?
• What about reaching the “call the nurse” button?
• Can I call him?
• What about his phone?
• Can he charge that somewhere? 
• Will he have Wi-Fi?
• What if he something awful happens and I’m not there to hold his hand?
• Who will hold my hand?
• Will the one woman who knows me better than myself fly to my side and hold mine?
• What if he dies?
• How would I ever survive that?
• Where would I live?
• How could I sell that house we shared? 
• What will I do with all those TVs?
• What’s in the basement?
• Should I take a video of everything down there? 
• How long do those iPhone videos last?
• Are there companies that preserve them?

Yep, all that (and more) spun through my head before I moved through the first intersection on my way home. 

This is what the mind looks like when fear strikes a recovering overthinker. I’m a racehorse charging out of the gate. One minor thought propels me into some twisted flowchart where I end up feeling helpless no matter what turn I take.  

Even after 18 years of continuous recovery from unhealthy behaviors that I believe protected me from unwelcome emotions, I can easily teeter on the edge of insanity if I don’t catch overthinking before that overtakes me.  

This is why a wide support circle is critical for people like me. I know any one of my beloved trusted friends will understand when I start a phone call with, “Well, you won’t believe where my head is at right now.” After shared laughter for the predictability of my predicament, I pour out my collection of thoughts into the loving hands of those who keep me sane. Per usual, an offer of gentle acknowledgment for my harried travel from point “A” to point “Z” is followed by the reminder that my day is always better served when I keep my head where my feet are.

Immediately I felt better. Coronavirus can’t keep me from staying in my lane of recovery. Help is always available even if that’s not in-person. I’m glad for the many years of proven experience to know how that works.

Of course, later that day, when I retrieved my husband, I found him just fine.

My life is so much easier when I remember that overthinking anything is the gateway to underserving me.

A Moment to Breathe

If you relate to what you just read, take a deep breath. The overthinking connection often brings about a sense of thrill yet also infuriation. We’re thrilled by the idea that we can get ahead of what might feel awful and yet infuriated because we know we can’t outsmart the future. That’s what overthinking is all about. We believe if we create enough scenarios we’ll better manage whatever emotion arises. However, that rarely works. All that does is create more self-imposed chaos and anxiety. The only way we can truly prepare for what’s coming is by taking better care of ourselves today. Breathe that in. Take another deep breath and consider what you’re thinking about right now. How long have you had that thought? A few minutes? A few hours? A few days? Have you considered sharing your thoughts with someone you trust? Take a deep breath and then give yourself the gift of alternative insight. Call someone. That’s the surest way to overserve your soul and underserve your fear. 

I always love your feedback! Free to share your thoughts below or via your preferred social media site.

Fight Alone or Flow Together

This is an interesting time. The coronavirus roared in with widespread contamination and without discrimination. The illness takes over people’s health and, with each passing day, people’s minds. In an instant, we skyrocketed from the routine of everyday life to everyday life without one. We grasp at hope with every news conference yet feel left in wonder whether we learned anything new or when this will all end. Uncertainty pulsates through everyone’s veins.

Those of us who overcame any unhealthy behavior have keen practical experience in this arena. We stood in this space before. I sure have.

By the time I raised my voice and cried out for help with a daily routine of too much alcohol and not enough food, the illness of addiction already took over my health and my mind. I shook with terror when people told me the required solution. I didn’t like what I heard yet knew things would only get worse if I succumbed to my fear. At the start, I fought suggestions offered because I wasn’t sure I had the ability to let go of what I had done for what I needed to do.

Uncertainty pulsated through my veins.

No one offered absolutes. Instead, people told me their experience about how they overcame what they thought they couldn’t. I grasped at hope each time. I could not deny their consistent and clear message. No one can do this alone and no one is immune to what may happen if resistance continued. The choice was mine; fight the truth or go with the flow. If I did the latter, chances were good that a healthier, more peaceful, life lies ahead.

