Are You Phosphorescent?

by Heather Doyle Fraser

Every quarter I contribute an essay to Elan Vitae Magazine. For Spring 2024, I wrote an essay entitled “Phosphorescent,” which was inspired by my March 2024 blog. (If you are curious, you can read that HERE.)

Every issue has a theme, and the Spring 2024 theme is Light. I love to create some contstraint when writing—these guardrails give you a place to start—but when I first thought about Light as a starting place, it confounded me. There were so many ways I could go with this essay—not much constraint there! 

I started thinking of all the ways light makes its way into my life, and I got a little lost. I thought about the obvious first: sunrises and sunsets, pin-pricks of stars, and the glaring light of my head-lamp on a night walk. Then I started thinking of the less obvious— the luminescence of a baby’s skin and the light that brings warmth in a patch of sunlight by the window. Then I found myself hyperfocusing on and marveling at—and this is the absolute truth—the phosphorescent quality of the skin at the inside corner of my daughter’s eyes! (You notice these things when you are a woman in mid-life.) But ultimately, most of these explorations did not make it into this essay (one did, though).

Here’s a short excerpt:

“It’s still cold outside, but I notice the burgeoning of spring every day on my walks. Shoots burst through the soil, defying the snow melt that still covers the grass in my yard. The greening of the grass comes later, but I see hints of it even now. The birdsong has begun to change as more birds come back from their southern migrations. I hear the familiar calls that I have missed in the past few months.

The thing is, even with these outward changes happening around me every day, I still feel like I am in a season of Wintering. This full-body experience craves cocooning and a gentleness as I cuddle into safeness, reconnect with myself, and redefine who I am. And, along with the redefining there is a remembering element as well.

Remembering what feeds and nurtures me.

Remembering what ignites my passion.

Remembering what lightness has the power to do.”

You can read the full essay HERE.

All of this explanation around my process of writing this essay is simply to remind you (and me) that the writing path isn’t a straight one. It requires not only a willingness to explore but also the fierceness to let something go—even if it feels brilliant—when it doesn’t fit the piece. 

This is hard to do sometimes because words are important and precious to us as writers. It’s a practice to compassionately hold all of these competing thoughts and emotions within you when you are writing. But it’s also somewhat of a puzzle, and I am a curious person: puzzles suit me. I’m betting they suit you, too, if you find yourself on the writing path.  When you are working with a puzzle, though, you need some light. (Ahh…full circle.) Light can be elusive when we are searching for it outside of ourselves. What if we turned inward, though? What if we could recognize the light within us to show the way? What if we were phosphorescent?

With that message, I will close today, but I look forward to exploring what a compassionate writing path looks like with you this Spring and Summer. The ComPASSIONATE Writer Spring Cohort will be starting again on May 14. (You can read more about that HERE.) I’m glad you are here to explore this path with me.

Allowing Space for Discomfort When Your Only Child Leaves for College

By Heather Doyle Fraser

When I think about what is rising inside of me during this season, I can’t help but look at the proverbial elephant in the room – a paradox of emotions slinking beneath the surface of my everyday, dangerously close to coming into full display with the departure of my daughter to college. I am exceedingly excited for her and all the opportunities and experiences in front of her. I am incredibly proud of her determination and perseverance. I am eager for her to experience the joy of independence, self-sufficiency, and finding purpose and passion in her educational pursuits. I want her to find contentment and peace in her every day and experience the full range of what life offers, and that includes the highs and the lows and all of the nuance in between. At the same time, I want to shield her from the disappointment, sadness, grief, and pain that will undoubtedly show up in that spectrum of experiences on her journey. Holding all of it together – yep, the definition of paradox.

There is a sense of anticipation within me, a melody that has been building and building and building to a crescendo over the past year. And while I write almost exclusively about how the process of writing mirrors the process of life, I am still surprised when I see my story – entwined with my daughter’s – play out with its predictability in process amidst the uncertainty I feel. 

The relationship between my daughter and I has always been sacred. I have enjoyed every season with her, not wishing for a do-over or a return to a different time. I have delighted in her learning, growth, exploration, and how our relationship has evolved and stayed the same over the past eighteen years. I love the person she is, and I love the person I am when I am in proximity to her. I love the essence of home I feel when I hear her voice or feel her presence with me. 

For these reasons, I didn’t expect this next phase might harbor something else – something I haven’t yet experienced – coming up inside of me: an impulse to not return to a time before but to pause and live right where we are for just a little longer. That wouldn’t align with how I live my life, my love for learning and exploration, and my eagerness to experience a story unfold, and yet, there is the impulse – standing there in every room and every moment of my life these days. 

This feeling is uncharted water for me. I live in the cadence of the ebb and flow of a song that changes with need and necessity, but this… this is new. And in the newness of this utter resistance I feel to the speeding up and the building of this melody, I am reminded to allow. 

Ugh. The process shows me the way every time, even if I don’t like the path it sets out before me.

So, what would my story and song look like if I became curious and allowed in this season? If I allowed all of those emotions slinking under the surface to emerge, to rise up without apology? If I gave myself the space to slow down and feel all of the emotions and sensations in my body and not numb or pause the time? What if I gave myself compassion for being in uncharted waters? What if I gave to myself what I am giving to my daughter?

She is traveling into a new life, just as we drive the miles to her chosen college. She is uncertain about what is before her. She doesn’t know how things will turn out. And neither do I. She is up for the learning and exploration, though, and so am I. 

She will become a new person in this next phase of life. I will become a new person in this next phase of life. And parts of us will remain the same. Our relationship will shift more abruptly than in previous seasons – like a key change or modulation, perhaps – but these changes have happened before, and they will happen again.

When I am grounded in this idea of process, I can allow for that. I can become a sight reader – a beginner in this new song – for this next phase, not knowing the notes on the page before I see them, but knowing how to come to the notes and string them together because I have been doing that my whole life. I have been living. Why would I want to pause that?

