Tag: Stress management

Just a cat

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My bluepoint baby, Evie

I’m about to get sappy on you. You might want to get your tissues handy.

This is my dear Siamese kitty Evie. She’s nine years old, and she’s been in the hospital since Weds. Three weeks ago she had a seizure for the first time, and she’s gone steadily down hill since, refusing to eat or drink. The whole time I was away last week, she stayed under the bed. She only weighed 7 pounds to begin with and now she feels like an anorexic looks. There is still no definitive answer, after 6 regular vet consults, 43 possible diagnoses, an MRI, and abdominal ultrasound. We’re currently awaiting blood work to come back from Texas A&M vet school. And I visited her in the hospital today–who would have thought they had visiting hours at the specialty vet clinic? And of course Evie, like many in this country, has no health insurance–so I’ll just let you imagine the bills.

The entire experience has brought the ‘who says?’ mantra into my head incessantly. (I’m not just writing this for sympathy, truly–I do have a slight point.) When I related this process to someone I know well, I heard a story in return about a dog who was ‘just a pound mutt’ who was diagnosed with cancer. The treatment estimate was $5300, and so the owners chose euthanasia. And, the storyteller related, the veterinarian was a bit outraged and critical of their decision. While that may not have been a helpful stance from the treating doctor, who can judge? Until we’re in those butt-numbing vet hospital waiting room chairs for six hours, we just don’t know. Who says that we can put a dollar amount on our pets?

Research about the benefits of our valued pet friends is continuing to amass. Pets help us cope with stress, increasing our resilience in the face of change. Pet ownership is tied to improved health, from blood pressure to psychological well-being. I know that my three furry friends seem always attuned to my mood and plop themselves nearby when I’m feeling down. ‘Just a pound mutt’ can be your most stalwart ally. Difficult choices abound, when faced with serious pet illness, and we each have to choose what’s right for us. Today, the most helpful information I can offer to my readers who have beloved pets is: buy pet health insurance, if you can afford it. It’s certainly a value, cost-wise, if you ever have to face a critical pet health challenge.

Please send out healing prayers and thoughts for my Evie.

Inspiration from Jessica

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Perhaps you’ve seen this hilarious youtube video, Jessica’s Daily Affirmation? If not, treat yourself and be inspired–or if so, watch it again.

Like Jessica, we simply ooze with self-confidence and self-love when we’re small. Last weekend, attending a family wedding, the biggest source of entertainment (after the bride, of course) was the new baby in attendance. Finley’s a charmer, seven months old, gladly beaming and flirting as long as he’s on his sweet momma’s lap. He was truly the center of attention, having as many as ten adults at a time oohing and gooing at him, working to evoke his seductive smile. Making him happy just made us happy.

Adorable great-nephew Finley

Smiling babies, after exercise, might just be the quickest route to increasing endorphins–at least when we’re not their primary caretakers and can hand them back. It’s easy to see how kids transfer that love and focus of adult attention into Jessica’s ability to affirm herself.

Then something mysterious happens; the balance shifts. Our parents don’t want us to be spoiled brats, to monopolize the room endlessly, to turn into narcissists who brag. We internalize the idea that nice girls are humble, deny compliments, mutter “oh, this old thing?” about our dresses. Too often we exclaim “this hair?” when we might do better to laud our tresses, as does Jessica of the flowing golden ringlets.

This idea of narcissism as negative is largely an idea of Western culture. I’ve just completed a week long training/retreat on mindfulness meditation, and came away with several key reminders about narcissism. It’s a character flaw only when taken to excess. In typical all or nothing thinking, however, women in particular view self-love as negative, rather than realizing that a healthy dose makes us feel good. In cognitive behavior therapy, the school of thought that most guides my clinical work, the related concept is self-efficacy. Jessica’s statement of self-efficacy is “I can do anything good!” Finally, in Buddhist psychology and related Eastern philosophies, narcissism or self-love is central to feeling good. Simplistically, for the sake of brevity, we suffer when we don’t love and embrace ourselves fully rather than recognizing our infinite perfection as part of, one with, the perfect universe.

You don’t need to plow over others with your evidence of self-love–but at least shower it upon yourself. Stand in front of the mirror, chant your gifts, strengths and beauty. Daily. And don’t forget to underscore your sentiments with a resounding clap. Yeah, yeah, yeah!!!!!!

