Category Archives: Psychotherapy

Internalized Homophobia Wreaked Doom at Pulse

rainbow dance

As a psychotherapist, part of my job is being open to the inner worlds of people who may be different from me, culturally, ideologically, religiously, racially, in orientation and in gender identity. I am trained to be curious and non-judgmental, to make people of all descriptions feel safe and accepted. When people are hostile and negative, I am trained to look to their pasts for explanations: trauma, loss, abandonment. My training tells me that every person is a living story, searching for an outcome to ease their deepest emotional wounds.

That said, I believe Omar Mateen was a monster. The kind of monster whose hatred-of-self led to the destruction of a free and joyous group of people whose joy and freedom was hard earned and long-overdue.

I am furious at him for robbing these young people of their futures, robbing their families of them. I know I would be incapable of treating him in my therapy practice. Nevertheless while families, friends and the nation mourn the forty-nine young, vibrant lives he took Sunday morning, I am trying to look at Mateen through the lens of my profession.

He was mentally ill, according to some of the reports I’m reading. Bipolar, violent toward his wife. Radicalized. A word I take exception to because of its passive tense, as if radicalization were something done to him. No, he was a radical, not radicalized. His homophobia knew no bounds, as is so often the case with the closeted.

I am familiar with this kind of inwardly-born, outwardly-directed homophobia. I once saw a young couple who were planning a family and were concerned about how their different beliefs would play out when it came to parenting. The woman was a Christian, she said. Her husband, though he was skilled at quoting the bible, had declared himself atheist.

When I met with the man alone, as I do with each member of a new couple I am seeing, he began unprompted, by condemning gays. Nothing about homosexuality had come up in the couple’s session, so my ears were pricked for relevance. Gays were sick, he told me. They needed to be corrected, not tolerated. America, he went on, was a weak country because it was accepting of homosexuality. He said that there were no gays in countries that condemned it, providing several African countries as examples. When I asked what connection the subject had to his marriage, he brushed me off, continuing his tirade. As I listened to this rubbish (the word in my mind at the time was considerably stronger), I couldn’t do my usual active listening, where I focus on the client’s every word, nodding, asking validating questions. Instead, I sat frozen, as his condemnation grew increasingly dark and hateful. If I had been seeing him longer, I might have asked him gently, what was so personal to him about homosexuality (I could guess). Why it was so important to him that I knew his feelings about it?

But I didn’t know him well enough as a client to probe or challenge what I strongly suspected was fueled by shame. Nor did I have it in me to engage this guy without getting political and possibly argumentative. He was six-four, with shoulders nearly the width of my loveseat. Confrontation would not do. Besides, he was a client, in my office for support. When the hour was up, I let him go, confident I would not see him again. His wife came a few more times on her own, sessions in which she expressed her worries about the late nights her husband often kept.

I think of that couple sometimes, wonder whether or not they stayed together, if they ever had children. I hope with all my heart not. The possibility of that man parenting an LGBTQ child is unthinkable.

He was not a killer. (Based on the admittedly flawed assessments I did for homicidal and suicidal ideation.) But if my hypothesis was correct, his hatred of gays was rooted in his inability to accept his own complex—or not so complex—sexuality.

This is not an uncommon theme at all. Look at recent American History. The most outrageously LGBTQ-hostile politicians—Randy Boehning, George Rekers and Roberto Arango to name a few—and clergy—Tedd Haggard and countless others—either came out as gay, were outed, or else were at the center of sex scandals involving young men.

Similar implications about Omar Mateen are dribbling out in the news. He may have been using a gay dating app; he had been a patron of Pulse long before the murders. His widely professed animosity toward the LGBTQ community amounted to protesting way too much.

It has been suggested that one reason so many sex offenders have been drawn to the priesthood—where all sex is prohibited—is the wish to silence their own urges. Similarly, Omar Mateen may have found in radical Islam—the part that condemns homosexuality—a balm for his own self-loathing.

Mateen was a Muslim, but from some reports, not a terribly devout one. I believe his homophobia had little to do with the Qu’ ran, and more to do with his inability to accept his own sexuality. He could not tolerate the mirror that the Pulse’s vibrant clientele held up before him. Nor could he stay away.