Although the efforts were mine, others did their part too. We helped each other by being everyday examples of calm, healthy living.

I believe that’s where we stand right now. We’re at a similar turning point. We have a choice. We either fight the required action steps to overcome this pandemic or flow with them. What I learned over many years is, the longer the fight, the longer the pain.

So, together, let’s flow together, no matter how far apart. 

A Moment to Breathe

What are you doing right now to assure you add to the solution, not the problem? Take a deep breath. Take another one. Are you resisting for a reason? Remember, most of the challenges you face don’t happen to you, they happen for you. Perhaps this is a time to reboot, reframe, and recalibrate areas of life that need your attention. Remember, those small baby steps consistently taken will eventually add up to a long-distance of healthy living. Keep going. Keep breathing. We’re all in this together.

Please take a moment to share what you’re experiencing today. Are you fighting or flowing? Leave a comment here or link this to your favorite social media site and ask that others offer the same.

 

The Hallway of Change

Most of us know that change is constant because life is ever-evolving. Some people thirst for change and there are those, like me, who dig heels in deeper with a belief that what’s comfortable is just fine. Why switch from the well-hummed rhythm of daily life to learn something new?

Needed change rarely happens without some level doubt and resistance and silent stories that loop in our head about why change isn’t necessary.

I wrote and rewrote those everything-is-fine stories with hope the end would turn out better than what others predicted.

Sure, I drank too much, ate too little, controlled more than necessary, and stayed purposely silent in shame when I could have spoken my truth. That way of life didn’t make sense to anyone but sure did to me.

I knew what would happen when I engaged in things I shouldn’t and perhaps even more important to me, how to circumvent consequences. That well-choreographed dance of unhealthy behavior went on for years until the curtain went down and no one clapped. Self-destruction does have an encore.

For reasons I can only speculate and now quite grateful for, I grabbed that handle on the door marked change rather than the one which indicated my final resting place.

In truth, I stood at the door that promised change for a while. I thought a spec of courage would be enough. I fiddled with the doorknob only to drop my hand. I lingered there until one day I coupled courage with willingness and turned the latch all the way. I’d be a liar if I said there wasn’t part of me that hoped a lock would keep me from what I feared. However, once change comes calling in a way I can’t deny, no lock will keep me stuck.

What I didn’t know then but I certainly do know is, an immediate change wasn’t on the other side. Just because I passed through the door wasn’t a guarantee of something different. That much-needed step out from the fog of fear only led to the hallway of change, not into a complete change that I presumed would meet me there.

Although I could see a door in the distance, I couldn’t yet understand what the attached sign read. I considered a turn back or even investigation into a side door of escape. Yet, what echoed in my ear was that if I did, all the misery and shame and loneliness and fear I once felt would return in an instant.

So, there I stood, listening to the whispers hope and suggestions sprinkled like raindrops from kind and patient people who surrounded me. At times I shut my eyes tight, crossed every finger, and prayed that one of those people would take those hallway steps for me. I learned that’s not how the process works.

Personal change is an inside job, not someone else’s outside fix.

I breathed in what others suggested and embraced any required work for the change I desired. In time, I reached that once distant door only to face even more hallways and farther doors.

Matter of fact, I’m in one of those hallways right now. Even with years of practical experience that proved perseverance, willingness, and asked for help are the means to get from one end of the to the other, I still do not like being in the hallway of change. Not at all.

I feel like a newcomer in recovery, searching for that easier, softer, way toward a hoped-for sense of comfort in new surroundings. I find myself inspecting crevices of the hallway for a quick solution for my unease. Funny how I act even though I learned long ago that what I want, isn’t always what I need.

So, I pause. I find a welcoming spot in that hallway. I breathe. I look around. I listen. I wait. I listen a little harder. Then, when I feel a bit more confident in my next right step, I’ll make my way closer to that distant door.

