When Your World Feels Smaller...Again

I was working on a different post to today, about playing safe and succumbing to sabotage….but as I’ve watched the world unfold over the past week, that doesn’t feel as urgent or important as addressing what many are dealing with right now. With COVID cases rising in Western Canada in particular, where I am, and in other parts of the world as the second wave hits full surge, there’s a new sense of urgency, hopelessness and frustration mounting. 

My hometown back in Saskatchewan has been hit with an outbreak at two care homes, a child care centre, and a local business. So far. Staff and residents of these facilities, customers and members of the small community are being hit hard. Childhood friends’ parents, siblings and grandparents are testing positive, being isolated and in some cases, being hospitalized and placed on life-supporting ventilators.

It’s scary, and it’s personal. 

In other parts of the country, infection, hospitalization and death rates are rising (again), and so schools are closing (again), restaurants, gyms and other businesses are closing (again) and other restrictions are being put in place (again) to slow the spread of infection to enable the healthcare system to keep up with demand, so they can, you know, save lives. 

I want to offer some words here that may help if you’re struggling to be with this uncertainty, fear, despair and sense of foreboding.

If the thought of locking down during the cold, dark winter months has you feeling like You. Just. Can’t. Even.

If you can’t find it in you to strap on your mask and do it all over again, and maybe again, and maybe even again.

If you’re depleted and defeated and despairing.

Here are some tips, perspectives and inspiration to keep you going. Take what helps, set aside what doesn’t, reach out if you need more, and pass this along to anyone else who may need it. 

It’s okay to feel overwhelmed / angry / afraid / hopeless / whatever.

Basically, it’s okay to feel it all, especially the hard, negative, uncomfortable stuff. Be in it. Allow it in, observe it, be curious about what it reveals to you and about you. When you are ready (you’ll know: you’ll be sick of feeling this way) only then begin to move forward. This is how we build resilience. For a refresher, read this. 

It’s okay to ask for help.

We’re holding a lot right now. Again. Still. There are people who are trained to help in times like these. There are also people who are untrained and who love you and want to help. Reach out and ask for help when you can’t carry it all alone. 

It’s okay to take care of yourself.

In fact, please do. And if you need it, here’s my piece on self-care as a reminder of how to prioritize and embed care of self in your daily life. 

It’s also okay to feel good, despite everything that’s going on.

Maybe you’re cushioned from the blows this pandemic is battering on those around you. You like (and are able to be) working from home. You like your housemates enough to spend 24/7/365 with them. You’re healthy. Maybe even happy.

If you’re already feeling good, why not shift that to feeling grateful? Engage in a daily gratitude practice to maintain the positive vibes and healthy outlook. It will boost your immunity, make you more pleasant to be around, and more able to show up and do your good work and support those around you.

And, if you need help to feel good, I love this happiness chemicals cheat sheet that’s circulating on various online communities right now, that I recreated.

Feeling good is good. Doing good is better.

If you're able and it’s safe, offer to provide assistance to the marginalized communities in your world, either through your money, your time or your effort. The homeless and at-risk population in particular has been hit hard by the pandemic -- lack of beds in shelters due to social distancing; lack of money to be made because of fewer pedestrians and shoppers, fewer people carrying cash and fewer transactions in the sex trade due to social distancing; lack of outreach supports due to lack of funding and volunteers who are themselves vulnerable because of age or health conditions. And now with winter weather underway, there is likely (for sure) someone who will benefit from your generosity and good fortune -- you just need to look and offer it. 

It won’t be like this forever.

It just feels that way. Several promising vaccines are in trial. There are smart people working on solutions, tracking and analyzing information, making sense of the chaos. We, through them, learn more every day. There’s hope. And let’s be real: it also won’t ever be exactly like it was before. That fact can be hard to understand and accept, so please don’t despair if it feels like too much.

What can help? Grieve what you miss, what you long for, what you regret. Then allow yourself to dream about how it might be when we can gather in large groups, hug our friends and families, and enjoy unencumbered movement and travel and care-free-dom again. Create a list of “what you’ll do first when...” Let it inspire you. Share it, so it may inspire others. Let’s dream together.

You can keep doing uncomfortable things, and you can do hard things.

Let’s be clear: for most people, wearing a mask is not a hard thing.

Washing your hands is not a hard thing.

Refraining from going to a restaurant or a movie is not a hard thing.

Being isolated in your home, whether that is a house, an apartment, a hospital room or a care home, can be hard.