Mateen could not see beyond his own image to take in the beauty alive in Pulse that night. Instead, raging on internalized homophobia, he sought to destroy it. He failed though. In our memories of and tributes to the victims, hope and promise live on.

pulse memorial

Back: a Book Revised, a Reading Upcoming

DSC00621It has been so long since I’ve posted here, so long since I’ve read or commented on the blogs I follow.  In my last post, I apologized in advance for what I knew would be a break, and my kind, supportive followers commented that there was no need to be sorry—that they understood. However, at this time, I think an explanation of what’s been going on might make for a good return post.

First, as I mentioned, I had restarted my therapy practice, which felt wonderful, returning to a part of me that I’d been away from long enough to really miss.  It was time; I was ready to work and focus on the lives of others.

Second, though I had technically written two books during my leave, both needed some work yet. Though Twice the Dazzle—a version of which I’d completed before the hurricane—was close, my concentration had been nil since the fire.  I was unable to write much more than a blog post and was unable to read much more than the New York Times.

But as December was nearing its midpoint, something began to lift.  Suddenly, I was able to sit with a book again (and read one I’d been meaning to get to for years: The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.  Loved!)  I was also itching to return to my own book, which was so close to done.  It was time to finally use the feedback from my consultation with Arielle Eckstut and make it the very best it could be.

Step one was to minimize the priorities in my life.  The top was, is, and has to be my family.  I have two children and a husband who are still reeling in their assorted ways from this fire—a trauma for us all, no matter how you look at it.  Next—related to the first—is managing our lives in this temporary home, replacing and recreating what I can of our life.  Next is my work, rebuilding and reestablishing my therapy practice.  Writing came fourth and had to fight for its place at the table.  I knew that if I was going to get this thing done, I needed to focus.  That meant releasing myself from other commitments, as well as giving myself total permission to withdraw from the blogosphere, from Facebook and Twitter, and even—to a degree from email.

It was so freeing to do that, to trust my instincts and to devote myself to the few things that could not wait.  Thanks in no small part to the understanding support of my friends, family and, of course, my followers, I am happy to say that I have done what I set out to do and completed the revision.  The book is now getting a last onceover from my “team” of wonderful beta readers, and a serious proof-read.  This time around, I will not—mark my words—submit my manuscript prematurely.  (Yes, I am trying the traditional route at this point, not having the wherewithal to research self-publishing right now.)

That said, I do have exciting news: I am doing my first reading from Twice the Dazzle, my YA novel about twin teens in the ballet world—this very week!  My dear friend and former college roommate, Louella San Juan, has invited me to join her as she presents from her new book, The Crowded Kingdom, at Dewey’s Candy in DUMBO, this Thursday.  See Louella’s website for details.  I have also posted the press release on my new “EVENTS” page.

Guest Blog: Get Your Priorities Straight!

Today I’m thrilled to host my very first Guest Blogger:  Jodi Lobozzo Aman, L.C.S.W. – R., psychotherapist and healer with over twenty years of experience working with children, families and individuals.  Jodi and I “e-met” on SheWrites about ten months ago, at which point I began following her blog: Heal Now and Forever be in Peace.  Jodi also writes a weekly column for Healthyplace.com called Anxiety Schmanxiety , and is author of the e-book What’s Up In Your Down:Being Grateful In Seven Easy Steps.

 This is Jodi.

Jodi always seems to find the right words for taming anxiety, promoting self-patience and helping us look at life’s challenges in a new, healthy, manageable light.  Here she shares her wisdom on a topic I’m always grappling with: prioritizing.

 Get Your Priorities Straight!

 “Prioritize” is not a dirty word.  

 Even though it often makes you cringe to hear it. (It sounds so proper and oppressive.)

Being a mom, wife, business owner, author, runner, PR agent, blogger, homeowner, gardener, therapist, friend, facilitator, and yogi, takes up lots of “now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like so many others of my generation, I have chosen a busy life. And, while I wouldn’t trade it for the world, we also need to do some major time finagling to keep all the balls in the air. (And, stay conscious with them.)