I may not get there right away and that’s okay. What’s important is that I pay close attention to what I learn along the way. Once embedded, those nuggets of wisdom will influence my approach when life presents me with the unexpected and I find myself in another hallway of change.

A Moment to Breathe

Are you standing at a door of change? Are you hesitating? Maybe you turned the handle and now stand between the door you closed and the one that offers something new. Before you do anything, breathe. Slow your thoughts. Breathe again. Remember, whatever you face, wherever you are, this is not what you’ll face or where you’ll be forever. Put your focus on that next right indicated and head down that hall. Breathe again. You’re on your way. 

I’m interested in how you answer the above questions and if this post influenced your perspective. Feel free to leave me a comment below or share the post with your thoughts via a preferred social media site.

 

Layers of Protection

I love fairy tales. There is a rhythm to those stories that leave me feeling joy and hope for what could be. However, one connected with me in ways I couldn’t understand until now.

This is the story about the princess who endured a sleepless night due to a pea hidden underneath mattresses and feather beds. Even with all that separation from something so small, she still felt pain.

When I first heard that fable, I wondered how such a little thing could cause so much discomfort. Surely all those layers of softness would protect her from hurt.

I had no idea how that story, and that belief, would impact me for years to come.

Silent stories I told myself about how life worked never seemed to match how I felt about what happened around me. When others heard bits and pieces of my emotional confusion, their response was either in disregard or complete dismissal of my feelings.

Rather than any attempt to further that conversation, I buried those little girl emotions with layers of self-imposed rationalization to confirmed how I felt didn’t matter.

However, no amount of coating placed over what I hid, or distance put between when I did, that unacknowledged emotion festered. Instead of a deep dig to uncover and release what I denied, I sought relief in the form too much alcohol and not enough food. That magic mixture helped blur what pierced through me when others seemed to have a better shot at life or why I was never good enough in the eyes of those whose approval I longed for.

I couldn’t make sense of rejection, shame, or “less than” feeling because I never learned how. That’s why everything seemed a whole lot easier when lost in a drunken delusion or dazed from poor nutrition.

In time, just like that pea beneath the princess, the pain underneath the protective layers I put in place became stronger than my ability to avoid the hurt. I faced a crossroad where no amount of booze or lack of food could prevent me from the truth about who I was, how I felt, and what I needed.

With no idea how that could happen, I asked for help from those whose footsteps I now follow. The suggestions made led to actions I took to peel back the layers and investigate what I hid from and why.

Layers of protection are great for contact sports, winter snowstorms, and a leap from a plane, but they are no good when distracting from the truth.

A Moment to Breathe

For most, acknowledging emotion is not easy. The tendency to belittle or even hide from them is strong but dangerous. Are you using unhealthy behaviors to layer over how you feel as a means of protecting yourself? Take a moment to breathe. Consider what’s more painful; dealing with emotion, or the chaos and shame unhealthy protective layers present. Take another slow deep breath and consider what you really need to unveil truths long-buried beneath the stories you tell yourself. 

Feel free to leave a comment below or include your thoughts when sharing what I wrote via your favorite social media site. Either way, thank you for taking a moment to breathe with me.

 

Keep Coming Back

Over the years I heard, then said, three of the most powerful words anyone could offer to someone who struggles with overcoming some unhealthy behavior. The words are, keep coming back.

Woven together, those fifteen letters comforted—and continue to comfort—me, and many others, who walk away from a conversation that offers hope for change no matter how dire the situation.

When I first took in those words, I teetered between what made sense and what could be. I thought the invitation to another meeting of like-minded people was just a polite gesture. While I had my doubts about a return visit to a room filled with people I didn’t know who talked about things I didn’t understand, I went back anyway. I was desperate for a life other than the one I existed in. The lies, rationalizations, and manipulations were unbearable. I felt horrid from the inside out. The people in those rooms suggested I didn’t have to feel that way anymore as long as I keep coming back.

