Medium

“Tell her about my comb” he said while sitting in a chair a few feet from me. I raised my eyebrows and said, “He wants me to tell you something about a comb?” My client starting laughing and said, “Melissa! He didn’t have any hair but he always carried a black comb in his pocket! It was a running joke in our family!!” and then she became quiet as tears streamed from her eyes. She had lost the man who was sitting in front of me, her husband, to an insatiable cancer just a few months prior to our session.

On another day and with another client, her (deceased) husband was in session with us once again. He showed up during our first session and re-appeared often during the following sessions. Sometimes he is in human form and sometimes he’s a glowing ball of orange energy that roughly resembles the human shape.

I was over this client’s stomach when I intuited the words, “butter cookies.” I told her it appeared her tummy wanted butter cookies. She, with a slow smile spreading across her face said no, it was her husband. She said she had talked with him on her way to our session and had asked him to make a reference to butter cookies. Evidently, once upon a time, she had made butter cookies and brought him a plateful. Her intent was to finish up a few things and then share the cookies with him. When she returned, the plate was empty and her husband was grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

Another story has the granddaughter wanting to know about her recently deceased grandmother. I instantly saw a rose and at the same time, heard the word. I asked her if her grandma’s name was Rose. She said no, but she placed a red rose on her casket. Grandma didn’t appear in my office but said she was “too busy to stop by as she was playing cards” and “could we reschedule?” My client said, “Yep! Sounds just like grandma!”

I’ll share one more story and it’s about a client’s long deceased grandmother; a woman whom my client had never met. This soul wanted my client to know she had a lineage in dealing with healing herbal remedies. My client told me herbs had always resonated with her but she never knew why.

Some of these deceased individuals tell me they’ll be ‘moving on’ soon as they have ‘work’ to do. This is code for they’ll be leaving behind the ability to make their presence known either to me or their loved one. Some thank me profusely for being open to communicate. Others say nothing and request I not let their loved one know they are there as they don’t wish to be a distraction. Still others wish to help with the Reiki session itself.

These deceased souls are thrilled to have someone to communicate through. Each and every time I’ve been a part of these exchanges, they have been filled with gentleness, compassion, love and reassurance.

One deceased husband conspiratorially told me he was ‘pulling strings’ for his wife but he had to be careful as he could upset the balance if he went too far. He assured me, and I assured her, he was doing all he could to help her. Then he approached her side, put his energetic hand over hers, bent slightly forward and gazed so gently and lovingly into her eyes that I felt like an interloper. I was moved to tears by what I saw and felt. It was as if he was capturing her image – or drinking it in – one last time.

The unconditional love these – and countless others – have shared did not diminish with one of their deaths; it transcended.

Melissa’s Note: For those of you who still physically have your loved ones, a regret openly expressed by those who remain is they wish they could have hugged their loved one again. You have the opportunity to do just that.

Holidays

Years ago, in 1999 to be exact, celebrating the Holidays lost its luster (yes, pun intended) for me. In September of that year, my mom died. When the holiday season rolled around just two months later, I was mired in grief so palpable it felt like my heart was being squished. I would burst into tears at the smallest of things. Then it started; the seasonal well-wishers who didn’t have any idea of what was going on inside of me or that I was mourning the loss of not only my mother, but a way of life.

1999 was a big year for me. When my mom unexpectedly died, I realized how deeply unhappy I was in my (starter) marriage.  I realized how quickly things can change and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in a marriage that was harmful and hurtful. I also realized that my excitement for the Holidays was irrevocably tarnished. It felt like I was seeing everything in monochromatic colors instead of the bright, festive colors that once were. It felt like, if you’ll forgive my indulgence, I had just discovered after years and years of believing in Santa, that it was all a cruel lie.

Now, I was never one to go overboard on Christmas both in the gift giving and decorating aspect. In fact, in all the years I was single, I never put up a Christmas tree. Not once. Why bother? I wasn’t here for Christmas; I was with my family at their home(s). I would tire of people saying, “Did you put up your tree?” and having to justify why I hadn’t and wouldn’t. You wouldn’t believe the comments or the incredulous looks I received for this simple act of not conforming.  You would have thought I told people I worshiped the devil. I’m not kidding. This still happens today, but I no longer feel the need to justify my actions.

The question, “Do you have all your Christmas presents bought?” is asked by well-meaning individuals and I get the reasoning behind it as it’s top bragging rights if you have. But for me, I feel like it’s no one else’s business, even though I know they are just making small talk. When I reply, “I don’t buy gifts” I’m given the look.  You know the one; wider, slightly disbelieving eyes, mouth agape and head cocked to the side. You can almost hear people wondering if they’ve heard me correctly. You’d think not buying gifts was a sacrilege!

