When Words Aren't Enough

As I sit in the pediatric trauma room that is stocked to treat the most acute of patients, the room that not long ago was hectic and stressful with physicians, nurses, techs, respiratory therapists, and family members, there are now just two chairs next to the bed filled by myself and the mother holding her baby that did not survive. As the mother lets out intervals of terrorized screams and tears, I put my arm around her shoulder fighting back my own tears as she places her head on my shoulder. What do I say? What do I do?  I rewind through my education history in my bachelor’s and master’s social work programs, every personal experience that may have prepared me for this moment, and contemplate just saying something to fill space. Nothing. Nothing in my entire life or education has instructed me as to what to do or say in these instances. There is absolutely nothing that has prepared me for this moment.

There are no words.

It is this moment I close my eyes and take my mind to another place. I pray. I pray for the presence of God, I pray for peace. I cannot allow myself to simply breakdown in this moment; I am her only support right now. She has no family here.

I recall having discussions in my classes and even in my personal life about practicing silence. It can be a very awkward tool to use in therapy. It exposes a person’s uncomfortability in situations. But it is an effective tool because it forces a person to learn to be at ease and to even guide a conversation in their own terms. Almost all therapists and social workers use silence, or at least know about it, as a conversation technique. I have found that I use silence more frequently not necessarily as a technique, but because I find myself in situations working in the hospital where there will never be adequate words to say. And that’s perfectly okay.

Our culture is what sociologists would call a “verbal” culture, meaning we communicate mostly by words. Okay, duh. But this isn’t how all parts of the world function. East Africa, for example, is considered a “nonverbal” culture. This doesn’t mean they don’t speak, it just means that a lot of their communication is performed without words. Things like body language, innuendos, and intuitions. Although neither is right or wrong, I do challenge our culture in its inability to be comfortable with silence. We have learned to substitute our presence with our words. Instead of simply “being”, we over analyze and rely on our education to tell us what we should say in certain situations. But what do you do when words aren’t enough? What do you say to the mother who just found out her child has died? What do you say as you pick up the father on the floor who just lost his wife? What do you say to the father who hugs you crying after he just said “goodbye” to his daughter when the physicians ended life support? What do you say to the inconsolable woman who was just informed that her brother did not survive the accident? What do you say to the family whose daughter was just diagnosed with terminal cancer?

Nothing prepares anyone for those moments.

There are no words.

Let me tell you something I’ve learned. Because there is something. It’s called presence. It’s really simple and astonishingly requires no formal education. It’s this idea of simply “being”. When there are no words or words aren’t enough, we merely offer our presence, our humanness.

I was introduced to this idea in Uganda where I spent 4 months living in a rural village with Compassion International. One reason I became especially good at this was because wasn’t fluent in the language, but also because presence is practiced in all areas of Ugandan life.

 “For we ourselves know what it means, as a stranger passes us on the pavement, to catch a fleeting, spontaneous smile and to know we are recognized not by name but simply for our humanity. For a moment our presence to one another, eye to eye and face to face, dispels the isolation and lifts our hearts.”

 –John Taylor

When I reflect on despairing times in my life, I don’t remember words anyone said to me, I just remember how they were there. How they showed up. I believe this not only to be the only thing we can offer people sometimes, but it is the best thing we can offer people. Because regardless of their gender, race, socioeconomic status, criminal history, age, or family background, everyone is are of other people’s presence. There is no level of stratification that qualifies someone for support in trying times other than their humanness. It may for the person just coming out of prison to get a job or the migrant family looking for a raise at work, but all that stuff doesn’t matter when it comes to grief.

As a leave my hospital shifts as an emergency room social worker, I often bow my head silently in prayer for the families I interacted with and had the honor of walking with that evening. It is an honor to serve and be a part of such desolate times in a person’s life knowing that the most powerful thing I can offer is my presence. And maybe someday God will give me words to say in those moments, but there is a reason God gave himself the name “Emmanuel”, which means “God with us.”

There are times in life, more often than not, that words just aren't enough. In those moments we must offer our heart and our humanness, give our presence. 

Cultivating Gratitude and Joy

"The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It’s our fear of the dark that casts our joys into the shadows."

During my freshman year of college, a couple of my friends and I flew to Arizona for spring break. This was the first time that I would be going somewhere far way without the supervision of my parents.