The view from upside down

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I spend five hours in yoga class each week, given the luxury of an empty nest. It’s invaluable to my balance, that tenuous concept for all women–emotionally as well as the physical challenge. (I keep saying I’m going to find another way to talk about balance–we need a different term. It’s not an active enough word for the incredibly dynamic process of achieving well-being in our lives. Suggestions?)

The exercise room at my fitness center has floor to ceiling glass walls at the back. I habitually park myself near this wall, by the floor to ceiling mirrors, working to perfect my poses by glances in the mirror. Throughout the class, I’m upside down dozens of times, in standing forward fold or down dog. I’ve not quite figured out whether it’s the tempered glass of this back wall or the upside down position, but there’s a fun house mirror effect as I watch the latecomers hurry toward the room. Their legs look rubbery, feet appearing to roll along, all in slow motion. Remember Pokey and Gumby, rubber stop-motion characters from an old kid’s TV show? One of my sisters had the toy characters. They felt like those big pink block erasers, thick wires inside spongy legs. When we play-walked them along, the legs would buckle, almost bounce. This is how the people outside the exercise room appear–like elastic, stretching out slowly and snapping them backward, even as they hurry to class.

A friend found a little lizard in her bed. She picked it up to take it out of the house, and half of the tail pulled off in her hand. That creature had a choice of being caught–certain doom to it’s small brain–or being thrown off balance for awhile as it’s tail regenerated. In it’s innate lizard wisdom, the little guy is programmed to know it’s better to be imbalanced and know you’ll recover than trapped. What a shift of point of view.

Shift of perspective is a powerful tool. This week, I had two new clients come in, second time for each. At the first session, our discussions had provided such an incredible shift in the view each had of her situation. By the second week. each client felt completely past the problem. Jobs hadn’t changed, spouses hadn’t changed, family members hadn’t changed. All that had altered to solve the problem was the lens through which the problem was viewed.

Daily practice to change your point of view is a good exercise, stuck or not. Hang upside down. Try on a different pair of glasses, rose-colored or gray. Relabel loss as triumph, danger as healthy challenge, wisdom where nothing made sense. One of my favorite quotes from Caroline Myss is that ‘divine logic is not human logic.’ Perspective is often all we have control over–so control what you can, and let go of the rest.

Expectations and wellness

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The placebo effect is a well-known, well-accepted phenomenon, most traditionally thought of as a sugar pill–an inert, ineffective substance that nevertheless has a positive effect on an illness. The underlying mechanism of action is assumed to be belief in the remedy; the power of suggestion is at work.

Needless to say, from a strict medical viewpoint, the placebo effect falls into the category of muddy, unsubstantiated, mumbo-jumbo. It’s an attractive idea, but not worthy of any more consideration than the friendly pat on the head you might give to a lovable but annoying puppy. Two new studies have raised a big “who says?” regarding this attitude.

In one study, researchers followed first year law students, monitoring their optimism in general, expectations for academic success, and immune system function. Students were actually injected with substances that would trigger immune system response. Having an optimistic outlook in general was not related to immune system function. But actual expectations for success and immune system activity were directly parallel. When students felt that their performance in law school was potentially successful, their immune system function was much improved. And the opposite was true: fearing you were about to fail meant your immune system was compromised.

In the second study, study participants were followed over twenty-eight years. Subjective well-being–a concept made up of positive feelings, overall life satisfaction, and life satisfaction in the moment–was assessed at multiple points in time over the course of the study. Subjective well-being–i.e, being happy with your life overall, and expecting that all is well–contributed to less risk of illness and greater longevity. People simply lived longer when they were satisfied with their lives. This life satisfaction is akin to what Gretchen Rubin calls the sense of “living the right life” in The Happiness Project.

The placebo effect, i.e., the expectation that the remedy will work, is accepted to account for about 35% of a treatment’s effectiveness. These studies suggest that expectation is a much bigger contributor to our lives than that. Perhaps it’s time to regularly check in with ourselves about our expectations, and adjust our lives accordingly, taking control of whatever elements we can so we can live the life that feels right to us.

Aim for less

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Aim for less sounds so unAmerican, so unprogressive. After all, we are a nation founded on always striving to achieve more. No one pines for a smaller house, fewer cars, or a reduction in income. As a culture, we’re heavily invested in the concept of “more is better,” applying that to material acquisitions, experiences, choices. Psychological research is clear that, as Barry Schwartz summarizes in his book The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less, more can simply paralyze us and cause us to second-guess our decisions. More clutter, excess, busyness–whether in our homes, on our “to do” lists, or in our psyches–simply overwhelms us.