It was around the time of my divorce that I started to feel empowered enough to stop the rat race of gift giving, too. Those changes were occurring because of my girl Charmaine telling me her thoughts on how she was trying to live her life (see my Networking blog) and me trying to apply those thoughts to my life. Well, it was that and the fact I was once again in mourning (loss of my marriage) and I physically didn’t have the finances to buy gifts.

It was incredibly liberating (although scary to go against the norm) to let my relatives/friends know I wouldn’t be giving gifts. In reality, some even took a page from my book and pared down their lists. You see, I subscribe to the theory of giving gifts all year long. Those gifts, whether they are random acts of kindnesses, a large gratuity or a physical gift, mean more to me and feel real versus the banal, stress-filled experience of buying/wrapping/giving Christmas gifts.

Oh yes. Long ago, through my own experiences (aren’t those the best ways to learn?), I realized not everyone is festive and excited for the Holiday season. I realized there were others who were grieving a loss of a job, a death or the demise of a relationship. I understood then that there were others, still, who were struggling with anxiety, depression or even abuse.

Prior to 1999, I was one of those who would end a conversation with, “Merry Christmas!” or “Have a happy Thanksgiving.”  Now you’ll not hear me utter those words unless you have said them to me.  As a side note, you also will not hear me wish you a happy Valentine’s Day as I was lonely for far too many of them, some even while I was married.

I’m deeply aware, both through personal experience and my Work, that others are in emotional pain during a season where merriment rules.  So for me, if I don’t wish you a season’s greeting, it’s not because I’m being unpleasant or have lost my ability to make polite small talk. It’s because I’m trying to honor those who own their grief during a season where grief is not acknowledged.

But before you think I’m all Ebenezer Scrooge, I’ve noticed that since having a baby, my monochromatic vision now has a hint of color. Maybe it’s because I anticipate the excitement and wonderment she’s going to experience. Maybe it’s because I get to experience them with her. Either way, it’s no longer black and white for me but I still won’t be asking if you’ve got your shopping done or put up a tree.

Student

“What’s your problem!? You should be able to figure this out. You’re not a child, you’re an adult. Figure it out!” If I had a dime, no a penny, for every time I’ve thought something like this about myself, I’d be able to retire. Seriously (eye roll).

What am I talking about? Glad you asked. I was going to tell you anyway, but I’m glad you asked. The other day I was working on a client who has been battling a long standing issue. When I was over her heart area, I ‘heard’ her say, “You’re so stupid. You should be able to figure this out. You’re highly educated and yet you still can’t get a handle on this.”  My mouth dropped open and I asked her if this was true. She said it was.

I don’t know what surprised me more; her intuitive information or the fact that I do the same thing! Maybe it startled me because well, it was her. She’s a highly educated and accomplished woman who teaches at the collegiate level.  Maybe it was because of this exact thing, her with her vast education and me with my limited one, which allowed me to realize we are mentally doing the same harmful thing.

I received some life changing intuitive information after those thoughts left my mind. I was told she needed to treat herself like the student, not the teacher. Awwwww. Yes… that makes perfect sense and I listened to those wise words as well.

We talked about how when we reach a certain age, we think we should have the answers to why we do or don’t do certain things. We talked about how we belittle ourselves when we can’t arrive at an answer.  We also talked about how we would never speak harshly to ourselves for not knowing how to perform, say, brain surgery if we weren’t a brain surgeon. And yet, for things we deem we should know the solution to, we berate and chide ourselves constantly.

The Guys had a valid point (yes, I’ll give you that one Guys) when they said, ‘become the student.’ When we want to learn about a particular subject, we try and find teachers to help us. Those teachers could be at the academic level, Google level or even the spiritual level. But in matters that deal with ourselves, instead of seeking a teacher we use harmful negative self-talk.

There are so many flaws with this line of thinking. I mean, you wouldn’t try to improve your knowledge with a verbal beat down, would you? Uhhh, the answer is ‘no’ in case you’re still thinking about this. No! You’d find the answers. So it makes me wonder; at what point do we feel we are omnipotent about our own lives? When do we consider ourselves adults and feel we should know everything about ourselves in order to solve our sometimes life-long dilemmas?

How about the next time you catch yourself being internally harsh about a problem you think you should have the answers to, you change your response.  Maybe you say, “I don’t have the answers but I’ll try to find someone who does.”  Wouldn’t that feel more empowering than snapping, “Grow up. You’re not a child! Figure it OUT.”  And the answer is ‘yes’ for those of you still thinking about this.