It’s comforting to realize that this phase is like any other in the process of becoming. I can let go of the outcome with the realization that the process will carry me through the living and the learning.

It’s easy for me to cognitively understand these truths and say I will commit to the process, but the process itself is harder to embody during these uncertain times and when I feel like my heart is being ripped from my body. Even as I write these words, I feel like I am showing too much, allowing too much, but the alternative is less attractive to me. 

So, I will be with the discomfort of over-sharing, hoping that if you, too, have a story similar to mine, you will see another very important truth: you are not alone. I am with you, and I am with myself. We are together now, and that brings me a fraction of ease. And if you aren’t able to allow these same emotions for yourself, I will hold the space for both of us until you are ready. I will allow my tears to fall, and I also will allow a smile and a hearty laugh as those glorious moments of joy bump up against my sadness and uncertainty. I expect this song will require a new commitment every day as it morphs and changes shape over time. But I can allow that cadence. I can be with my rising discomfort because this uncomfortable truth needs acknowledgment and space.

How Do You Create a Sense of Safeness for Yourself?

By Heather Doyle Fraser

My Spring season has been filled with a constant coming back to my commitment of comfort – I wrote about this during March and how I would like to commit to being in my comfort zone. And no, that doesn’t mean that I’m comfortable all of the time; rather, it means that I am cultivating a landscape for myself – both internal and external – that supports me and helps me navigate the space in which I find myself. When we have an internal felt sense of safety or safeness, we are able to tolerate distress and discomfort and move beyond what we thought was possible. 

When we feel safe enough, we are able to create with abandon – in whatever form that takes. For me, that is writing, but also other creative practices: art-making, coaching, singing, or anything else where I am leaning on my creativity – you pick your preferred mode of creation! If we don’t feel safe or comfortable enough, we find ourselves using all of our energy just to survive. Survival gets you through the most difficult times, but it doesn’t provide a jumping-off place for creativity and creation. You can’t access the profound expanse of your imagination when you are in a place of fear, threat, and deep uncertainty. Inevitably fear, threat, and uncertainty are our companions in this life because we are human, and they never go away. But there are things we can do to help alleviate or even prevent some of those fears so that we can stand firmly in our comfort zone while stretching into a place of creation. 

What if – just like I committed to my comfort zone during the Spring season – I built upon my comfort to step into creation during this season of my life? It’s a question I ponder often because I am a writer, and I help people to write books and compassionately navigate their discomfort while doing so. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about and experimenting with how we can cultivate a safe space – a haven – in which to create. Because we are human, emotions, feelings, difficult thoughts, and body sensations are going to come up when you are creating something that is meaningful and purpose-driven. If the space in which you create feels safe, though, you are much more likely to be able to maintain and sustain your creativity to the completion of your project. 

How do you create a sense of safeness for yourself when you are writing or engaging in another creative practice? In my next blog, I will share with you what I do to create a safe space to create.

Committed to Comfort

by Heather Doyle Fraser

I live in Ohio. As such, the coming of Spring feels momentous and inspiring. January and February are a gray and gloomy duo for the most part. We vacillate from bitter cold – the kind that mercilessly cuts through your parka (yes, the thick and bulky one) – to steely skies that, while not bitter, surely aren’t warming. As I think about the Januarys and Februarys throughout my life, I often picture myself trudging through them while simultaneously trying to hygge up my space, bringing some comfort and cozy to my inner and outer landscape. And don’t get me wrong, I live by the seasons and enjoy the freedom I find within myself while I navigate them; however, as we gingerly approach each new season, I find myself ready for the shift. 

This year, as I step across this threshold spotted with the beginnings of buds on the maple trees in my yard and green daffodil stems bumping out of the soil, I’ve set an intention to bring a bit of the comfort I cultivated during the Winter season into the Spring. I have a vision for myself: I’m on a mission to renew my commitment to comfort this year. I want to bring intentional awareness to what brings me comfort and explore how I can commit to living inside my comfort zone, especially when it comes to my writing practice and process. 

In the coaching and corporate leadership worlds, there is a lot of noise around getting OUT of your comfort zone. According to the gurus, you can only excel and succeed if you stretch BEYOND your comfort zone. I think this idea trickles or crashes into our concept of what a successful writing practice and process looks like.

Your writing self has a need to be seen and heard. So naturally, your task-manager self wants to help you achieve and excel! Here’s a glimpse into what that competitive task manager might be saying as you plan your writing time:

“What works in my every day? Goals! Outcomes to achieve! A list of to-dos! How about 1000-1500 words per day? YES! That will do it. Create a stretch goal. Or better yet, just blow past that stretch and go straight for the gold! That’s the only way to be noticed. That’s the only way to be published. That’s the only way to get your message out in the world!”

What I know about writing and being human is that constantly being outside of your comfort zone – and way outside of it especially – leaves you engulfed by threat, fear, and resistance. This isn’t a place of creativity. This is a place of survival. And while you might be able to plow through that resistance initially, eventually, you will exhaust your internal resources. Your capacity for writing will diminish until it feels like your inspiration has left the building. 

I have a different idea to explore – a different way to approach a writing life: I want us to settle into our comfort zones. I’m renewing my commitment to that throughout this season, and I would love for you to join me. I know it will take some practice, and it might even feel counter-intuitive if you are used to stretching, stretching, stretching, stretching until you feel like you might break instead of bend (that’s how I feel sometimes). 

First, let’s start with a shared understanding of what I consider your comfort zone. I do not consider your comfort zone to be without struggle or challenge. I consider your comfort zone the place where you know -- with profound wisdom -- that you have the wherewithal to navigate the struggles and challenges that will inevitably come up as part of our humanity. I think your comfort zone sits at the confluence of the three emotional regulation systems within us: the Threat System, the Drive System, and the Soothe System. I’m borrowing the identification of these three emotional regulation systems from Compassionate Mind Training out of the Compassionate Mind Foundation UK, founded by Dr. Paul Gilbert.  