One case of “more” that really illustrates this concept is what I call “the tyranny of one more.” Familiar scenario for most of us: this is the endless effort we make to sneak in one more task, one more item crossed off the list before we head out the door, pick up the kids, or climb into bed at night. The “tyranny of one more” makes me late more often than not and keeps me working past when I need to relax and unwind. It’s a direct route to being overtired and overstressed.

My younger daughter, perhaps showing her old soul, has been in touch with “less is more” since she was a tiny child. When she was approaching her third birthday, we were talking about the guest list for her party. I began naming friends, listing them on a tablet, while she played nearby. I was really writing this list for me, until I heard what she was muttering. “Too many friends, too many friends. No, no, too many friends.” I listened. We reverted to the time-honored rule of one guest per birthday year celebrated, and invited just three little girls as guests. It was an ideal party, with no melt downs! Another life lesson learned from a child–because I listened.

“Voluntary simplicity means going fewer places in one day rather than more, seeing less so I can see more, doing less so I can do more, acquiring less so I can have more.” These words are by Jon Kabat-Zinn, professor emeritus of medicine at University of Massachusetts Medical School and prolific writer on mindfulness meditation as a stress reduction tool. Cut yourself some slack this week and practice the wisdom of “less is more.” Decline one invitation. Make dinner out of canned soup and fresh fruit. Sit down and breathe in your backyard. Embrace ways in which less truly is more: guilt yourself less, affirm yourself more; spend less, save more; worry less, relax more; compete less, connect more.

Naked in the woods

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I’ve just had the delight of Mother’s Day weekend with my two grown daughters at Gray Bear Lodge in the hills of Tennessee. The event was a Red Tent retreat, named after the ancient tradition of women separating themselves from the rest of the tribe during menstruation, resting, recuperating, and nurturing each other in a separate tent. If you’ve not read Anita Diamant’s great book by the same name, check it out. Who says this is an out-dated tradition? Imagine the reduction in stress levels if once a month we retreated from the world to spend time in connection, sharing stories, laughter, and pampering, with our sisters, mothers, and daughters. Let alone in a setting like this.

Healing abounded in the woods: scenic beauty, sauna followed by cold plunge in spring-fed creek, sand shower, rock pool and hot tub, natural facials–all anticipated and welcome experiences. Unexpected aspects of the weekend abounded–like group drumming. My less than musical self could keep time slowly, and even enjoyed it once I got out of my rational head.

Most wonderful– and most surprising of all– was the afternoon spent by this pristine waterfall, sunbathing in the buff. Two dozen women, all ages and shapes, easily shed clothing and communed comfortably together. No judgment in the air, either woman to woman or in any woman’s head. No air-brushed models here. With a few young exceptions, these were Rubenesque bodies that had birthed and breastfed babies, weathered life, cradled dying spouses. Cellulite be damned, we all reveled in soaking up the warmth radiating from sunshine on the table-size rocks. We waded into the freezing water, stumbled across the stones, and rubbed green-tinged mud all over. After the mud dried, we scrubbed it off until our skin glowed pink and alive.

The lack of self-consciousness and total acceptance flowed as freely as the cadence of our leader’s drum on the hike to the waterfall. And caused me to reflect on how rare–and powerful– it is, to free ourselves from our body image obsession (does this look good on me? is my butt too big?) and immerse ourselves in complete acceptance. Who says we can only feel beautiful if our bodies fit some arbitrary, waifish standard?

The phrase repeated throughout the weekend about our generous bodies was “goddess flesh.” As in (as we sank cross-legged onto the floor for meditation) “reach under your buttocks, adjust your goddess flesh so you can sink in and get comfortable.” This is a phrase we all can adopt each time those self-critical, culture-driven appearance obsessions pop into our heads. We’re all goddesses–embrace this body that works for you, which is all it needs to do.

And if you want to protect this lovely spot, check out the Gray Bear Land Trust.

What works?