Closing your business because it’s no longer viable is hard.

Being ill and hospitalized and ventilated is hard.

And living in ambiguity, in uncertainty, and feeling untethered is hard.

Acknowledge yourself for all you’ve done and grown and learned this year: your adaptability, your stick-with-it-edness, your ability to get up each day and keep trying. Celebrate that you’ve made it this far. You’ve made it nine months through a pandemic.

You know what else takes nine months? Growing a new human being. How have you grown over the past nine months? Consider all the skills, choices, ups, downs and sidewayses that you’ve incubated, nourished, hoped, dreamed, grieved, supported, tried, failed and delivered through the past nine months, and give yourself some credit.

And maybe some cake, too. Celebration calls for cake. 

The bottom line, for now.

Uncertainty is difficult for us humans. Extended uncertainty is really difficult. Most of us tend to like certainty, structure, routine, a sure thing, some boards to bounce off of (a winter/hockey metaphor for you there). We’re figuring out how to be and do in these strange times, making it up as we go, still, nine months running. 

And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s even a bit emotionally liberating for some of us. 

What rises to the top of your priorities when the world is shutting down or closing in/up around you? 

What can you set aside, set down, settle so you can attend to what’s most important, most helpful, most comforting right now? 

What falls away? 

What reveals itself to you and in you? 

How can you hold this uncertainty as an opportunity for choice, clarity and discernment? 

If you’re called to explore these questions, or need help of any kind (a referral to a service provider, recommendations for resources, or anything else to help you carry on) please reach out. Let’s take care of each other.  

Inspired Action Alert

I want to call out the impact of being moved to inspired action despite a negative circumstance. A childhood friend, Shannon Grant Tompkins, started a Facebook page after her father was hospitalized due to COVID last week to bring attention to the real people this pandemic is impacting. By inviting folks to share the human faces of the pandemic, she’s creating community, an avenue for witnessing and space for healing, which is what we need right now. You can find it here: Beyond the Statistics: The Canadian Faces of Covid-19. Please send some positive healing vibes her dad’s way.

Finding Gifts in Chronic Illness

I remember the first time I heard someone describe their experience with a rare form of cancer -- including intrusive testing, rounds of chemo, a near-deadly infection and a stem cell transplant -- as a gift. 

Whaaaaat? I’d thought. 

But then I saw how they lived -- really lived -- after coming through that ordeal, and I started to understand their perspective. 

And then I had my own experience with a cancer diagnosis, and the limbo time of not knowing how bad it was, or what treatments would be needed, and what outcome might be likely, and that perspective sunk deeply into my bones. 

Getting a scary diagnosis can be a wake-up call for many folks. It was for me. 

And while my cancer experience was relatively easily and quickly resolved with positive outcomes, the lessons that came from it have stayed with me. 

Life is short, so focus on what and who really matters. 

You don’t have put up with bullshit. 

Live in the present. Let go of the past. 

And all the other things you see in trite memes on the interwebs. (And, they’re true.) 

The immediacy and urgency of a scary diagnosis, and coming through the other side, often feels like permission to change things up in our lives. 

I wondered, could that be the case for people with chronic illnesses too? I mean, getting handed a life-limiting or life-altering diagnosis (rather than an imminent or potentially imminent life-ENDING diagnosis) throws your life into total disarray, too. It causes you to question and assess and adjust and learn and stretch and adapt like nothing else, just so you can keep living. 

My experience of having a chronic illness is that it’s like a heavy pack that I can’t ever set down on a hike that never ends (until it does!). It’s a slog.

Could that pack have some gems hidden in it? Could I see a long-term illness from that same perspective -- as a gift? Could that pebble in my shoe that’s piercing my tender arch as I walk through life, actually turn out to be a sparkly little diamond?

I began asking myself: 

What’s the gift of a chronic illness? 

What has it offered, created or inspired in my life? 

What have I learned because of it?

How have I grown because of this illness?

Here’s what I can directly attribute to living with Type 1 diabetes for nearly 40 years: 

1. I’m a master planner and am incredibly organized. I can see an outcome and work backwards to create the minute steps and sequences to arrive there. I love calendars and schedules and had to learn early on how to plan ahead for all outcomes and be prepared -- packing extra food, all my supplies and backups for any outing, whether for an hour or two weeks in a foreign country. It’s why I landed naturally in communications strategy and execution, and strategic planning and project management as parts of my career path.