According to Dr. Gilbert (the founder of Compassion Focused Therapy and Compassionate Mind Training), as humans, we have three emotional regulation systems that have evolved over time to help us survive. Picture in your mind three circles; ideally, they work in concert to help us thrive when they are balanced. I think your comfort zone lives at the intersection of this three-circle system, like a Venn Diagram. When you are in your comfort zone, you can utilize your Drive System and Soothe System to handle the fears, blocks, and resistance that Threat System ignites. I believe that your comfort zone IS your writing zone.

I believe that your comfort zone – or writing zone – grows with you and your voice, but if you try to grow too fast, you find yourself enveloped in threat and drive that you are not ready to navigate. 

How might this show up in writing? In the form of fear, resistance, or what some people call writer’s block. When you are in the Threat System, you have a bodily response that tells you things are not safe. This happens in writing, too. You might experience sweaty palms, elevated heart rate, an unsettled stomach, shallow breathing – any of these may show up from time to time and at various levels of intensity when you see that blank page or when you are trying valiantly to get those 1500 words down in your writing session. 

There’s another way to approach writing, though, that asks you to bring comfort, compassion, and soothing to your writing practice on purpose. A way that looks soft, subtle, and slow on the surface but is fierce and filled with strength if you have the courage to take the time and look underneath. This way requires curiosity and compassion to accompany your writing self as you stand within your writing zone. It begs you to start asking yourself questions and listening to the answers. Questions like, “What if I allowed my curiosity and comfort to be the momentum behind my inspiration and creativity? What if I embraced a balance of what empowers my drive and what inspires my soothe = what motivates me and what calms me?” 

Spending time in this writing zone where you have strength and capacity leads to focused attention and words on the page. It’s a process that will take you to your outcome, but only if you stay in the practice day after day and are willing to comfort yourself when the page looks like a bleak February sky.

Interested in cultivating a compassionate practice for your writing this Spring? Join me in the ComPASSIONATE Writer, a 6-week program that supports your voice and your writing process. We begin on April 4. Learn more about the experience HERE.

For the Love of Letters

by Heather Doyle Fraser

My grandfather’s birthday was in January. My grandmother’s birthday was in March. February feels like the perfect time to celebrate their love and the one-sided record I have of their relationship. 

Of course, I have rich memories of their relationship burned into my brain but these memories are from a child’s perspective. I was almost 13 when my grandfather died in 1985 and nearly 14 when my grandmother passed in 1986. My sister and I spent the night with my grandparents at least a couple of times each month (maybe more) when we were growing up so I spent a lot of time with them. 

They were always affectionate with and kind to each other: a complimentary word from my grandfather to my grandmother, a smile and a wink, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, or a squeeze of the hand when sitting together. However, all of these affectionate moments were driven by my grandfather. This didn’t seem in the least bit curious to me because my grandmother was always doing, caretaking, and making sure that everything was done the “right” way in her estimation. The “everything” revolved around household chores and expectations: preparing food, cleaning up, doing laundry, ironing, and sewing – a full-time job. Now that I think about it, this was probably her way of reciprocating those kind and affectionate moments my grandpa initiated. 

They were married in 1929 and celebrated 56 years together before my grandfather passed. They shared the birth of seven children and 24 grandchildren while they were alive. Their story is so much more than that, too, as all stories are. My grandfather was a dentist and conducted his dental practice from their home. I actually have the desk that he used in his home office in my family room. It looks out over my backyard and has become one of my most cherished writing spaces.

It’s hard to imagine what their home was like since it housed their seven children (6 boys and 1 girl) and also my grandfather’s dental practice. To say that it was a vibrant hive of activity would probably be an understatement. My father remembers that every night the dinner table would be set for 13-14 people – not the expected 9. My grandparents welcomed anyone into their home who needed a meal and a safe place to land. There are so many stories I could tell of my grandparent’s compassion and hard work, but that’s not what this story is about. I only bring it up because it provides a little context into the full life they built, shared, and maintained over the course of their relationship.

A couple of years ago, we found letters, though. Letter after letter dating back to the 1930s, some barely legible and faded after years of being stored in a shoebox. Letters from my grandfather to my grandmother exploring his deep and abiding love for her. These letters were stunningly expressive, heartfelt, deep explorations of love. He wrote them on her birthday, their anniversary, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, Easter, and then on random dates (however they may have not been random – I will never know for sure on that one).

When I unfolded the letters for the first time I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My grandfather was a poet and a storyteller. He was eloquent and each letter brought my heart aching clarity on the depth of his love for my grandmother. He didn’t simply say, “I love you.” He wrote her poems. He wrote her stories. He mixed classic myths with his own stories to metaphorically speak about his love and respect for her as a woman, a mother to their children, and a partner in life. He was a writer and I suspect that no one really knew this about him except for her.

Growing up, I always wondered if anyone else in my family loved books and writing as much as I did because I didn’t see it. Finding these letters was a huge gift. I found a heritage that I wasn’t expecting. When I was growing up, I never saw my grandfather reading anything other than the newspaper, but the letters I found told a different story. In those letters, I felt like I was reading something by Joseph Campbell, not James Francis Doyle, DDS.

They say letter writing is a lost art, and I think that is true. 

Historically, letters have served many purposes: to teach, to inform, to describe circumstances, and to express the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of the writer. They provide a record of a moment in time and when revisited, provide a glimpse into everyday life. 

My grandfather’s letters are different, though. Within his letters, he became a poet and master storyteller. I’ve never read so many letters with such substance, passion for life and love, and purpose. They don’t sit on the surface. There were no mentions of the weather, trips to the store, or planning for a looked-forward-to-event. They skipped all of the general contexts most letters start and end with to go much deeper into a shared experience as life partners. 