I have two tricks up my proverbial sleeve:

  1. Eliminate time wasters
  2. Feel empowered by choice

1. Eliminate time wasters

Have you ever felt overwhelmed with too much to do, paralyzed because you don’t know where to start, and then guilty because you feel you haven’t accomplished what you’d hoped for after stressing about it all day?

Been there.

Now, I 86 the worrying. Worrying is like doing the tasks over and over. I’ve done the task a million times in my head before I actually got to work, wringing my hands about how awfully tedious it would be, and whining to myself how badly I wished for magic elves to come and do it for me. By the end of all this bellyaching, I would be too tired, and have run out of time, to get the enterprise accomplished. Then, I’d berate myself for being a total failure. (I am sure this has never happened to any of you.)

Worry is like a ball and chain when you are running a race. It exponentially slows you down. It’s true, time is relative.

We still think of time in its linear sense. Linear time is not only limited (there never seems to be enough of it), but it is also limiting (of other possibilities). We feel like it rushes on and on without our consent. Believing we have no effect on time harbors our attempts to shift it in our favor. “I have no time!” becomes our most abject excuse to avoid change.

Webster’s Dictionary has ten definitions of time, but my favorite is: “The duration of one’s life; the hours and days which a person has at his [or her] disposal.” I appreciate this description since it makes the distinction that we are an agent in life, rather than just a passive recipient of it. It means that we can bend time to our will, instead of being a helpless victim to its constant ticking away.

2. Feel Empowered by choice

Stop saying, “There is not enough time!” I used to lament that there wasn’t enough time, and inevitably my plans were thwarted and tasks became more time-consuming. Now I say,

There is more than enough time for everything you want to do.

I’ll say it again in case you didn’t hear me.

There is more than enough time for everything you want to do.

Really? This is impossible. We have finite physical capabilities, our body cannot go on forever like the energizer bunny. There are only 24 hours in a day, and we physically depend on rest to keep going. How can we do everything?

Time can be bent around space and matter. (Remember Einstein?) Even though many of the things we do on a daily basis, (i.e., feed the kids, brush our hair) feel necessary, they are, in fact, choices. When we reject the alternative as intolerable, the option we chose seems like it is not a choice. But it was. We are essentially prioritizing.

If we already have the skills to prioritize, what would happen if we prioritized consciously?

If we prioritize fluidly and consciously, (without the time-hogs of judgment and worry), we can accomplish everything we want with time left over for joy. Without judgment and worry the tasks are joyful.

 Conscious Prioritizing

 This is what I aim for, and sometimes reach on my best days. Do as I say, not as I do…

  •  Make lists. The easiest thing to bring awareness into our tasks is      to see them in print. Bonuses: a) forgetting-worry disappears b)      cross-it-out-joy abounds c) our funny partners can add outrageous items to keep us real.
  • Get started early. A day begun lazily, is hard to turn around. Start to do’s in the morning. If you plan to sit quietly with coffee, relax, or chit chat with family-this is not lazy-do it consciously and enjoy every minute of it.
  • Do harder things first. This lifts the weight off of these pesky tasks, and gives you a boost of confidence to the next thing. Intertwine them with some quick, easy tasks so that you can feel accomplished. Being productive breeds productivity, since it feels so good to be done with something, it gives us energy for the next thing. You may have to cut back on TV or  Words With Friends. (Me, included).
  • Set boundaries. And be flexible within them. My priorities are aways  changing from moment to moment. Choosing one endeavor means saying no everything else.  Saying no is rad.
  • Do tasks in increments. Just start. Do one little thing, anything and it will give you a boost for the next thing. I am serious, being a little bit productive is like drinking a energy drink. Don’t just believe me, try it.   (All the cool kids are doing it.) I try to begin tasks without too much thought. (Oh, I think a little. The whole “Measure twice, cut once” thing is prudent.) What I avoid is talk-my-self-out-of-it thinking, which takes tons of time and energy. Also, I get all my supplies together ahead of time–while I am already out and about–so when I am ready for the project, I can simply dive in. When you slip in a little work here and there, before you know it the job is done.
  • Let go of perfection. Expectations of perfection sucks more time out of the day than anything else. It bears repeating: Let go of perfection! If you can do something 95% perfect in one hour, and 100% perfect in 6 hours, spend the 5 hours doing something fun instead.
  • Delegate. Work is so much better and faster when you have help.  Stop wondering if you are worth asking other for help. People love to feel useful. They would love to help you. Trust them, it saves you loads of time!