So, I did. I still do. However today, that powerful mantra means much more than the benefits of a return trip to a room of recovery wisdom.

When life tosses an emotional grenade my way, I’m thrown off-balance. Thoughts scatter. Next right steps aren’t clear. I doubt my options. Yet somehow, between the shrapnel, that mantra clicks in and I return to my proven recipe that shifts me from chaos to calm. Much like beloved, handed-down family recipes that many rely on for that perfect meal, this one, offered by the family that welcomed me when I felt lost and alone, is equally stained and torn, nurtured and shared and now, much-needed.

During the last several months I had striking examples of what can happen when friends lose sight of the recipe that once worked for them. An alert of another substance-related death, handcuffs then jail, excuses for unhealthy behavior use, and so on. The outcome is raw. The denial is unfathomable. The reality is startling and for some, beyond recognition.

Actually, I felt a bit tossed around too. I lost sight of what keeps me sorted in thought and focused in action. Yet, there, in the midst of all that, I kept hearing whispers from friends and interestingly, mere strangers who had no idea what they offered through their briefly shared words.

So, I’m dusting off that recipe card. I’m coming back and perhaps in time, others will find their way home too.

A Moment to Breathe

What happens when you start to cut corners, eliminate ingredients, or lessen the time you need to fully experience what you’d rather not? Take a slow deep breath. Now, consider what’s missing from that recipe that worked to make sense of things. What changes are you willing to incorporate into your day that will help you rise up and nourish hope for what’s possible. Use the space below to account for those plans and then, please share this post to your preferred social media sites so others might do the same.  

 

How One Day at a Time Saves Me One Day at a Time

The statement that can yank me from mental chaos to calm contains five simple words. They are, one day at a time.

Don’t be fooled. Things weren’t always that way for me.

For the majority of my life, if something when awry or scared me, the last thing I thought would help was time. Instead, I did whatever necessary for immediate change. I had no desire for the sit back and wait idea. Regardless of possible consequences, if there was a problem, I fixed that problem, and moved on.  I couldn’t run the risk that what I feared could happen, would happen.

That came to halt when the emotional after effects of what I hope was my last drink of alcohol hit me like a hurricane. Fear, sadness, guilt, shame, remorse, and lack of control swept me up and tossed me around like an upended snow globe. I crawled my way to rooms where sobriety wisdom filled the air. Surely they had the quick-fix solution for my emotional pain. Each person I asked smiled and suggested I keep my focus only on how to not drink that day. That seemed absurd. How could I possibly get through a whole day with those hand wringing, heart-racing, tissue-deep feelings without the relief I knew a glass of my addiction would ease? Yet I made a silent commitment that I would attempt anything to end my relationship with booze.

I tried what I then doubted, and love what still works.

As time went on, that need for that one-day-at-a-time concept showed up more and more often. I heard those words when I questioned that never-again idea about a future glass of wine or the occasional mixed drink. Back then, I could not fathom a birthday, a wedding, or any other celebratory event without a drink.

Although I did my best to conceal the shudder of my shoulders, the wise woman who knows me better than I know myself provided a bit more intel about this one day at a time notion. She explained that how I feel one day may not be how I feel forever. My ability to handle forthcoming situations would change as I work to better understand myself one day at a time.

I did the work which then felt impossible, and love how the knowledge works for me.

Then came the challenge to understand why three meals and two snacks a day made sense. That’s when people wiser than me suggested a few words to enhance that one-day-at-a-time concept. They suggested I focus my attention on one meal at a time,

Armed with what I knew worked and what I hoped would, I reconstructed my one day at a time mantra to include the words, one meal at a time. That alone got me through some very dark days.

Yet, life goes on and things show up. On the surface, some appear almost too much to bear. A situation may arise that pings the memory of how a glass of wine quenched my fears or a skipped a meal fueled a need to control my imperfections. That’s why I need more than a one day or one meal at a time reminder.