Among the earliest letters was one that specifically spelled out why he was writing (and not insignificantly, why I was reading the letters some 85 years later). Apparently, my grandfather had made a habit of writing my grandmother letters that he never gave to her. Then, one day, she found one of these. 

I imagine that perhaps she found the letter on his desk – the desk I now sit at daily – while she was tidying things up for him. I imagine that the letter grabbed her attention and begged her to sit a moment in the busyness of her day. I imagine that her voice caught in her throat while she was reading that first letter. And I imagine she let him know how much she appreciated his eloquence and his sharing. So from that day on, instead of writing for himself as a way to express his feelings for her, he wrote with the intention of sharing the letters with her. 

I talk to writers every day and I help them navigate the writing process. What I know about writing is that it is personal and vulnerable and at the same time universal and awe-inspiring. I also know that it must have taken a tremendous amount of courage and self-compassion for my grandfather to switch gears from writing for himself to writing for himself and his partner. It’s like making the switch from journaling daily to writing a book. Different intent. Different purpose. Different experience.

What I notice about these letters from the objective perspective of being a writer and a book coach is that my grandfather intuitively knew how he could compassionately approach his own writing in order to continue for the remainder of his life. This also happens to be what I employ in my writing and what I help others to do in their writing as well:

1. He knew his audience. He wrote specifically for one person and everything was tailored to his knowledge of her. 

2. He knew his why. He wrote for my grandmother, but also for his self-expression. This dual-purpose allowed him to access and share his thoughts and feelings in a way that nothing else could.

3. He knew how he needed to show up. He was committed to his consistency. A commitment to writing isn’t easy but its rewards are huge. For my grandfather, this commitment brought him joy and satisfaction. (This commitment brought joy and satisfaction to my grandmother as well and he knew that, too.)

The last thing about these letters that he most likely did not intend was that he left me and all of my family a legacy. That’s what we do when we put words to the page, particularly in a form that lasts, whether you’re writing a letter or writing a book. 

So today, I invite you to take a page from my grandfather’s letter-writing history and make some history of your own. 

Write today. 

Write for yourself. 

Write for someone you love. 

Write with purpose and passion.

Write with depth.

Write with commitment. 

Do this today, and then do it again tomorrow. Build a legacy for yourself and someone you don’t even know. That message and voice you harbor within needs to be shared.

—

If you are looking for a community to support you in your endeavor to create time for daily writing, join us at The Writing Practice.

What My Run Reminded Me About My Writing Practice

by Heather Doyle Fraser

If there is one activity that brings on my creativity and inspiration it is walking. I am a walker. Nature soothes my soul and allows me to access inner safeness in a world that feels chaotic and overwhelming at times. I like to walk alone. I like to walk with my dog. I like to walk with friends and family occasionally, but mostly it’s just me on my walks and all of my parts that need some soothing.

However, last summer I decided I wanted to reignite my run/walk self. I am currently 49 years old and I wanted to give a gift to my future self. I wanted to give her – this glorious 75- or 85-year-old future version of myself – the gift of strength and endurance and cardiovascular health. So I decided to embark on a run/walk training program just for me.

I’ve never considered myself a runner really. I have friends who are runners. They run marathons and ultra-marathons. I’m usually the person at the checkpoint or at the end of the race with food, extra clothes, encouragement, and a big hug. 

I have run a number of 5K races, though. I was the head coach for my daughter’s Girls on the Run team for three years and about seven years ago I ran a 10K race with my friend. Up until recently, that was the longest distance I had ever run.

When I started on this plan-just-for-me last June, I didn’t actually plan very well for it. 
I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it. I didn’t have any support for myself. 

What did I have? I had a Garmin watch and the Garmin Coach training app. I picked Coach Jeff on the app, because he had a nice face, and in his introduction video he told me he had run about a hundred marathons (he is in his 70s). He also said — and this was very important to me — that his training programs were designed so that you would never puke during a training run. Sold! That was good enough for me! 

I chose a goal for my training, but I did not do any research on how to navigate the plan or reschedule a run if I needed to. I basically just jumped in feet first without any preparation other than my shoes and my watch.

I bet you know where this part of the story is going – it’s going nowhere. I was motivated at the beginning when I birthed this idea, but then life came in and crashed my party. I didn’t stick to the training plan and I didn’t know how to adjust it to fit my schedule. And this was predictable because I didn’t give myself the gift of support around this goal. So I settled for a few run/walks here and there but mostly stayed with my regular walking.

And there was nothing wrong with this, it just was not what I really set out to do.

I stayed in this limbo of half-trying for a couple of months. Then, I found a buddy. I found the perfect virtual accountability partner for me and my runs in my bandmate Elizabeth. (She lives in Kentucky and I live in Ohio.) Here are all of the reasons she is my perfect virtual running buddy:

• She has been on the consistent running train since the beginning of 2021 (or maybe longer) but had a similar history with running to me. 

• She uses the Garmin Coach app so I could ask her how to do things if I couldn’t find the answers I needed with a Google search. 

• I had a relationship with her already and felt comfortable being vulnerable with her when things were going well and also when things were not going well.

I asked if she would be open to being my accountability partner. Guess what? She said she needed one too! So last August we started texting each week with our training plans and then we texted each other after we completed each run. And sometimes we would text randomly if we needed support. It made all of the difference for me.

Setting a New Goal and Creating a New Process

In August of 2021, I set a goal for myself to run/walk a 5K. That was the entire goal. I didn’t sign up for a specific race. It was fun. It wasn’t overly stressful. It was just what I needed. It meant that I had three workouts per week. I met the goal in early November by running a 5K with my husband. 