Jodi Lobozzo Aman, LCSW-R

Please note that Jodi sees clients over skype and in her Rochester, NY office for counseling, consulting, shamanic healing, and spiritual direction. (To make an appointment with Jodi, click here.)

Lady Gaga: Eating Disorder Aftermath in the Spotlight

When I first heard about Lady Gaga, it was from my daughter, who kept singing Bad Romance and Alejandro and Edge of Glory, making me play the radio stations that played these songs until I have to say I was fairly addicted to them myself.  The girl is talented.

Next, I began to see photographs of Lady Gaga all over the place, particularly the supermarket and the waiting area at the Counseling Center where I worked, where People Magazine was an absolute staple.  Her crazy outfits and makeup didn’t faze me, seeing as I grew up in the heyday of Boy George, Grace Jones, Robert Smith, Cyndi Lauper and, yeah, everyone in the eighties.  What I found alarming about Lady’s photographs were how skinny she was.

Maybe she doesn’t look terrifyingly thin to you in the above photograph.  But consider that she’s five feet one inch tall, and proportionately looks like a 6 foot supermodel.  If you look this thin in photographs and you’re this short, you’re really skinny, often by unnatural means.  I know this from experience.  Here I am at 18.  I was struggling with a form of anorexia at the time.  I look too thin, in my opinion, but I was somehow not considered emaciated.  (I’m just two inches taller than Gaga.)

Given my own experience in the ballet world, where skinny was the norm and people got there any way they could, given my own eating disordered past, any time I see photographs of extremely thin models and celebrities, I can’t help wondering: is that starved-looking girl okay?  Is she just naturally like that because she’s six feet tall and seventeen?  Or is she struggling?  Does she slave for hours on the elliptical or the treadmill?  Does she limit her caloric intake to harrowingly low numbers?  Does she rely on illegal drugs to keep her body humming away while failing to notice the need for food?

Lady Gaga is young, so I didn’t jump to any conclusions right away, though of course I suspected there was something going on.  Pop stars have access to cocaine, which keeps you rail thin and hyped up (and on a crash course for, well, crashing).  Young pop stars have youth—which is always great for weight maintenance–possibly good genes–good jeans too, for that matter.  But seeing as Gaga was a rich, successful celebrity, I wasn’t especially worried about her.

Then she disappears and gains twenty-five pounds which I have to say, probably brings her into the range of healthy.  (Yes, it’s true.  It may look smashing in a bikini, but being seriously underweight, as physicians will attest, puts your health at risk.)

Be that as it may, the media was abuzz with reports of Lady Gaga “ballooning,” the tabloids temporarily relegating Kate Middleton’s posing nude and/or sporting an alleged “baby bump” to the second page.

I know, when celebrities gain or lose weight, it’s always big news, because we’re all weight obsessed and starstruck.  We love to know that stars are human just like the rest of us, but at the same time there’s this special American brand of schadenfreude, this glee when misfortune befalls the outrageously fortunate.  In any case, I must state for the record that this:

is not a photograph of a fat person.  I’ll own, it is a picture of a woman in a really silly outfit photographed from a less-than-flattering angle.  But fat?  Really now.

In interviews, Gaga confessed: she has struggled all her life with eating disorders.  Lamenting the caloric bonanza of the food at her father’s restaurant, Gaga confessed that she stays out of New York to avoid the place, claiming she needs to be where she can “drink green juice,” safe from temptation.  Gaga, whose album, Born This Way, celebrates individuality and loving oneself, warts and all, is clearly not one of those very rare souls who is an effortless size double zero.  Still, until the much touted twenty-five came on, she’d appeared in public to be just that size.

As Huffington Post blogger, Michelle Konstantinovsky puts it:

“Mixed messages much? While I wholeheartedly appreciate the rare transparency, I can’t help but wish the “eat less, exercise more” ideal had never been blasted out to so many undeniably impressionable fans. Moreover, I wish Gaga had never subjected herself to fitting a narrow, predetermined pop star mold if she truly hadn’t been born that way.”