In life, we don’t stop learning. Putting unrealistic expectations on yourself about what knowledge you should have once you become an ‘adult’ only opens the door for negative, abusive self-talk. After all, we don’t reach a certain magical age and know it all about ourselves. We still – and always will be – students who need teachers.

Lost

When I was a little girl, maybe 7 or 8, I became very lost. I had gone to a neighborhood not far from my own but one that was foreign to me. I went walking with a friend and we got into an argument and she stormed off. I was to mad to follow her. Puhhh. I didn’t need her. I could find my own way home. So I ended up wandered around hilly streets until I became tired, hungry and frightened. 

I had walked by a house, at least once, that had a beautiful weeping willow in the front yard. I remembered that house, in particular, because we had a weeping willow in our backyard. On my second (or third) pass, I decided I couldn’t keep wandering around so I sat beneath the branches of the beautiful tree in hopes someone would find ME.  Why I ultimately chose that house or that tree wasn’t consciously known to me. But as you all know, I preach there are no coincidences.

As I sat with my chin resting on my knees and my arms wrapped tightly around my legs, I cried and wished for my mom. The house’s garage door opened and a car pulled in. A tall, middle aged woman got out and slowly walked toward me. She had kind eyes and instead of standing to her full height, she bent down as she approached.  When she reached me, she knelt next to my little, tightly curled up body and said, “Honey. Are you lost?” She was so caring and so maternal and I felt so relieved that someone had found me that I started bawling even harder. All I could do was nod my head. 

She asked if I wanted to call my mom or dad. Did I know my mommy or daddy’s number?  Yes. I did. She brought me inside and made me hot cocoa while she (or I?) called my mom.  She had an easy, flowing way of helping me become calm. She chatted with me (not to me, there is a difference) as if I was an old friend who had stopped in for a visit.  

I don’t remember much more of the experience except getting into the back seat of my dad’s car and wondering if he was going to yell at me for getting lost, for going into a stranger’s home or for interrupting his work day.  He did not yell and he did not berate. What he did was asked if I was OK. For my rather unemotional dad, this meant the world to me and it helped me feel safe.

As we topped a hill, I caught my bearings and knew where we were. I felt silly because I was so close to home and yet didn’t know it. But that experience began a lifelong fear of becoming lost.

As a young adult and well into my adulthood, I would suffer from anxiety when I needed to be somewhere I’d never been before.  This was well before the days of GPS or even MapQuest.  This was when you actually had to go to a brick and mortar library if you wanted information on a particular subject. The internet hadn’t been created and cell phones were still a glint in someone’s eye.

Keep in mind I traveled for a living when I worked in banking. I traveled all over the vast, great state of North Dakota and each time I faced a new address, I would get my mini-freak out on.  I would arrive at my destinations ridiculously early so I didn’t arrive late. My thoughts were this: if I became lost I would have time to figure it out before I was late. Being late was (and is!) incredibly distasteful to me.

When I was in counseling, we worked on this powerful memory. Some 13 years later, I’m still working on it. With the invention of GPS, etc., I feel more in control but I am still glued to the little computer voice that tells me when to turn and that my address will be on the right.  I still plan my route before I leave the house and I make sure I have some wiggle room in the time area.  I often joke that I am ‘directionally challenged’ and more often than not, I hear others say, “Me too!” 

I’d like to put the finishing touch on the story I began earlier. Not long after my lost  incident happened, my Brownie den leader quit and I was reassigned to another troop.  As fate would have it, the woman who found me, the woman who owned the house with the beautiful weeping willow, was my new den leader. Yep. Seriously. 

Putting this story on paper has helped me recognize that there has never been a time when becoming lost (physically, emotionally or spiritually) didn’t turn into finding my way. The countless fearful scenarios I’ve created in my mind over the years have never come to life, not once.

With or without consciously knowing it, we all come equipped with a roadside (uhhh, heaven side?) assistance plan. It doesn’t matter if we feel we are on the wrong spiritual, physical or emotional path. There is always guidance available to you, whether it is a physical person, an Ascended Being or an intuitive feeling.

Remember: If you feel lost, maybe you’re just one hill from being home, too.

Empathic

“I’m a what? An Empath? What’s that?” That’s the response I often receive when I tell my clients they are empathic. My standard response is that you feel other people’s emotions; you just ‘know’ a person/animal’s emotional state.