It’s now February and I have new goals set that are a little more challenging for me. It’s still a 5K run at the end, but I set a time challenge for myself knowing that my training plan would look a little different. I still only have three runs per week, but the workouts are more varied than in my last training plan and also more difficult for me. Really the time goal doesn’t matter to me all that much, it’s the process that I’m interested in, and to get to the process I have to have a goal. 

Last week I had a big run on the schedule = 7 miles. To be honest, there was a part of me that was scared, a part of me that was dreading it, a part of me that was curious, a part of me that was determined, and a part of me that was a more than little excited at the prospect of being able to say that I did it for myself.

Up until that point last week, the longest run I had ever accomplished was 6.6 miles and that was just a week prior. Before that, the longest run I had ever done was that 10K (6.2 miles) I ran with my friend in 2015.

The big run was scheduled for Tuesday, but Tuesday was a polar bear of a day. It was bitterly cold with 15-18mph winds. I wanted to move my body and do this run, but I knew that this was not the day. Instead, I bundled up in layers and went for a three-mile walk instead. I really enjoyed that walk. It wasn’t a fast pace because I was walking through snow and wearing boots, but I was warm and I enjoyed my pre-writing time and the scenery. 

Yes, I said pre-writing time. I consider my walks and runs for the most part to be pre-writing time. I always go out with the intention of mulling over something in my mind. It’s usually a post or a blog or sometimes I am trying to puzzle out a section of a client’s manuscript. It’s purposeful and something I do most days. I don’t always come to a solution for the puzzle, but I always make progress.

I looked at the calendar, and based on my schedule and the weather, I decided that Thursday would be the best possible day of the week for the long run. Thursday came and it was cold but not as cold as Tuesday. The sun was shining and that buoyed my spirits. YES! Today was going to be the day!

Just as I was finishing up my client calls, a blanket of clouds covered the sky and it started to snow. The wind picked up but it wasn’t as bad as it was on Tuesday. I was nervous. I didn’t want to be miserable. I didn’t want to be uncomfortable for an hour and a half or more. I texted Elizabeth and she said just what I needed to hear, “Go out and give it a try. Something is better than nothing. You don’t have to do all of it if today is not the day.”

Yes. I could try. 

I layered up: cold gear running tights, joggers, and leg warmers; cold gear turtleneck, quarter-zip fleece, and light but warm jacket; gloves and hat. The temperature was 28 degrees but with the windchill, it felt like 18 degrees. I drove to the metropark where all of the paths are plowed. It has some rolling hills so I was a little anxious about the possibility of slipping, but I reminded myself that I could take it slow and turn around if the snow got worse.

Mile 1

I started out very doubtful. I did not think I would be able to do the 7 miles on my training plan. I warmed up with a brisk walk for about seven or eight minutes and then started to run at a slow, easy pace. It did not feel good. In fact, it felt very uncomfortable. I felt like I had stilts for legs. But, I was not in pain and I wanted to at least get in a couple of miles, so I kept going.

Mile 2

Once I got to the second mile I started to warm up a bit – I wasn’t taking off any layers or anything, but I wasn’t feeling quite as stiff. And as a bonus, it was really beautiful with a very light snow coming down. Parts of the second mile went through a wooded area too so I was a bit more sheltered and protected from the wind. I told myself I could turn around at that point, but I really didn’t want to. I decided to turn on some music. I never usually listen to anything while I am on a walk or a run, but on this occasion, I cranked up the volume on my phone in my pocket and turned on the tunes. (I have really small ears and earbuds aren’t my friends.) 

Mile 3

Everything started to feel pretty magical during that third mile. In fact, there was a moment when I felt like all was right in the world and I was absolutely sure that I was Wonder Woman. At that point I knew I would do the 7 miles because I was already at the point where I had to turn around to do the second half! I was laughing at myself and marveled that I didn’t think I could do it. What had I been thinking? The music was pumping me up. By the time I finished the third mile, I knew in my heart that I could do this! 

Mile 4

I was still on my high from mile three during the fourth mile. It was glorious. I was over half done. I still carried that “I dan do anything” attitude with me throughout the mile. I was starting to intersperse a little more walking with my running but I had a good rhythm of running a quarter mile and then walking for a minute or so. It was working well and I was still enjoying myself. I took off my gloves because I was actually getting really warm.

Mile 5

By the end of the fifth mile I was drenched in sweat. I was not as dazzled as I had been in miles three and four, but I was content with what I was doing. Towards the end of the mile it occurred to me that I could just do 6 miles instead of going for 7. The route I had chosen would have me right near my car at 6 miles. I really pondered this. I was beginning to get cold from the sweat and while I wasn’t hurting, I was starting to tire.

Mile 6

I hit the crossroads at the beginning of the sixth mile. And it was a LITERAL crossroad. The path on the right would take me to my car and I would be done! The path on the left would give me that last mile that I said I was going to do. I took a deep breath and took the path to the left, but I decided to walk a little more. I chose to run just as much as I could and would then walk. Run a little, walk a little. Run a little, walk a little. And I did this for the whole last mile.

Mile 7

Technically when my watch hit the 7 miles I was done, but I needed to do my cool down. So I walked for another five minutes letting the enormity of what I had just done sink in. I completed a 7-mile run and with my warm-up and cool down it ended up being 7.6 miles. Yes, I interspersed walking with my running and that is why I finished! I took it at a pace I could handle and I completed what I set out to do. In fact, I exceeded my expectations!

Before, During, and After

When I finished, I marveled at my accomplishment. And then I really examined what happened. I set the stage for myself to be able to do this. I created a Before, During, and After plan for myself that worked really well. 

Before the Run: 

• I consistently showed up for months for the training process. 

• I reached out to my support person when I needed to. 

• I picked the most favorable day possible to do this big run. 

• I dressed appropriately to reduce my discomfort as much as possible.