The mixed messages continue.  On one hand, Gaga says she’s not a bit bothered by the “extra” weight; referring to the curves she says her boyfriend prefers.  On the other hand, says she’s dieting hard to lose it.

But I don’t blame her for saying one thing and doing another.  I do not fault a young, way-too-famous 26 year old, maybe-or-maybe-not-ex-bulimic for being confused about the meaning of food, size and hunger in her life.  I give this girl a break.  And hope she gets some gentle, supportive help from an eating disorders specialist soon.  The good news is that Lady Gaga has begun The Body Revolution, a campaign on her website inviting fans to share their body struggles in the interest of healing.  Let’s hope it helps.

Recovering from an eating disorder is so challenging.  When you are recovering from bulimia especially, when you are even at the stage of considering recovering from bulimia (the lingo is “I’m trying to stop,” or “I’m thinking about stopping”), you have no idea how to begin, unless you are in very good treatment.  You don’t understand food, you don’t understand what hunger is, you have to learn everything from the beginning.  The result is often weight gain.  Sometimes significant weight gain.  I say often, not always, because I can’t find the statistic, but I can’t think of a single case when this was not the result.  Food is scary, eating is scary, mirrors and scales are scary.  I was only able to recover when I looked in the mirror and said to myself: I would rather be overweight than bulimic.  Did I mean it?  Was it that simple?  More on that in another post, but I was on my way to being free.*

Whether you are anorexic, bulimic, or a tidy combination known in the therapy world as EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified), the addiction to thinness—however elusive your idea of thinness is—and the coinciding dread of fat can be paralyzing.  You communicate mixed messages to yourself all day long.  Food is too good for me.  I’m too good for food. In addition, you have lost your connection to food, lost your sense of nurturing your body and virtually shut down your metabolism.  When you go from drinking only green juice, or in my case, consuming only apples and an occasional cup of popcorn, (throwing up anything over and above) to eating normally, you will get much fatter than you were before.  I put it in those terms because that is how eating disorder sufferers think.  This is your mindset: To have fat on my body is to be fat.

For me, challenging that way of thinking took three years of cognitive-behavioral therapy (which ultimately is how I overcame my illness).  But how dare the media inflict that same kind of language on the public, especially young girl fans of Lady Gaga.  And imagine–just imagine–what it must be like to live the journey of eating disorder recovery in the public eye.

Lady Gaga has been called a publicity hound (and worse).  To be fair, you probably wouldn’t wear a dress made of meat if getting attention weren’t your thing.  But she’s lived an eating disorder, and possibly, privately still lives it.  It’s a life of fear and ambivalence, no matter what the crowd sees on stage.   So even if she puts nearly nude photos of herself on her site post weight gain, publicly “embracing her curves,” she’s still got a struggle ahead.  Especially if she’s still dieting to get “her body back.”  (Which one is she embracing again?)

Here I am, by the way, after my own twenty-five pound weight gain (I’m far right, in the sunglasses).

Without those essential pounds I doubt I would have my children or my life.  Here’s to “ballooning.”

 

Announcing My New Practice Website

Two and a half years ago, I took a leave from my psychotherapy practice to write and be home with my children in the after school hours.  Now, as mentioned in this blog, I have begun to see clients again.  Please visit my new website:

http://rosenbergtherapy.com

Lisa W. Rosenberg, L.C.S.W.  to learn more about the work I do.  In the blog section of the new site, I’ve reposted some of the more therapeutically-oriented pieces from this blog, as well as added a few new ones.

Of course, I will continue this as my regular blog, posting there occasionally as my practice takes shape.

The Story of Your Identity

Mom, Writer, Therapist, Wife, Self …

My blog has shifted a little in the nine months since it began.  I’m writing more and more about parenting, less lately about body image.  My Mom-identity—as multifaceted as that is—is really dominant lately.  I’m restarting my therapy practice, so I’ll be home less—which, ironically, is why motherhood is so much on my writing-mind right now.  I’m aware of the upcoming changes, preparing to miss being home as much as I am now, yet exhilarated by the idea of all the adventures my kids will have to share with me when we’re together.   In any case, my mom-self has been driving this blog lately.  So today I thought I’d go back to basics—and do a post about identity itself.