According to a definition search on Google, an Empath is, “(chiefly in science fiction) a person with the paranormal ability to apprehend the mental or emotional state of another individual.”  (Insert a derisive snort, eye roll and for good measure, let’s throw in a chuffaw)  ‘Chiefly in science fiction’ my lily white bum.

The word “Empath” comes from the word “Empathy,” which Google tells me is “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.”  This form of the word “empathic” must be more acceptable as there isn’t a ‘chiefly in science fiction’ disclaimer attached to it.

How do you know if you’re Empathic? Well, according to The Healers Journal, there are 30 signs to look for. Here are five of them:

1.    Knowing

2.    Overwhelmed in public places

3.    Taking on the emotions or physical ailments of others

4.    Intolerance to watching (or reading about) violence or cruelty

5.    Excellent listener

As long as I can remember, I have had issues dealing with large crowds. I’m talking weddings, funerals, graduations, award ceremonies, even watching little squirts play hockey.  Anywhere there is strong emotion, I’m bound to tear up even if I don’t have a vested interested in what’s going on.

Years ago, YEARS ago, I was one of several students giving Reiki to my (now) bestie and (then) mentor, Susie, during a Reiki Gathering. Susie is an imposing figure (she’s over 6 feet tall) and she is, in my opinion, responsible for forging the path of Reiki/intuitive work in Fargo. I tell you this because, for me, all of that – her stature, her intuitive gifts and her knowledge – was very intimidating to a newly practicing intuitive such as myself.

I was working over her heart area when I was overcome with sadness. Before I could even register what was happening, I opened my maw and said (sighed, really), “Oh Susieeeeeeeeeeee.” She, who had been trying to hide her feelings and the drama that was going on in her personal life, looked up at me, clutched one of my hands and burst out crying.  She felt ‘seen’ and that, she later said, was reassuring and comforting. Because of my empathic skills and the cojones to not let intimidation stop me, a deep and trusting friendship began.

One of the biggest issues of being an Empath is dealing with the ‘energy vampires.’ You know what I’m talking about; the leeches who suck the (energetic) life right out of you. The constant and eternal Debbie Downers who thrive on drama and negativity. These people are infinitely unhappy in their own lives and like a moth to a flame (the flame being you, my empathic friends), flutter about you until they either burn or you manage to shoo them away.

Back when I didn’t know how to protect myself from these psychic attacks, I constantly felt drained and I found myself trying to avoid certain people. As I spiritually learned and grew, I embraced a couple simple protection techniques that saved my proverbial bacon. They are as follows:

1.    The Bubble of Protection: Imagine yourself inside a “Glenda the Good Witch” bubble and nothing but the energy for your highest good can penetrate it.

2.    Purifying White Light: Imagine yourself bathed in a beam of pure white light. It cleanses you and keeps out all that is not for your highest good.

3.    Mirrors: Imagine yourself behind a large, unblemished mirror.  All that is not for your highest good will be repelled.

Those are three of my favorites. I’ve even created a meditation about them. I used these techniques a lot before I built up energetic ‘calluses’ which naturally protect me (somewhat) from those that seek to syphon my energy.

As I find myself on our way to my father-in-laws funeral, my mind turns toward this subject. He is a man whom I’ve never met and yet several times this week I have been moved to tears. I must be picking up on the energy of those he has left behind; the wife who stood by his side for over 25 years, the hired hand who worked tirelessly for him for over 30 years and, I suppose, for the granddaughter who will never know her grandpa. I think his death is also triggering emotions from my own dad’s death.

I know I’ll be bawling at the funeral and it has nothing to do with my personal feelings. I’ll be picking up on the emotions of loss, sadness and grief.  But I’m good with crying. Totally.  I also know I’ll be seeking some quiet time (another empathic need) to help me unwind from all of these emotions.

Being an Empath is a gift and it helps me see what my clients try to hide. It allows me to be a far more effective Healer and a more compassionate person.  Clearly, this empathic stuff isn’t just for Deanna Troi of Star Trek: The Next Generation (yes! I’m a TREKY!).

Exit

“Dad?” I asked, “Can you see the angel at the foot of your bed, standing by the wall?” He said he couldn’t but I could and what I saw made me nervous.

My dad was succumbing to the cancer that was eating him alive. He was in a hospital bed and I was sitting with him. The ‘old’ me never would have asked my highly logical and unspiritual dad if he could see an angel. I mean, HELLO! Looney bin?! But I wasn’t the ‘old’ me any longer and my dad was dying, literally, in front of me.

When dad first told me he was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer, I adamantly denied this. I ‘saw’ a white spot inside his shoulder and told him it wasn’t cancer, as cancer would be black. I kept saying, “It’s not cancer. You don’t have cancer” and he would quietly respond, “Yes, I do.”