Eeeeeekkkk!! 

My dad would drop us off at the airport and sianara cold weather, these girls are hitting the sun and sand! It was exciting enough going to college and living away from home, but the thought of getting on a plane all by myself and traveling all..by..myself.. was exhilarating. For the first time I felt like an adult. I remember booking those flights months in advance and the excitement didn’t cease until the trip was over. I found myself at the same time though, feeling like this experience may be “too good to be true” and that it wouldn’t happen. In the past, as I’ve anticipated exciting things to occur, I’ve often then proceeded to think of all of the reasons why this wonderful something will not work out.

I admittingly find myself in this train of thought often, trying to counterbalance this extreme zeal because I don’t want to be let down. I have been the person who on their way to vacation has thought, ‘well this is only a week, I’ll be back here soon enough.” I used to think that I was being what we call “realistic” by thinking about my experiences in the greater scheme of life. I now realize I’m scared of vulnerability and I’m robbing myself of gratitude and joy.  Here I am thinking that I’m preparing myself for the worst, but I’m actually withholding joy offered in the present moment. What I could be consuming my thoughts of with gratitude, I’m instead crippled by the “what if” of disaster.

Most recently, adding to my excitement, is marrying the man of my dreams. At times it doesn’t seem real. Too good to be true. I get to marry this person?! It all seems so dreamy, illusory at some points. In my mind, to counteract this “unrealness”, at times I’ve resorted to catastrophe thinking. 

What if it doesn’t work out?

What if something happens to our family?

What if he gets in a car accident?

What if one of us gets really sick?

What if World War III erupts?

            -will he have to enlist?

What if a bad storm causes a tree to fall on our house?

What if I become paralyzed?

-will be stay together if I’m paralyzed or do we have a better shot if he is paralyzed?

SERIOUSLY.

And the list goes on....

What I’ve found is that these statements are an excuse for me not to walk in vulnerability. Because vulnerability would say that these things could happen, but maybe they won’t. Vulnerability is being in the space of unknowing. This is where our anxiety is driven from as well. I see parents who won’t let their kids chew gum because of choking, jump on a trampoline because of broken bones, and drive a car because of drunk drivers. While all of this is understandable, I don’t believe it’s all necessary. We can spend our whole lives in this mindset, and the best place at that point for us and our families to be is in a padded room for life. Because nothing bad can happen there right?

But that’s not living.

Vulnerability allows for gratitude and joy to blossom. While we walk the line of tragedy, we also allow good into our lives. Joy is not possible without the option of catastrophe. There would simply be nothing to compare it to in order to explain it.

Instead of thinking of all the bad things that could occur in a situation, we can adapt the mindset of being thankful for every opportunity we are given. We can have joy in the present moments just by having gratitude. Then, our joy is not riding on the outcome of our experiences, but the thankfulness we display through them.

I find this principle of cultivating gratitude and joy through vulnerability to be life changing and life sustaining. In the moments where I am able to live in this way, yes there are many times I’m not, I feel freer to give and freer to love. And as I walk down the aisle next summer stepping closer to the man of my dreams, I can walk with joy and gratitude, knowing that whatever happens in life, it’s going to be okay.

Cultivating Self-Compassion

“All I want is your best, Ali. That’s all you can do.” Those were the words of my father as I navigated my way through AP Calculus one year.  I witnessed some of my other classmates excel at calculus from the beginning as I struggled to hover above a C. I wanted to quit. If I didn’t get it by then...well, I just wasn’t going to get it.  I’m not smart. People think I’m not qualified to be in this class. I’m not good enough. Those were the thoughts ringing in my head after I laid eyes on all the red marks over my tests. My parents never did put pressure on me to excel, it was my own perfectionism that did. The belief that If I don’t do this perfect, I am not good enough.

I never thought I was a perfectionist until I began to understand that perfectionism is highly correlated with shame.  Shame is manifested in perfectionism because when we fail to do something perfect, instead of blaming the faulty logic of perfectionism, we blame ourselves—therefore perpetuating the cycle of shame: trying to meet a certain standard but never quite making the cut. AP Calculus was just a snapshot of the relationship between shame and perfectionism. As an adult now, I can look back and understand how my battle with a serious eating disorder was manifested in this shame. Shame of who I was and where I’d been. I’d come to believe that my whole life was a mistake because it didn’t seem like I could do “anything right”.  I had all these standards or “rules” in my head that I had to live by, and when I would miss the mark (which was frequent because the standards were often faulty), I would then start to believe that my inability to do something was rooted in who I was as a person. It’s like failing a test and saying “I’m dumb” instead of “I wasn’t well prepared for this exam.”