During the Run: 

• I didn’t push myself too hard. 

• I pushed myself just enough to challenge myself, but not lose heart or strength. 

• I listened to music because I knew that would help – even though I had never done it before. But music always soothes me and brings me a sense of confidence and hope. I used that when I needed it. 

• I leaned on my reserves and all that I had done before. 

• I talked nicely to myself when I needed to slow down and walk. 

• I praised myself when I ran for longer than I thought I could.

After the Run: 

• I allowed myself to feel joy and a sense of accomplishment for what I had done. 

• There was a small voice that reminded me that I have friends who run marathons all of the time, but I reminded that voice that I don’t run marathons all of the time and this is a big deal. 

• I stretched after so that I wouldn’t be sore and to ensure that I would be able to continue with my training. 7 miles was not my goal, it was just part of the process!

What My Run Reminded Me about My Writing Practice

Every time I am on a run I can’t help but make connections to my writing practice. Both activities require thought, preparation, determination, consistency, perseverance, and mental and emotional fortitude. When I was on my run, these are the lessons I kept hearing over and over in my head, mile after mile.

Lesson #1: 

Almost everything that is challenging is easier with a supportive partner – even when the partner isn’t physically with you. (Writing practice, I’m looking at you.)

Lesson #2: 

The process is the place to be. The goal helps you to get to your process, but the goal isn’t as important as the process itself. (Writing practice — again — I am looking at you. Practice holds the process.)

Lesson #3:

Even when you think you aren’t writing, you are still making progress. Pre-writing doesn’t always happen when you are on the page. You are prepping for the main event all the time if you are in your process. (Practice, practice, practice in all the ways you can think of – some days that might be a walk.)

Lesson #4:

Your Before, During, and After in your writing is just as important as in anything you do. 

How Can You Plan for Before, During, and After in Your Writing Practice?

I spent a lot of time on my Before, During, and After strategy for that run. It won’t surprise you to learn that I spend an equal (or maybe even more) amount of time thinking about the before, during, and after of consistent writing practice. Writing doesn’t need to be miserable and tortured, even if it is difficult and challenging. When we plan for the event each time in its entirety, the more likely we are to feel safe and comfortable and able to handle the challenges when they come up. 

Before Your Writing Practice:

• Create a consistent time for writing and block it on your calendar. Adjust if you need to without shame. 

• Set up your writing space ahead of time before you sit down to write – maybe even the night before if you are a morning writer. Make sure your laptop or notebook is ready in your space. Do you need a cup of tea or coffee or a glass of water at your desk? Set the cup or glass out on your kitchen counter before you go to bed. And if you have a programmable coffee maker, set it up to be ready when you come into the kitchen in the morning. 

• Do you need a cozy blanket to put over your lap? Do you need that favorite scarf to create a sense of safeness for you? Put these in your writing space.

During Your Writing Practice:

• When you sit down to write, make sure there are no other distractions – like notifications on your laptop or phone – vying for your time.

• Go slow. Speed up when you need to, go slow when you need to. The pace is the pace. You are here for your allotted time (20, 30, or 60 minutes) not a certain number of words.

• Use your outline – you know your route. Your outline or a bulleted plan can be your best friend in your writing practice. It gives you the flexibility and freedom you need to write within it or to choose to go outside of it.

• Join a writing community like The Writing Practice so you have someone with you virtually when you are writing. You don’t have to be alone. You can create a safe haven of support around you.

After Your Writing Practice: 

• When you finish your session, notice if you have ideas about where you want to go and what you want to write next time. Jot these down as a compassionate gift to your future self and your next writing session.

• Acknowledge what you have accomplished! Not everyone steps on this path and you are not only placing your feet on the path, you are moving and making progress. 

Who knew running for myself could parallel the writing practice in so many ways? 

How Did NaNoWriMo Work for You?

by Heather Doyle Fraser

November was National Novel Writing Month. I hear people start to talk about this in late October, “November is National Novel Writing Month! I’m going to do it this year! I’m going to write my book in November!”

Let’s be clear about something from the outset, here. I think NaNoWriMo is awesome. I think it inspires people to think big and imagine a world where they are writing daily and that vision seems exciting and sexy, and also a little scary. And if you sign up for NaNoWriMo on their website — if you look around a little before November 1 — you will see that the good people who birthed this idea intend a few things:

1. Your planning of the novel needs to begin before November 1. In order to start tracking those words on November 1, you need to have created an outline and backstory for your characters BEFORE then. They have a timeline (and even that appears to be a little aggressive to me) that suggests you begin the process of outlining and character development in September.

2. You will write the first 50,000 words of your novel in November. That doesn’t mean you complete the writing of your book. That means you write the first draft of the first 50,000 words of your novel. This is a first draft of a portion of your novel — not a completed manuscript by the end of the month. (Average length of debut fiction novels is 75,000-90,000 words.) 

Let’s do the math on this. If you are writing the first 50,000 words of your novel in the month of November and you start on November 1, that gives you 30 days. This means you are writing about 1665-1670 words every single day of the month. No days off. No exceptions made for, “I’m feeling uninspired and really quite cranky today.” No exceptions for, “I had a client crisis at the office this week and had to put in a couple of really long days at work.” No exceptions for, “I got a terrible cold and didn’t sleep well for a week.” No exceptions for, “My child is sick and I needed to rearrange my entire schedule to take care of them.”

No exceptions.

Unless you decide to take one or two days off each week at the outset. Then you have shortened your writing time. Let’s imagine that you allow yourself to take 6 days off of writing. That means on your 24 writing days you need to write 2,084 words in each writing session. 

More pressure. That’s awesome for setting the stage for creativity and inspiration!