When I asked my Guys (Guardian Angels) about this, they told me it WASN’T cancer. They said the medical community didn’t know how to classify this and with all things unknown, they lumped them into the cancer category. Whether this is true or not, I don’t know.

My sister, brother and I would tag team taking care of dad until it was no longer possible for him to live in the house he wanted to die in. Through all of this, dad was open to me giving him Reiki and would often request it as he said it helped with the overall pain and with the burning sensation from his radiation treatments.

So when I glanced up from my dad’s hospital bed and saw an angel all in black, I became frightened. Nothing about his demeanor was frightening, though. He was casually posed with his back against the wall. One of his legs was bent and his foot was resting on the wall. He had jet black, silky wings, dark hair, light skin and black eyes (no white sclera’s). He was incredibly handsome and had a powerful, yet calming, presence.

I didn’t sense animosity or evil but because Hollywood has depicted black as malevolent, I was afraid he was there to harm my dad. I became even more protective of my father and telepathically said, ‘You’re not welcome here. You need to leave. Now.’ When I looked again, the angel had complied with my wish. He was gone and I was  shaking.

A few days later, when my dad was no longer able to breathe without assistance and his heart was the only organ that was still unfailingly functioning, I saw this angel again. His demeanor had changed though. Previously it felt like he was just observing or seeing how things were going. This time, his head was bent and his hands were clasped in front of him. It looked as if he was paying his respects or mourning with us.

I knew then that this angel wasn’t there to harm my dad. He was there to take my dad Home. Maybe I knew that when he first made an appearance but I didn’t want to believe it. I am an eternal optimist and believed my dad, through a miracle, could/would get better almost up until the point his heart quit beating.

As us three kids sat around our father’s hospital bed, my dad died.  I wouldn’t have known it physically, but I happened to look up and saw a see-through version of my dad standing at the foot of his bed. The angel stood behind and slightly to the side of him.

The image of my dad was that of a man who was much younger; he was in his early forties. He was wearing a black suit with a thin black tie and a white shirt. His head was bowed and his hands were clasped. It felt like my dad, too, was paying his respects. It all felt very somber.

I glanced back at the physical body my dad’s soul inhabited for 84 years. He was no longer there. I again looked at the astral version of my dad and he WAS still there. A sad, peaceful smile formed on my face. I was overcome with relief that my dad was no longer in agony and he was going somewhere where there was no pain and lots of fabulous golf courses. I also knew his pain had ended and mine had just begun. I took so much comfort and felt infinitely blessed being able to see what I did with my intuitive sight.

Dad didn’t look up, not once. He kept his stance of respect until I could no longer see him. I intuitively said, “Dad? I love you. PLEASE let me know when you’ve made it.”

About five months later, I was sitting in our campsite, alone. Trinity was fishing and I was reading a book. I looked up and saw my dad. He was dressed in some hideous checkered golf shorts from the late 70’s and a white golf shirt. He was sitting on a log about 4 feet in front of me. I excitedly and yet casually said, “Hi daddy!” He, ever a man of few words said, “Well, you asked me to tell you when I made it.  I made it. So, I guess that’s it. I’ll bring your mother with me next time.”  I said, “Ok, daddy. I love you” and he replied, “Yep. Guess I love you, too. Well, I’m off then.”  And once again, he was gone. This time though, with his departure, I felt comfort and peace instead of sorrow and loss.

Crazy

Google defines ‘crazy’ as:  “Mentally deranged, esp. as manifested in a wild or aggressive way.” It goes on to add synonyms such as: insane, out of one’s mind, deranged, demented and lunatic.

Seriously, with descriptions like this, is it any wonder we fear those with mental illness?

I have a friend who went through physical hell for the last year or so. She thought she had an auto-immune disease but the doctors said she didn’t quite fit the mold. She had some of the symptoms, but not all of them and then some symptoms of other diseases. In short, the medical community didn’t know what to do with Connie. They couldn’t label her with a physical disease even though her pain would be, at times, debilitating and left her suffering with insomnia, seizures and high blood pressure.

Eventually, she developed severe panic/anxiety attacks. Even though her rational mind was saying she wasn’t in danger and didn’t need to fight, flight or freeze, she would have a very physical reaction to this self-perceived harm.  Her medical doctor put on her on anti-anxiety medicine and suggested (FINALLY!!!) she try counseling.