The biggest issue with this shame is that is multiplies in every aspect of life that we give it.  And sometimes it comes subtly and sometimes it comes in what Brene Brown likes to call a “shame storm.” It’s when our actions contradict our intentions and we start to believe that we are a bad person because of it. I find myself in these more frequently as someone who is preparing for marriage. With a past of dealing with shame, I am aware that I am more prone to shame storms because I expect that I will function and behave a certain way. When I consistently fail at this (and relationships have this way of showing us who we really are), it is easy for me to sink back in shame.  The beliefe that, The reason my partner is hurt is because of me; therefore, I am not good enough to make this person happy. This is a thought I wish I could say I could fight and conquer more often than I actually do.

So. Shame. Perfectionism. How to break the cycle?

The answer is self-compassion. Being kind and compassionate towards yourself. Loving yourself.  I once heard a statistic that 80% of our self-talk is negative. We are often our own worst critics and commentators.  I’ve also heard that if we are mindful enough of reducing that to 50%, it can change how we see the world and even function.

When I was battling an eating disorder I hung a baby picture of myself on the mirror. Every time I would look at myself in the mirror and speak poorly I would also being saying that to the little girl, who just happened to be me. We would never look at a three-year old and tell her she was ugly and fat. Why would I be any different?  I will eventually have my own little boy or girl and they will stand in front of me and ask if they are beautiful or if they have what it takes. And I will remember the little girl inside of me who asks the same questions. And I will repeat and assure and affirm that yes, yes ,and yes to all of the above.

 In times where I’ve been in shame storms, being told over and over again in my mind that I am not enough, I have to fight to say to myself that I am. God is enough. And trying my best is good enough. Making mistakes at work does not make me a bad social worker or mean that I didn’t care enough; it means that I am human and I make mistakes. It does not change my character.

Sometimes I think we must wake up and say to our self that showing up is good enough today. Sometimes our presence and our heart is all that is required. I’ve found that in my relationship with God. Instead of waiting to have things all together to go to God, I hear him saying, “Just come. Give me what you have. It’s enough.”

And so with that I’ll say this: Be kind to the little girl or boy inside of you. Speak tenderly and learn to love them just as you would any other little one.

Cultivating Authenticity

Often people attempt to live their lives backwards: they try to have more things, or more money, in order to do more of what they want so that they will be happier. They way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you really need to do, in order to have what you want.

-Margaret Young

Personality tests.  Ugh. A love-hate relationship really. It’s exciting to learn about myself, but I always struggle answering hundreds of hypothetical questions and rating how strongly I agree with certain statements. I constantly have to navigate “is this how I want to be or is this how I am?” The disconnect between those questions is daunting. I want to be the person that would answer honestly in any situation, but is that really what I would do if my life was on the line? Do my actions reflect who I think I am? If we are being honest with ourselves I believe the answer is often no.

The Enneagram is one of my favorite personality tests that explains how certain personalities navigate through pain. It then places these personalities in a “needs” statement. I am an 8...for all the Enneagram guroos. My type is “The Challenger”, “the need to be against.” I absolutely hate it. I essentially want control because 8s stem from the belief that its unsafe to be weak and vulnerable. Being “against” people gives me a sense of control because I don’t feel like I am just “giving in”. I’m standing up for myself. I find myself taking the opposite side in virtually every area of life. I received an award at the end of my undergraduate schooling that was titled, “Most likely to disagree with the professor.” Doesn’t get much clearer than that. It’s taken me a while to accept this part of myself. I really want to be a 7, the fun loving, crazy, need for adventure type. I don’t want to be known for just disagreeing with people and needing control! That’s terrible! I took the tests several times over the course of different phases of life. I tried experimenting with my answers to see if I could get a 7. Didn’t happen. I’ve had to accept that I am an 8, not a 7. The day I faced the fact that I do have a desire for control of my environment, it was as if I was free to be myself. The disconnect between who I am and who I wanted to be became smaller...I was being honest with myself. Accepting who I was, this is just a minor example, was the start of forming deep connections with other people.