For example, a few weeks ago, I sat in silence among hundreds of people inside a church I know well. Each time, a celebration of one’s life filled with words they don’t hear but we do. On that particular day, my gaze was set on a woman left alone in the first pew. She sat upright with grace hoping the beautiful blue dress worn would mask her weary, emotionally drained body. Soon the young children she shared with her husband that we were there to honor would sit beside her once their pallbearer duties ended.

When I passed a tissue to the person next to me, she tearfully asked how anyone could possibly deal with the loss of a spouse so young. I responded with words that seem attached to my every exhale. I whispered, “I suppose one day at a time, maybe even one breath at a time.”

That’s how I roll these days; one day, one moment, one breath at a time. This is my life line when everything starts to feel like too much.

Once offered as an idea to shift my focus from too much alcohol and not enough food, the meaning behind this one day at time concept not only saved me from two near-death addictions, the words now save me from myself.

A Moment to Breathe

We all see the one day at a time quote on plaques, paper weights, and notecards, yet have you ever breathed in the true intention behind the phrase? Have you considered the value of that when worry takes over or anxiety is through the roof? Maybe your thoughts live in days ahead rather than where your feet are. Take a deep breath, look around, and ground yourself in the right now not in the what if. Focusing on one day, one moment, one breath at a time is how you could get from where you are to where your next right step is needed. I hope you can relate to some of this. If so, please comment below or share via your preferred social media site.

 

 

 

 

I Don’t Have Time

Why, during the last few weeks of every year, do I feel as though I can’t catch up with myself? I rush from place to place and project to project hoping to cross one more item off the holiday to-do list. I forget more than remember and I talk more than listen.

I convince myself I don’t have time for a spontaneous cup of coffee with a friend, an extra few minutes of (much-needed) sleep, or another chapter of that spellbinding book.

The reality is, I don’t have time because time has me.

Without intentionally doing so, I give the tick-tock of time that kind of power over me. Why do I let this happen? When did this start? Do other people struggle to satisfy time expectations like I do?

I shudder to think how familiar these questions are. I asked them years ago because I thought I had a drinking problem and issues with food and body image when, in fact, alcohol, scales, and mirrors had me. I manipulated and rationalized everything to avoid treatment or well-considered amends or self-care. I thought I didn’t have time for such things until my time almost ran out.

With barely a moment to spare, I found the kind of help I desperately needed. During those early days, I begged for time to create the kind of life I have today.

In that process, I found out why time is a precious commodity and must be respected as such.

The idea that I don’t have time is as dangerous for me as a drink of alcohol or fork unfilled. I cannot allow myself to believe that time is an enemy with the power to determine what I’m capable of or what my priorities are.

If that’s where I am today, something needs to change and that something is my perspective.

Thank goodness I have a proven, practical experience solution for what keeps me from a healthy life. I must become willing to let go of the must-do’s and should’s and expectations so I can be present for people, situations, and things that truly matter.

If I slow down, step back, and breathe deep, I’ll find plenty of time to:

• Listen
• Offer a hug
• Hold a door
• Reach for the hand needing reassurance
• Make that phone call, write that letter, or knock on that door
• Spend a few extra minutes with a newcomer to recovery
• Tell people who matter that they do
• Walk slower
• Ask for help
• Breathe deeper
• Get quiet
• Look up

Perhaps the problem isn’t that I don’t have time, but that I forget how much time means to me.

A Moment to Breathe

How often do you hear yourself say that you don’t have time? Whether said out loud or in the silence of your mind, the story you tell yourself about how much time you have often proves harrowing. Take a deep breath and consider how you navigate your time. Do you feel spontaneously free to accept an unexpected opportunity, or over-scheduled and exhausted? If the latter seems more realistic for you, perhaps a shift in perspective is necessary. Remember, your time is yours and thus, only you will ever have the power to choose how that time is allocated. Now, take another slow deep breath and rewrite today’s plan that will suit you and your peace of mind.