Connie did seek the services of a therapist and was frustrated that she, after going so long without knowing what was wrong, STILL didn’t have a medical diagnosis. When she asked the therapist about this, Connie was told that she, the therapist, really hesitated to tell people their diagnosis because of the negative connotations surrounding it. She told Connie her diagnosis was a mental illness.

Dum de dahhhhh dah DUM. And there it is. The words: “MENTAL ILLNESS.”

For some of us, these two little words can be scarier than anything Stephen King could bring to life. Oh, I don’t mean we fear developing mental illness ourselves. Noooooo, we fear those who have it.  Fear might be too strong of a word, but most of us are certainly are uncomfortable.

You tell someone you have heart disease, diabetes or even cancer and that is immediately accepted. No questions asked; no fear in their eyes. You’re told, “I’m sorry to hear that. How are you doing? Do you need anything?” Or maybe you just receive a generic nod of the head and an uninspired ‘oh’.  These physical diseases are accepted and freely talked about so why aren’t mental health issues? Why is that taboo?

I have a young nursing student friend who recently was diagnosed with a mental illness. She had a nervous breakdown or ‘psychotic episode’ one day and immediately took herself to the emergency room. Her brain had reached the limits of stress, overload and pain it would endure. Her brain said, “enough!”

She came to see me about a week later. She was wondering why, even though she was taking her medication as prescribed, she was still having problems cognitively (memory retention and concentration).  When I asked my Guys (Guardian Angels) about this, they said she had received a wound to her brain and it needed to be treated with the same care you would give to a wound you could see.  They went on to say it might take up to six months before her brain injury healed and functioned in the manner it did prior to the injury.

Stress, genetics, biology and psychological trauma are all causes of mental illness. They can also cause physical illness. Interesting, huh? As you’ve read in the case of Connie, these mental traumas can mimic physical diseases. If your mind mimics the disease for too long, the disease will become real. The body has a way of saying what the mind cannot. Are you listening to yours?

Let’s not underestimate the value of healing your brain, whether it’s by conventional methods such as a professionally trained counselor or non-conventional methods such as IET, Body Talk or even Reiki. Healing trauma within your mind can have resounding effects on your physical body and psyche.

Connie gave me permission to tell her story, even though she’s scared she’ll be judged. She has a strong desire to bring awareness and to educate others about this. It does not need to be awkward or avoided. In truth, mental illness is so common. Did you know eating disorders, PTSD, autism, anxiety, suicide (yes, suicide) and depression (to name a few) are ALL mental illnesses? When you look at it that way, who HASN’T been touched (pun intended) by this?

Connie’s hope is that we can reduce or eliminate the stigma surround mental illness. She’d like to get rid of the demeaning comments, the discrimination and even the harassment. Sometimes this is subtle, like people avoiding eye contact once you tell them your diagnosis. Sometimes it’s not so subtle and the words and body language used can be cruel.

Imagine this: On the job you certainly wouldn’t say, “You have high blood pressure so you could stroke out at any moment. We’d better not put you in a stressful situation” but that’s one type of implied discrimination mental illness receives.  Remember, as with anything physical, if a mental disease is properly treated there is no concern of someone ‘going postal’ because of it.

The following statement is from one our local radio stations and it’s so appropriate: “Normal? Isn’t that a setting on a washing machine? Who wants to be normal?!?”

After doing research for this blog, I’m wondering who IS normal? With all the stress, the workloads and the overwhelming need to be constantly being plugged in, mental illness could just become a little less crazy and a lot more normal.

Networking

The word “networking” has been coming up for me a lot this past month. Up until last week, I had shunned all attempts by strangers or casual acquaintances to meet for coffee. I did this for a few reasons. One is my days off are precious, full of errands and me time. I guard them like a momma honey badger. The second is I like to keep boundaries between my professional and personal life. Lastly, it hasn’t felt right and I couldn’t see a reason for doing it.  So when I received her email asking me if I’d like to have coffee, surprisingly, I didn’t hesitate. I immediately said, “Let’s do it!”

Several years ago my very wise bestie Charmaine said something to me that altered my life.  As we were sipping adult beverages by the shore of her parent’s lake cabin, we were talking about commitments. I was recently divorced and still very new to knowing about this spiritual growth stuff. She said, “Here’s how I try to live my life (I think she was all of 25 at the time). I examine each request I receive. If I immediately know I want (not should or need) to do it, I commit on the spot. If it has merit but I’m not sure, I’ll think about it and tell the person I need more time. If it doesn’t feel right or if it’s not for me, I’ll decline the invitation. Where it gets tricky is when I feel I should do such and such but my heart isn’t in it. Even with that kind of stuff, I sit with it for a while and if it feels like a chore, I won’t do it.”