As a young woman, I take this time in my life seriously to be mindful of forming habits and practices that I want to carry with me throughout my lifetime. Being authentic is one of my top mindful activities.  I have a dear friend who is the sweetest, kindest, most gentle human being to walk the earth. Gracefully tiptoe the earth actually.  She's the first to offer someone a massage or assist in dishes. She puts the people around her at ease because of her gentle spirit. I, on the other hand, stumble through the door dropping whatever is in my hands and fall in the family dog's potty training accident on the floor. I am not graceful and I am generally pretty tense. There are people who tiptoe gracefully through life as a choreographed dance and then there are those who stumble and not only break a nail, but their face. You are either one or the other. I have tried the "graceful dance" many times, but my true self eventually shows. So I eventually just gave up and started accepting that I'm a little more high strung and have trouble sleeping at night. And that's okay. I had to learn to allow others to see this side of me... the authentic, real me. I say this because without authenticity—being our true selves—we are incapable of having deep, fulfilling, and lasting relationships. If I only put out a version of myself that I think other people will accept, they will not truly like me, but fall for the superficial version of myself, therefore leaving me just as lonely as I would be without them.

Authenticity, by no means, is claiming a posture of “I don’t care what people think.” Because when we take that mindset we are not becoming immune to just hurt, but also to love and connection. Cultivating authenticity is a dance. It’s learning the rhythm of vulnerability with exposing our true selves, yet not robbing us of true connection.

So here is my charge: Spend more time becoming who you really are rather than pretending to be someone your not.

Invite your true self over for dinner. And get to know that person.

The Gifts of Imperfection

As I look at my most recent post, I can’t help but cringe that it was April of this year...almost four months ago. I guess what has kept me from blogging, and writing in general, is the belief that I really don’t have anything good to say right now. I’ve felt pretty dry of insight and introspection this summer. Dry of a lot of things really—self-confidence, encouragement, extending grace, and being at ease. This season of life has been filled with more times of anxiety, restlessness, irritability, and stubbornness than anything else really. A few months ago I was given a book by a dear friend called The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown. Brene Brown is a social science researcher who has dedicated her career to studying shame and vulnerability. I was introduced to her work in grad school because she also has a background in social work. Her charge is that we let go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embrace who we are. It is not a “how-to” or corny step-by-step book. She speaks the truth about what it means to embrace our imperfections as essentials to wholehearted living.

“Whole-hearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough...”

This is a journey about owning our whole story. Instead of running from our experiences, circumstances, and imperfections, it’s about embracing the vulnerability that comes with being known for who we are.

Brene argues that practicing (Not executing perfectly everytime) courage, compassion, and connection are key things of whole-hearted living. Courage is something I believe the western world has greatly misidentified. The meaning of courage is not necessarily to give ones life (like a superhero), but to give one’s heart—to share in the vulnerability of others. This is simply being the person in a  classroom or in a meeting that voices they don’t understand and need more clarification. This is someone who asks for help. Someone who not only blesses others, but knows how to receive.

Compassion is derived from the words pati and cum meaning “to suffer with”. Compassion is not a relationship between the healthy and sick, it is between equally broken people that share in humanity.  Genuine compassion is only possible when we see ourselves as desperate as the people we serve. It is cultivated by seeing ourselves for who we really are.

When we practice courage and compassion, we then open up the door for connection to take place. We realize we don’t have to do it alone and independence is not solitary. As humans we are wired for deep connections with other people.  Shared experiences. Shared vulnerabilities.  Courage, compassion, and connection are not possible without struggles, without imperfections. This is why they are gifts.

I am doing a blogging series on the 10 guideposts Brene highlights in her book:

 Cultivating Authenticity

 Cultivating Self-Compassion

 Cultivating a resilient spirit

Cultivating gratitude and joy

 Cultivating Intuition and trusting faith

Cultivating creativity

Cultivating play and rest

Cultivating calm and stillness

Cultivating meaningful work

 Cultivating laughter, song, and dance

I hope to share my story including my own vulnerabilities through this book and invite you into yours.