The Power of Inspiruption

When was the last time you heard or read something that shot a powerful bolt of inspiration through you? Maybe there was a quick turn of your head to listen closer, or a rapid eye-race back a few paragraphs to assure what you read still rests on the page. For me, the disruption to my train of thought is so sudden, the only words to bounce the walls of my mind are, “Wait. What was that?”

My arms tingle, my mouth goes a bit dry, and I scramble to grab a pen and capture what I mentally took in. In that instant, I feel a heart-to-heart connection to the words, the person sharing them, and the intention for which they are offered. Then, after silent recalibration, everything I thought about a certain subject shifts.

I call this experience an inspiruption. I am inspired to such a degree that my whole sense of what previously made sense is now disrupted.

No doubt I experienced these kinds of sharp-turn realizations earlier in life. Teachers, authors, friends, bosses, even conversations overheard in strange places, pinged me to reconsider things.

Yet never with such intensity than the inspiruptions that led me to gather up the courage to put down my (hopefully) last glass of wine and pick up my first healthy and full fork.

Once in the arms of recovery, I heard the words that to this day can send a shiver through me. Someone looked me straight in the eye and said, “Yeah, me too.”

That small sentence is, perhaps, the single most important recovery blanket of hope and comfort for anyone in recovery. When the sentiment is wrapped around someone filled with fear and doubt and shame, what happens next is an inspiruption of profound measure. The body language cannot be mistaken. Facial muscles relax, shoulders drop, and fists unclinch. I’ve seen this happen right before my eyes and, for me, is nothing short of a miracle in motion.

Many moments of inspiruption have occurred since the day that reaction was mine. These days I surround myself with people and pages that wake me up, pull my breath, or push a tear beyond the walls of my pride; all indicators that more light must shine on a subject subconsciously left dim.

If I chose to disregard these moments of inspiruption, the opportunity for change might be lost. I’ve come way too far and gone through way too much to start denying  what is undeniable.

This is why I strive to keep my ears and eyes on guard in preparation for the next moment of inspiruption. Practical experience proves that when they arrive, what I do next is sure to powerfully change me for the better.

A Moment to Breathe

What came to mind when you considered my initial question? Did something happen as a result of that moment of inspiration? Were you overcome with excitement or startled by fear? If the latter, my suggestion is that when—not if—this happens again, take a deep breath and allow yourself to peak around the corner. What awaits might be a solution for something you never thought possible. Feel free to share your thoughts or experiences as a result of inspiruption here or as you share this post via your favorite social media site.

 

 

Feeling Broken? Find the Glue of Me Too

While driving alone, do you find yourself mindlessly scanning radio stations hoping to find something, anything that grabs your attention?

I sure do.

I’ll tap that seek button until a few notes of a song or words of a news story grab enough of my attention to satisfy that sound void in my car.

A few days ago I followed that routine on my way home from a support group meeting. My final radio stop was NPR perhaps because the lead-in for the next story warned of graphic content. When I hear a teaser like that, my curiosity kicks in.

Little did I know that what I was about to listen to would pull me from my usual post-meeting thoughts straight into the life of a woman who shared what she described was her turning point story.

As filmmaker and visual storyteller, Barbara Weiner, unfolded details of what happened to her thirty-one years ago, I didn’t feel connected because of them, I felt connected because what she went through to accept them.

The cadence of her voice was startling familiar. She spoke of perfectionism, the fear of exposing parts of her truth that would shine a light where she felt bruised and ashamed. She spoke of a desperate desire to appear put-together so others would see her life in order when inside she felt scattered, disordered, and alone.

As her story reached the point where a turnaround was looming, she spoke of how she found someone who, after hours of conversation, made a promise that she would not be abandoned no matter what was in that emotional box she neatly packed away to avoid falling apart.

That confirmation safety-net allowed her to step out from behind the curtain of shame she believed protected her from feeling what she was terrified to acknowledge. As those words tumbled from her mouth faster than she’s imagined they could, she felt relief from the release.