I’m taking some creative license with my memory. I think, in truth, Charmaine said something like, “I won’t do something because it is socially expected of me. I don’t care if it’s a family, work or social obligation. If it feels wrong, I won’t accept the request even if my family feels I’m letting them down.”

Some time ago I wrote a blog entitled, “No” where I talked about my reaction to trying to get out of things I’d committed to but didn’t really want to do. Does praying for a natural disaster sound familiar to anyone? Uh huh. I thought so.

Over the course of the years I’ve learned how to sit with stuff and if it doesn’t feel right, I won’t commit. So let’s get back to the coffee date.  Maybe I agreed because I read energy for a living and I knew her energy was not manipulative. She didn’t want something from me and there wasn’t an ulterior motive. She was open and honest and very complimentary about my blogs (oooh yes, pet my ego..purrr….purrrrr…meeYOWWW). She’s also a fabulous woman who, at almost 40 (yes, I received permission to publish her age), is coming into her own by making decisions that may not win the popularity vote with family or friends, but they feel right to her.

We talked about our lives and loves and about ¾ of the way through our chat, I discovered I had ordered a caffeinated beverage and was talking faster than an auctioneer. Truly. And I, by nature and geographic location, am already a fast talker. I heard my voice becoming even more Alvin and the Chipmunk-like and I stopped mid-sentence, took a breath, leveled a gaze at her and said, “Shit. My coffee is caffeinated.”

I’m telling you this because even then I felt completely at ease. Maybe it’s being in my late forties. Maybe it was her energy. Maybe it was mine. I don’t know. I was comfortable with who I was and who I had become. I wasn’t worried about pepper in my teeth or the fact that I didn’t do my hair. I wasn’t concerned I wouldn’t know what to say or how to act or that I’d be judged for my choice of careers. I wasn’t worried about coming off as professional or (God FORBID) unprofessional. I was just being me and I was having fun.

It was a turning point for me and I will be forever grateful to Marilyn for conquering one of her fears by stepping out on the skinny branch (as she termed it) and asking me out for coffee. It helped me realize I no longer need to put on a public persona or act a certain way (old issue). It felt really good to make a new friend and to awaken a new healing awareness within myself.

It also felt really good to be able to share our knowledge in ways that mutually benefited us.  That, my friends, is the type of networking I’ll do all day long as it feels less like a chore and more like an extension of the Work I do while I’m in session.

(Side Note: If any of you know a Networking group you think would be able to handle me, ooops, – cough – I mean I would enjoy and be able to make valuable contributions to, please let me know.)

Rudeness

 

Disrespect, rudeness and being impolite are MAJOR hot buttons of mine. Lately those buttons have been pushed to their limits. When something bothers a person intensely, it’s likely because that person may hold themselves to a higher standard. You would never think to treat a person in the manner in which you are being treated so when it happens to you, it irritates the (bleep) out of you.

My mom and dad instilled in us manners and respect. Rudeness was not tolerated. They taught us to say please and thank you. They taught us to hold open doors for others.  They even taught us (gasp!) to call if we couldn’t make an appointment.

Somewhere between them, me and the next generation(s), manners and respect have taken a backseat to rudeness. It feels like some people are just SOOOOO self-important they deem it acceptable to talk loudly on their cell phones, continue their phone conversations while they are getting their hair cut, in the check-out line or receiving a pedicure. They text their spouse when they want a divorce and yet can’t be bothered to use the cell phone to cancel a scheduled appointment.

I don’t understand why others feel they can treat human beings so impolitely, rudely and disrespectfully.  Is it because they are just too busy for social etiquette? Is it because they are narcissistic? Is it because ‘everyone’ does it? Or is it because they haven’t learned (or are un-learning) how to show respect or what manners are?

My husband left for Minot at 5 am to meet with two clients. One client decided not to show for his requested and confirmed meeting. He didn’t call my husband and he didn’t answer my husband’s phone call. Keep in mind, this guy REQUESTED my husband drive to Minot (4 ½ hours’ drive time – one way) because he didn’t want a teleconference. Normally, in situations like this, I’d hope everything was OK and give the person the benefit of a doubt but apparently this guy was well enough to let his work know at 8am he was ‘taking the day off.’

Some time ago, I wrote a blog entitled, “Hello” where I spoke about people not returning my greeting.  I am applying this same dynamic to school age children (6 through 16) as I walk my 22 month old to daycare. I say “hi,” “hello” or even “good morning” to each child I pass. About 50% of them ignore me.  One little prima donna was sooooo into her phone she refused to look up or move so we could pass.  I said “Excuse us” twice before she gave me the stink eye and disdainfully moved two inches. I ended up using the grass to get around her. Whaaa???? Evidently she slept through the ‘Respect Your Elders’ portion of her politeness class, too.