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I know everyone is busy–but can I tell you about my week? Two evening events, the arrival of the corrected book proof and the flurry of first bulk orders, and a day held hostage to the carpet installers (you know, when you must stay home all day because workers are in your home). I could have written a blog entry–or at least a “sh*tty first draft– as in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
author Anne Lamott says, on that day. Then, during one evening event, my house of course, the cat with interstitial cystitis decided she’d join ranks with the Tea Party activists in the nation’s capital by placing dime-size circles of urine on every other tax document the tax preparer (i.e., my husband) had spread out on the bed. Interstitial cystitis, chronic inflammation of the urinary tract, flares up under stress. Stress, to a cat, you ask? Stress to this cat (and her sister/litter mate, who in true sibling copy cat fashion also has developed interstitial cystitis) is any change to her environment that prevents her from sleeping 22 hours a day. Like carpet installers who bang on floors, drag carpet around, and prop the door open so scary neighborhood cat smells can waft into her territory. Phew. All of this is to say forgive me for the lack of lengthy, meaningful post this week. Simply don’t know where the time went. Now you know you’re not alone–and this is a week when I need to honor my own advice and write a “Did Do” list. However, this does not mean that I haven’t been thinking about my devoted readers. I’ve collected a short list of events that triggered “who says?” in my head this week, bringing to mind two of the thinking traps from Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box: Cut Yourself Some Slack (and Still Raise Great Kids) in the Age of Extreme Parenting. (Thinking traps are the culturally-ingrained myths about expectations of women and/or mothers that we keep in our heads.)

More, better, all is essential for success Always striving for the newest, fastest, latest improvement in anything and everything? A friend related how she and her husband just had to have a king-size bed. That was the pinnacle of “we’ve made it” adult success. And now they need not touch, ever, in bed. With plenty of room for avoidance, could the allure of king size mattresses be a factor in the epidemic of sexless marriages? A revved up, satisfying sex life is not easy if you never touch your bed buddy.

My grandmother shared another version of this same cultural drive to junk the old for the new. In the 70s, brass beds were all the rage. I was wishing aloud, hinting that one might lurk in the dusty, dim corners of her wondrous attic. She told how they had put the old solid brass bed frames out for the junk man, in favor of spanking new wood bedroom suites of furniture. The Pottery Barn catalogue look was not the sign of success in the 1930s and 1940s.

Moms have to protect their children from everything. One mom was lamenting that her children eat many French fries each week. Her preschooler was stuck on fries, eating only fries, as that age often fixates. Some say (my mother, a nutritionist by training) French fries are saving this country from scurvy because potatoes are rich in Vitamin C–and the only source of vitamin C for many. Another mom confessed guilt as all the other moms at the park slathered their kids with sunscreen. She chose not to do battle with her toddler over the process. Ah well, sunshine is our major source of Vitamin D. By slacking off on the sunscreen for that one hour, she decided she’d saved her kids from rickets.

Challenge the thinking traps, buck unrealistic expectations, and keep perspective. Does a king-size bed really define us? Is it really devastating to let your child eat French fries four days a week for three months, to make sure something passes her lips, if she eats healthy food before and after the terrible twos? Does one sunscreen free hour–or even several a season– over the course of your child’s life equal a certain health risk, if overall he is protected from serious sunburn? What works is what matters–not some arbitrary ideals about timetables we should keep or standards we should enforce or achieve. Embrace what works for you: a smaller bed, more fries, an hour of play sans sunscreen. And I’ll keep my own brain chatter going about the fact that this week, this late entry is what worked for me.

Inspiration to action

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The value of creativity keeps invading my conversations. In-depth talks with my inspiring sister, Jane Dunnewold, an artist, teacher, and creativity coach-in-training, are leading us both into further exploration about women, creativity, and wellness.

Creating is a missing piece in our service-centric culture, which I addressed briefly here. Certainly carving out regular times to engage in activities that feed our souls, such as artistic expression and writing, fosters well-being. To a one, the moms that I’ve interviewed for The Sanity Hour point to the value of writing as a stabilizing, enriching force in their lives as mothers. I’ve watched as another friend has taken up quilting to fill the empty nest left when the youngest of her rambunctious boys went to college, interrupting the ever-present thunder of teen boys and dogs in her life. She has lit up as she’s invested herself in quilting, the glow on her face matching the lively and stunning designs she is producing. And today, I finally hold a proof copy in my hand of the long-awaited revision of Postpartum Survival Guide, coauthored with Diane Sanford, PhD. This is a labor akin to producing a child, though we’ve joked that the gestation period for this book is more like that of an elephant: 760 days. Truthfully, this book has been in the works for the gestation period of one elephant and one killer whale (517 days). Today, there’s a baby elephant in my life–and reward for years of work. Links will follow when the book, Life Will Never Be The Same hits the virtual shelves in the next few weeks.