And that was how she began to heal.

In time she took her whole, unedited, for-mature-audiences-only story to others who needed to share their own. She paid attention with intention to what they said regardless of circumstances because that wasn’t the point. What mattered was the freedom shared once the truth was told.

Eventually she found her broken pieces held in place by those connecting stories and now, when she stands back from her own, she sees the beautiful mosaic of her beautiful life.

I’m grateful I get that. I’m grateful I get her. I’m grateful I get the process.

On a daily basis I have the privilege to listen as others empty pockets where they’ve kept their secrets and broken pieces. Through that interaction, I give them, and myself, permission to heal.

Their stories, pasted with mine, lock together what felt broken. We’re bonded by the strong and powerful glue of “me too.”

A Moment to Breathe

Are pieces of you that feel broken? Are you wondering like Humpty Dumpty once did, that if long-held protective parts of you were to fall, could even the greatest of friends and family put you together again? Take a slow deep breath and consider if maybe they aren’t meant to. Maybe the ones who are meant to help are those who will you in the eye to confirm they’ve stood where you stand. Find them. They are out there. All that’s required is to start talking. Those who have what you need will listen, nod, and offer you two words that is the glue to fix your broken pieces. They’ll simply say, “me too.”  

Please, Make it All Better

There are some expressions that grab your heart and won’t let go. These are the messages of desperation. Whether the words are said directly or seen in someone’s eyes, the reaction is immediate. Drop everything and help.

Try not to console a tearful little one whose just-skinned knee or bad dream seems never-ending. Try not to open your heart to tissue-shredding stranger, sitting alone in a hospital waiting room. Try not to pick up the pushed-to-the-floor books owned by that kid who is bullied in school.

I don’t know about you, but in those tender moments, when eyes are raised to mine that say without words, “please, make it all better,” I just want to crawl into their moment of panic and do just that.

This is the way I felt recently as I sat with a woman who had the remarkable courage to walk through the door of her first recovery meeting.

My connection with her was assured well before she offered a wobbly, brave-fronted description of the circumstances that led to our conversation. I didn’t need convincing that she and I are cut from the same cloth. That look of desperation I not only saw, but felt.

When the situation called for me to share a bit about what first brought me to a room like the one we sat in. Her tears fell in rhythm with my words. Before long, the head-nodding signaled to me her sense of connection was now mutual. When I finished, she raised her head and, through eyes I saw once in my own mirror, silently said, “Please, make it all better.”

As a writer I challenge myself to avoid using the word “it.” Long ago, someone who’s writing career I deeply admire suggested that my reader deserves more from me. She explained that, when tempted by the word “it,” to remember I can’t make the assumption they’ll know what I mean.

However, in this case, I don’t think I need to elaborate for you. I doubt there is any misunderstanding in the context of this situation. Everyone has, at some time in their life, reached a point where no solution seems viable. When someone hits what they believe is their bottom from overuse of some unhealthy substance or behavior, the “it” that brought them to that point doesn’t need further detail.

So, I locked eyes with her and said; “No one has the answer to make your situation better. However, if you are willing, there are a few suggestions that, if you do them one day at a time, you might make things better for yourself.” After a bit more conversation, we shared hug of support. I watched her walk away with, I hope, a desire to return.

I’ll always stop to wipe a small one’s tears, hold space for a friend who received terrible news, and welcome a newcomer with a smile and an open mind because maybe, just maybe, in those non-verbal moments of connection I can help to make it all better.

A Moment to Breathe

Are you silently pleading for someone or something to make things all better? Are you hoping a rescue team is waiting around the corner to hear your plea for help? Perhaps now is the time to take a slow, deep breath and consider if what’s needed is to take an action step. Put meaning to your “it” and share those worries with a trusted friend. Even if they can’t make the “it” all better, they might help you feel less alone while figuring things out together.