My husband will spend hours putting together a professional bid and have it to the requester before the deadline. He’ll not receive a response, even though he’s requested a read receipt. This leaves him wondering if his email went into a spam filter. He’ll type another response, resend and not hear a word.

He’s not the only one with the issue; I am no stranger to having requested information go unacknowledged and I bet all of you reading this blog are nodding your heads in agreement. Evidently some people can’t be bothered with this small bit of social etiquette.

Do you know how long it takes to type ‘thank you’ and press send on your computer?  It literally takes two to three seconds. Yes, anal-retentive me timed myself. Well duh!

In today’s technology world, a world that is supposed to make our lives easier, how is it we are too busy to send a 6 second text or a 30 second email?

Have we, with our smart-phones, our 60 hour work weeks and our self-perceived importance forgotten that it takes one second to greet someone or about 8 seconds to hold open a door? Have we forgotten that ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ shouldn’t be optional? Have we deemed others so beneath us that they don’t warrant a response or a fragment of our time?

To me, it feels like this digital age revolution is becoming too high-tech for old fashioned manners.

Money

The relief I needed came in the form of a whisper just as I was falling asleep.  I’ve known for years the Ascended Beings find it easiest to communicate when we are somewhere between drowsiness and stage one of sleep. Even for me, someone who communicates with Guardian Angels all day long, it’s often easiest for them to ‘wow’ me with this type of unexpected and clear communication.

After my divorce, I lived in an apartment. It was only supposed to be temporary, a year tops. I didn’t know when I signed the lease that my banking position was going to be eliminated. I stayed in that apartment for five years. I thought about the money I was wasting by not building equity in a home but if I spent my savings on a home (mortgage), I’d be forced to return to the 8 to 5 (7 to 6?) grind.

Money is my security blanket. I’m a saver, not a spender. Money means having the freedom to do things, buy things and not having to eat ramen noodles or cheesy rice four out of seven nights (cough). So when I decided to skip returning to mainstream Corporate America, one of my – if not the only concern – was financial.

When I started Inner Focus Reiki, it truly was a leap of faith. I knew if I was to do this, I had to continue making my savings last. That meant I had to stretch a dollar even further or risk returning to something I found distasteful. But, all is not lost! I’m not Budget Betty’s daughter for nothing! (Note: “Budget Betty” was an affectionate name us kids gave our mom. She would drive across town to return a loaf of bread if it was 25 cents cheaper elsewhere. She, of course, didn’t calculate the cost of her time and gas money into returning said bread……)

When Trinity and I became serious, I was very clear that I would not return to Corporate America and that this – Reiki – was my passion and my job. He supported me and my decision whole-heartedly. When we run into financial struggles, I repeatedly offer to return to the workplace. He steadfastly and repeatedly says no. (Thank heavens!)

So all these years, ALL THESE YEARS, I have fussed about money. I feel really good about myself when I can save, not spend. And now that I’m part of a family again, there’s something inside of me that wants to feel like I’m earning my keep or doing my (financial) part. I’m almost in a tizzy over it.

When Trinity became self-employed in March, these frantic feelings intensified. I became a crazed fool trying to think of ideas and ways I could bring in more money. It was, as my friend Shannon recently lovingly pointed out, taking some of the fun out of my Work for me.  

When I first started IFR, my goal was to help take away the pain from just one person. That was it.  It wasn’t about the money or having full classes/meditations or even coming up with the next best thing.  No. Not once. It wasn’t about putting money in savings or contributing a larger portion of the financial pie. I just wanted to help people. I told myself if my savings became dangerously low, I’d have to leave IFR and find a ‘day’ job. That, obviously, hasn’t happened but as my family grew, so did my need to feel like I was financially contributing more.

So when the Guys recently whispered that Trinity would soon be bringing in enough money to take the self-imposed financial burden off of me, I was overcome with relief. I didn’t know how much pressure I’d placed upon myself until I heard those words. I thought, “Finally! I can get back to doing what I love and not worry about money!”

As I’m finishing this blog, my mind wanders to all the things I want to accomplish while  under the umbrella of my Work. It also wanders to the dishwasher we had to replace last week, to the clothes washer we replaced this week and to the Reiki 1 class I had to cancel for next week.

Sigh. Breathing. Trusting. Freaking OUT. Breathing.