Inspiration is everywhere–we need only open our minds and look around. A fabulous opportunity is coming this Sunday, April 11, 2010. The Dutch Art Gallery in Dallas will be showing the powerful film Who Does She Think She Is? which examines the challenges of mothering while creating art. This is in conjunction with an exhibit by women, Finding Her Voice: Women in Art. A reception for the artists begins at 1 p.m., followed by a showing of the film at 2 p.m. Come and join this fabulous, talented group of women in a celebration of creativity in our lives. Hope to see you there. If you cannot join in on Sunday, the exhibit continues through May 15.

The Dutch Art Gallery
10233 E NW Hwy #420, at Ferndale
Dallas, TX 75238
214-348-7350

The value of friends, part 2

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You’ve heard me write–and rant (The Sanity Hour, 3/30/10)–about the importance of honest connection with friends for our happiness. Turns out that emotional well-being is not the only benefit.

Serendipitously, I discovered this relatively new blog, MWFseekingBFF, about the process of making female friends in a new city by Rachel Bertsche, an Oprah web producer in Chicago. I won’t repeat her post on the value of friendship for health–you can check it out here. My conviction to invest time in–and honestly connect with–my BFFs is strengthened once again, if doing so not only makes me happier but will extend my life while protecting me against dementia, colds, and insomnia. Rachel calls friendship “the miracle drug.” I declare that champagne and deep conversation with my girlfriends is way more fun than fish oil, curcumin, and broccoli! Bring on the book groups!

Stigma

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A mom was lamenting the difficulty women have relating honestly to each other, which I’d addressed in this week’s The Sanity Hour and last week’s post. Women in her circle simply DO NOT admit that life with kids is hard. Living in an extremely affluent community, she shared that women are heavily invested in “I’m so lucky to get to stay home with my kids.” There’s a strong taboo in her neighborhood about acknowledging any real life stress because, given our culture’s habitual black and white thinking, if a mom ‘is blessed’ to stay home with her kids, she has to love every hectic minute. I’d offered one of my favorite mantras, “love the kid, hate the job” and suggested she start a more realistic conversation by pointing friends toward my show and blog posts, where I’m SLIGHTLY invested in ‘letting it all hang out’ (to revive a phrase from the 70s.) She exclaimed “I couldn’t do that–then they’d know that I go to therapy!”

Really? Have we really not come any further than this stale stigma about mental health? Rates of depression and anxiety in women are twice the rates seen in men. Before puberty, boys with mood issues outnumber girls. Between 9 and 13 years, the rates of anxiety and depression in girls shoot up to twice those of boys. And stay there until age 55, when rates even out between the sexes. With statistics like these, women are the majority consumers of mental health services.

The origin of the differences is a perennial question. One popular explanation is that women simply admit to mood issues more often, while men are less likely to seek treatment. If women are guarded with close friends because of the stigma, it’s not a stretch to imagine that this is true.

However, serotonin synthesis is 48% lower in women versus men. Serotonin is one of the main neurotransmitters that affect mood. This fact, along with the stats about male vs. female rates across the life span, suggests that women are biochemically predisposed to depression and anxiety. Women can’t will themselves to make more serotonin any more than individuals with diabetes can will themselves to make more insulin.

Brain chemistry is not the only culprit. Powerful expectations for women to do all and be all mean women are running on empty. Given my demanding work, listening to problems day after day, I’ve devoted myself to the routine of a real lunch break. Out of the office, with a friend or a good book, ideally with a beautiful view, every day. No working through lunch to finish paperwork. I need the thirty minute break that labor laws in this country mandate. Who lunches around me at a leisurely pace? Men–a preponderance of men. Women, weighed down with the second shift of childcare and housework, must be eating at their desks or on the run with errands.

Who says women are the weaker sex? Is it a flaw to need support and inspiration from mental health professionals? Enough of the stigma! Our biochemistry predisposes us. Our cultural expectations drive us to forgo restorative activities in favor of more work. It’s a foolproof combination for feeling overwhelmed.

Invest in yourself. Breaks for basic bodily renewal like sleep, food, or exercise; connections with other women, and learning to battle your counterproductive brain chatter through therapy are powerful tools for survival. Be a model for other women by embracing the old adage “we don’t have to be sick to get better.”