The subject of identity is so broad; so much has been written on it.  There’s gender identity, racial and religious identity, national identity.   Your identity comes, not just from the place you live in, but also from your place in the family.   Were you the parentified first-born?   Were you the “troubled middle child?” Were you the baby?

Think about your roles too.  How different you are with your colleagues, with your friends, your spouse, your children.  Do you surprise yourself by regressing every time you visit your parents’ home?   Or maybe you manage an office full of employees, yet have to stand on your head while singing Old MacDonald just to get your toddler to try a single mouthful of peas.

Children have different identities too.  Think of the little girl who’s quiet and shy at school, but a wild, silly cut-up at home?  She’s cautious in the school environment where “good” behavior is stressed, then lets loose where she knows she’s safest.  (Both sides to her are normal and healthy.  You only worry when she seems anxious and withdrawn in the place where she’s usually at ease.)  It’s good to be flexible, adapting the different sides of you to the situation at hand.

In addition to being a mother, I am a daughter, a wife, a writer.  I am a therapist, a friend, a former dancer.   I’m the old friend who makes you laugh. I’m a city kid, an only child, a Biracial Jew, and a member of two different PTAs.  My identity is made of all these pieces and more.

Heidi W. Durrow, the author of Bellwether Prize winning The Girl Who Fell From the Sky, a favorite biracial author (right up there with Zadie Smith) describes her identity in an NPR interview as “a story.”  She is talking about her parents’ backgrounds, how they met, how she grew up–how all that added up to who she is today.   I love this description.  I believe we are all stories.

When I was doing my post-grad work at the Ackerman Institute, we studied Gregory Bateson and the Milan Group and learned about “Circular Questioning,”  also the work of David Epston and Michael White on Narrative Therapy or Re-storying.  We’d encourage families to tell the stories of their problems, asking for different perspectives from the different members present.  Sometimes a client would have difficulty breaking out of a destructive behavioral pattern and we’d find this linked to an inner personal narrative.

“I’m the lazy one in the family,” or “I’ve always been the trouble maker.”

We’d ask, “Who in the family might have a different description of you?”  “Who might tell another story?”

A pause, some thought.  “Well Grandpa always said I was a late bloomer, a diamond in the rough.”

The idea was that thinking about yourself in a new way stretches your identity and opens up new doors.

Sometimes you get to tell the story of your identity; sometimes it comes from others you know.  Sometimes it’s something pinned on you that you take issue with.  For example, when one sister is called “the beauty” and the other is called “the brains.”   No matter how unfair or limiting those designations might be, they are still part of each sister’s identity–if only as something she’ll want to break free from one day.

Sometimes the part of your identity that feels most difficult to bear, or most threatened or most outnumbered, is the one you’re most aware of.  For example, if you’re the only woman in a room full of men, if you’re the only grown-up in a mini-van full of rowdy tweens, the thing that sets you apart is the identity you’re most connected to.

Which parts of you come into play the most?  Which piece of your identity is dominant right now?

What are you Waiting For? Limbo vs. the Meantime.

“I’m waiting to hear.”

“I’m waiting to find out.”

“We were hoping to close before the end of the month but the buyers are stalling.”

“The doctor thinks it’s benign but we won’t have the results for another day or two.”

“My son applied to sixteen colleges.  We won’t hear until February.”

What are you waiting for?  In my case, there’s the writing-related waiting: for my teenage beta readers to finish with my YA novel so I can fix it and submit it; to hear from the couple of agents I’ve sent query letters to.  Then, there’s the family waiting:  to learn what my husband’s next job will be, to find out my daughter’s schedule, my son’s teacher—so I can get on with the back to school shopping already.  And of course, as it is for so many free-lance moms, though we’re loathe to admit it (sometimes), I’m waiting for school to start so I can get something done.  (Of course, back in June, I was waiting for summer to start so we could all relax a little!)