Let’s assume you started ahead of November 1 and you do have an outline and you have created a little backstory on the character development front. Let’s also assume, though, that you didn’t spend as much time on these parts of the process as you would have liked so you are feeling a little uncertain. And, let’s also assume that this is a new endeavor for you so you have not cultivated a consistent writing practice that has become a habit for you. 

If you do not have a daily writing practice in place when you begin, your goal of writing 50,000 words of your novel in 30 days is going to be VERY difficult to achieve. This kind of writing requires practice, consistency, diligence, and a whole lot of self-compassion. Writing nearly 2000 words a day for 30 days takes high-level training! It requires you to set up your life to support your writing habit. 

What does this mean? 

Most people who want to write a book are not full-time writers. They have jobs, families, partners, and responsibilities that require their attention. So, they need to make space for writing like they make space for any truly important and value-based endeavor. They have to account for the time and plan for it, like you would plan to workout or exercise. 

For example, let’s pretend you decide you should write your 2000 words first thing in the morning before work. if you are writing before work in the morning, you would need to make sure that everything is set the night before -- you have to be able to get to bed at a consistent and reasonable time to get up at a presumably unreasonable time to devote yourself to the writing practice before the rest of your responsibilities take center stage (work, adulting, etc.).

The thing people forget when they declare their intention to write a book in a month is that you need to train in order to be able to write nearly 2000 words a day. In order to write this many words consistently per day, you need to have been working up to that number. Your very first writing sessions shouldn’t even have a word count expectation associated with them in my opinion. At the beginning, time alone is your goal. You may not be able to guarantee a number of words at the beginning but you can control how long you sit in front of your laptop.

Just like exercise, this writing journey is a hard one when you feel alone. Even though writing is a solitary endeavor, though, you don’t need to feel alone. And writing in the same space with someone, having compassionate support, and accountability partners all makes this difficult task of writing easier. Doable. And that’s where NaNoWriMo gets it right – all of these people all over the world are engaged in the same challenging activity.

I would like to set the stage though for a more compassionate approach. First off, whether you are writing a non-fiction book (my specialty) or a novel, you need to spend the time upfront on the WHY, the WHO you need to be to write it and WHO you are writing to, the WHAT (hello book plan!), the HOW (What do you need to clear from your schedule? What decisions do you need to make upfront?) and the WHEN. Then you need to get into training mode – consistency is key!

Daily writing practice (or nearly daily) is not only what will help you finish your book, it will also help you to cultivate a deeper relationship with yourself and your writing. It’s pure gold.

So, if you didn’t finish your book in November, no worries! You didn’t have all the information upfront. You weren’t ready. Let’s take it slow and commit to 20 minutes per day, shall we? And if that sounds like too much for day 1, let’s commit to 15 minutes. In a week, you’ll be able to up the time a little just like you up your reps in the gym. 

You can do this… If you want it. If you want to put in the time, day after day, over and over again. Let’s train together. Not for the sprint of one month, but for the long haul. Start now so when November 2022 comes around, you will be in the homestretch rather than behind before you even begin.

If you are looking for a safe place to practice, come join us at The Writing Practice. Learn more at https://mailchi.mp/cmcollab/the-writing-practice.

What Is It That I Am Feeling?

By Erica Sonnabend

Wow.  What a year it’s been.  

I feel like that statement is one we're all hearing now that we've marked a full year since a global pandemic came crashing into our lives, but it really is fitting.  

I certainly do not say these words lightly - quite the opposite, actually. The deep emotions behind that statement and what they represent are what strikes me the most when I hear that statement. There has never been a time in most of our lives that the whole world has experienced loss from the very same root cause.  

As the weeks of uncertainty turned into months, I witnessed a shift in the collective conversation in our society that gave me hope.  Initially, we were talking about the world shutting down, frightening case numbers, and lack of toilet paper, but then something else happened.  While we were still talking about those drastic changes in our daily lives, we also started talking about how those changes made us feel.  

Our conversations became a mix of both intellectual facts and the corresponding emotions that accompany them. Words such as mindfulness, awareness, wellbeing, compassion, and connection started popping up during nightly news reports, on social media, and in zoom calls all over the world.  We as humans were speaking our emotional truth like never before.  That truth was filled with all sorts of feelings - fear, sadness, longing, relief, gratitude, isolation, anger, desperation, love, etc.  People started discussing problems with sleeping, eating, working, feeling stuck, being disoriented, and connecting to joy as a result of the pandemic.   

Guess what all of those feelings are?  Yup...GRIEF.  Our usually “grief avoidant” society was experiencing loss in so many unprecedented ways that many of us started talking about our losses and our feelings instead of relying on the social norm of not really expressing our challenging emotions.  As someone who has discovered the many benefits of dealing with all of my emotions (those most often viewed as either positive or negative), this is such a welcome change.

By July of last year, I had many people (including news media) reaching out to my grief support practice to ask what grief actually is and how someone can tell if they are experiencing it.  To answer that question, I offered the definition of grief that completely changed my perspective on loss. 

"Grief is the conflicting feelings caused by the change in or the end of a familiar pattern of behavior."    - John W. James 

Why is this definition so important?

Personally, I walked around thinking something emotionally was wrong with me after experiencing the death of my father, the end of my marriage, changes in my health, and challenges in my career. I believed that once my dad had been gone for a year, I was supposed to magically feel better, but I did not.  I struggled to cling to what others told me about “being better off” when my marriage ended.  And let us not forget that “everything happens for a reason” platitude. Those sentiments were offered out of love for me which I appreciate; however, I was still stuck and stuffing my feelings down.

The problem was that outside of the death losses I had experienced, I didn’t consider that the other changes in my life were also losses. Consequently, the conflicting feelings I experienced didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t understand why I continued to feel the way I did so I kept those feelings hidden.  I believed that loss was about death and that feelings of grief were reserved solely for that reason. 

Grief is certainly about death, but it is also about so much more.  It's about any change in your life that has deep emotional value to you. Only you can determine what those loss events in your life are and how you will integrate those losses into your future life. It is important that we realize that feelings of grief are not just limited to the date (or the year after) your loss occurred.  Loss and change can cause ripple effects throughout our lives in various ways.  Expressing the varied emotions that come up is absolutely essential.

As we moved through this past year, many of us came to realize that the definition of grief we'd been relating to for so long was too narrow.  So much that was familiar to us came to an abrupt end and the changes are too many to count. Recognizing that feelings of grief and loss are not limited to specific changes helps us to expand our conversations.  The figurative stop signs we used to encounter are replaced with open hearts and listening ears which leads us down a path toward healing.

There is much work ahead for us as we continue to battle this pandemic into year two. We will need to rely on each other and keep pushing to eradicate this public health crisis that has taken far too much.  The losses are many which means the need to connect to our emotional truth is greater than ever.  Let’s continue to shift our conversations about every aspect of our loss experiences by speaking our truth about how we feel when a “familiar pattern of behavior” changes or ends.  

Wow.  What a year indeed. 

Be well, friends.

Creating a Space for Grief as the Seasons Change

By Erica Sonnabend

Here I am stepping fully into the Fall season. The weather outside my door has turned to that familiar chill, the leaves have begun their transition to brightness and the moon is revealing more of itself with each night. The cozy feel of warmer clothes comfort me as I start preparing my family and my home for the change of season.

While the promise of a new season can be exciting, the change from one season to the next can also signal a time of reflection and anticipation. If you’re missing a loved one or coping with emotional outcomes due to impactful changes in your life, you may also encounter feelings of grief as we move from one season to the next. 

Where I live, Autumn is the season that transitions us from the warm summer to the cold winter. Although I’m not a fan of ice and snow, I started experiencing overwhelming feelings of dread when fall arrived the year after my divorce. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so unsettled. I’d always liked the fall as a kid and looked forward to it when it was time to go back to college after a great summer. Something changed for me around 2004 and I began going through the motions of life from September through November. I didn’t realize it then, but I was doing my best to avoid how I felt.  I couldn’t determine the root of my feelings because I never allowed them to fully emerge.

It wasn’t until ten years later that I discovered, through grief work, that my dread was connected to my unresolved emotions surrounding my divorce.  It was so surprising to me that the fear, disappointment and feelings of failure and abandonment I was carrying all this time was actually considered grief. (It definitely is!) Equally surprising was that this emotional pain, that I barely shared with anyone, was intruding on my life years after my divorce was final.  I understood that divorce meant I was no longer married, but what I didn’t anticipate was how alone that would make me feel. 

As the calendar progressed into October, the thought of being in the house by myself with my very young daughter during the darker, colder and stormier months ahead filled me with panic and anxiety. I didn’t care about pumpkin picking or decorating for Halloween like I used to. The upcoming holidays were going to be an overwhelming puzzle of “what to do” and “where to go” as a divorced woman.  I kept re-sorting the pieces of my now vacant life and nothing seemed to fit in a way that brought me peace.  Eventually, the start of the fall season triggered my grief year after year. I felt numb inside.

Thankfully, connecting to my true feelings helped me immensely - more than I ever thought possible.  What an enormous relief. Taking steps to acknowledge and understand my grief allowed me to release my feelings of insecurity that were blocking me from being present in my life. I discovered that I needed to grieve the intangible losses that came after my divorce - like my loss of safety, traditions, routine and my role in my ex-husband’s family.  Honestly, I thought that my other relationships were completely fine, but opening myself up to healing enhanced my relationship with my daughter, my mother and my friends. 

The following year, I decided to do something I hadn’t ever done when October came.  I created space in my life for any feelings of dread or anticipation that might come.  I made time for myself daily to do something that connected me to my heart instead of my head.  I opened my heart by looking at old photos, telling family stories to my daughter and listening to music that moves my soul.  I allowed myself to cry (really cry) when I needed to and I talked about my emotions whenever they came up (cheers to my friends and grief specialist).  What a difference a year made - but this time for the better.

Unexpressed grief is powerful. As we continue into the fall season and prepare for what the winter months may bring, I encourage you to also prepare yourself by creating your own compassionate space. Take a moment during your busy days to stop, watch the leaves fall, breathe deeply and connect to what’s in your heart. Being present with your grief will guide you toward your healing.

Wishing you a peaceful autumn, friends.

Erica Sonnabend is a Grief Recovery Specialist from Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Certified by the Grief Recovery Institute, Erica helps others to connect to their unresolved grief and the unexpressed emotions surrounding deep personal loss. Through one-on-one support or group sessions utilizing the Grief Recovery Method, Erica creates a comforting and compassionate space for healing to occur. You can reach Erica through the contact page on her website Sonnabend Grief Support.

To See or Be Seen?

by Dr. Chia-Ying Chou

How often do we show the world what we think it expects to see?

a loyal employee

a smart businesswoman

a friendly customer service agent

a knowledgable teacher

a friendly Uber rider 

a supportive friend

a sweet daughter

a helpful coworker

a dependable spouse 

How often do we spend hours and hours with people and only see what we expect to see?

a loyal employee

a smart businesswoman

a friendly customer service agent

a knowledgable teacher

a friendly Uber rider

a supportive friend

a sweet daughter

a helpful coworker

a dependable spouse

How often do you really see someone? How often do you really let someone see you?

their/our

ever-changing micro facial expressions

spoken and unspoken thoughts

speakable and unspeakable truth

joint pains

weeping hearts in solitude

jealousy and loneliness 

wishes and hopes

faces with no make-ups

words with no intended impression making

How lonely can we be in connections? How connected can we be in loneliness? 

If you look at someone in their eyes 

and REALLY SEE THEM, 

you’ll know

that every moment you share with them

is a beautiful miracle of the universe.