For review: I can’t shop until I know their schedules.  I can’t revise until I’ve gotten feedback.  Hear that message?   I can’t do X until another person does Y.   I’m in Limbo.  You’ve probably saidthat to someone recently.  If not, I’m sure you’ve heard it.

Webster’s defines Limbo (the secular definition) as “… an intermediate or transitional place or state of uncertainty.”

Limbo is a hard place to be.  Your life has been hijacked; everything is on hold, your eyes fixed on the uncertain future.  You’re a prisoner to the whims of others.  Checking your voicemail, the mailbox, the email, again, and again.  It can be a recipe for anxiety, irritability, and depression.  But guess what?  Limbo doesn’t own you.  You can choose to be free.

I know a woman who has survived cancer, bravely enduring the diagnosis and the painful, sickening rigors of treatment.  Then more treatment to make sure the first treatment really worked.    Then more tests and continued monitoring.  The waiting is never over for her, but somehow she refuses to see it that way.   “I can’t live my life in fear of the future.”  She has children who need her now; she has a husband, and a job, now.   She takes pleasure in her family and her garden, in beautiful weather and in rain, in cooking and in reading.  She gets scared sometimes, sad sometimes, and frustrated with people who try to make her dwell on illness when she’s focused on health.  But mostly she lives now, surrounded by people who love her, who appreciate her joie de vivre and who join her in the seizing of each day.  She’s grown strong on the love of life, exchanging hats for headbands, losing the headbands as hair grows back in.   Maybe one day it will be gone again, but now is what matters, her children and husband and friends.  The little things, like a phone call or an email that hasn’t come yet, some editor’s elusive approval—these wouldn’t faze her.  She may yet have all the time in the world, but she won’t waste a minute of it in Limbo.

I try my best to learn from this and I’m getting better.   When I start to get anxious and hyper-focused on the future—on the parts I have no control over (whether an agent will fall in love with my protagonist, whether I can make a feuding couple hear one another, whether my daughter will make friends in middle school)—I do a few things:

  • I sing.  In the shower, in the car, with my kids:   show tunes, the Beatles, Queen, Journey, Katie Perry, Taylor Swift, The Little Mermaid … anything.  Just sing.  It feels good, and I actually read a      study once that found singing enhances your mood.
  • I treat myself as if I were my own client.  I nurture myself, reality check, point out my own strengths or the strengths of my kids if it’s their uncertain futures I’m worrying about.
  • I breathe—like a yogi.  Full disclosure: I don’t do yoga, (the only reason being the time; if I have it to spare I’ll dance, which I never get to do enough).  However, a yogi friend of my husband’s taught him a series of deep breathing exercises, which he taught me.       And though this is third hand stuff, the deep breathing really does      help get me out of future-panic mode and back into the moment, the      present.
  • I read.
  • I connect with people I love and miss.  You know—the ones you’re too busy and angst-ridden to see?  Hearing about their lives takes you out of your own.   Cheer them on, console them if they need it, share yourself, laugh together.  Be in the moment together.
  • I think  about my mom, how she worries about me and my family just because we’re her children—how silly I think she is for doing it.  Everything is going to be fine, Mom, it really is.  And saying it to      her, I believe it.
  • I play with my kids.  Because they are the moment.
  • I hang out with my husband (oh yeah—him!)

These things are the opposite of Limbo:  they are how I make the most of the meantime.

When my father was dying, when my mother and I knew it would be soon, we were in a very trying kind of limbo.

“It’ll be any day now,” said the visiting nurse.  Any day now seemed like a pretty big margin of error.   In any case, we were in a holding pattern, as my mother described it.  We didn’t want to go too far or commit to anything.  We were determined to be with Dad when he passed.  The waiting went on for two whole weeks.

Then, the night before he died, my mother and I watched a movie together on the small TV set in the living room.  Though it wasn’t a comedy, the relief of doing something besides wait got the better of us and soon, we were both in stitches, enjoying each other, enjoying this small piece of life, though my father was leaving us gradually in the other room.*

We hadn’t abandoned him; he was in the care of a nurse who’d get us as soon as we were needed.  But during those two hours, we were free from Limbo, making the most of something beautiful in the meantime … life.

What about you?  When you find yourself in a holding pattern, what do you do to celebrate “the meantime?”