2. I’m in tune with my body in a way a lot of other people wouldn’t be. I know what it feels like to have plummeting or skyrocketing blood sugar, or the particular cause of a headache based on how it feels and where it starts. I know when to expect a yeast infection based on my blood sugars, or what my blurry eyesight means, or what this level of energy or lack of energy means. I know to expect low blood sugars when my hormones are cycling at certain times of the month. The number of times I pause during a day and listen and feel into my body to inform my choices -- whether to eat, sleep, walk, get on a call with a client -- is likely in the range of 100-200 times a day. In fact, a study out of Stanford several years ago found that diabetics make 180 extra health-related decisions a day compared to non-diabetics. Those decisions are based on both quantitative and qualitative data; checking in with our bodies is second-nature.  

3. I know more about food and nutrition than most people, and the way those foods, in combination and alone, impact my body. I know the carbohydrate, protein and fat counts of most foods without looking at labels. I know how I will feel after eating a bowl of pasta or a handful of grapes or one Halloween-sized chocolate bar.

4. I can do mental math to calculate the amount of insulin I need to take to be able to absorb any food safely into my body and maintain blood sugars in my target range, while weighing other contributing factors like exercise (how much? how long? what kind?), how much onboard insulin is coursing through my veins, hormonal fluctuations, and the digestion rate of food I’ve eaten earlier and will eat later. 

5. I have a high pain tolerance from stabbing myself with lancets and needles and inserting cannulas and other subcutaneous devices over the years, as well as going for regular blood work...every three months I get stabbed by the professionals. To give you an idea of how many pokes and injections I’ve had… over 38 years at an average of 4 blood tests a day (understanding that on day when my blood sugar is bouncing around, I’ve tested in the range of 15-20 times), I’ve had my fingers poked over 55,000 times (which is why I have no fingerprints on some of my fingers); over the 20 years my insulin was delivered by needle, I have injected approximately 22,000 of them; and since switching to an insulin pump 18 years ago, I’ve inserted almost 2200 infusion sets.

6. I’ve created healthy boundaries in my life to ensure I don’t burn out (again), get dehydrated (again)...or mentally come undone (again). I’ve learned to say no, to assess my energy inputs and outputs, and protect myself from physical and mental harm. I’ve learned what my limitations are and how to truly care for myself so I can be productive and feel like a contributing member of my family and society. 

7. I know how to navigate the healthcare and health insurance systems, and how to advocate for myself. I learned how to trust my gut and use my voice to get what I need from the systems I fund that are supposed to serve me. 

8. I’m compassionate toward others, especially those who manage a disease, condition or are dealing with upheaval. We don’t know what others are dealing with, and empathy goes a long way in giving others the benefit of the doubt and some grace to get through their day. 

Through the conversations I’ve been having with others who answered the call to share their experiences -- long-term illness managers, their partners or spouses, their parents or adult children -- I’ve collected some of the other gifts that chronic conditions have revealed in their lives. I’ve paraphrased and directly quoted their brilliance (without revealing identities) below:

I’m super resilient. 

I can do hard things, and make them look easy.

I have a high pain tolerance: I can take a lot, and keep going. 

I’ve learned to really prioritize what’s important to me, and to focus my energy there, because I can’t do it all, and my capacity will change over time. I’m squeezing the best out of my time. 

I’ve found community through sharing honestly, and received positive affirmation and validation and support in response. Even though it was scary, I shared publicly about really personal things, like the impact of the condition on my new marriage and our sex life, and found support in my community. 

I’m independent and self-sufficient. I learned how to take care of myself at a very young age. 

I’ve learned to ask for help and, more importantly, to accept it. 

I’ve learned to live for each moment; this is all we have and it’s not going to get better than it is today, so seek the joy in each moment. 

I find hope and joy in the small, everyday things. When each day might be my last, I’ve learned to savour my people and everyday comforts -- my favourite chair, my cozy sweater, the taste of apple pie. 

I’m still fucking awesome! Despite [this condition], I’m still a contributing member of society, an amazing parent and partner, and I’m living a life that’s good and meaningful. 

These feel like a balm to my heart, when I think about all the struggles and challenges and extra burden these folks carry, just to get through a day. 

If you’re in the same boat -- managing a long-term condition -- and it gets you down, I encourage you to sit with these prompts to begin to open up the possibility of gifts that you have received because of your condition. These can be a place to turn for comfort on those especially hard days we all have from time to time. 

Without this condition:  

I wouldn’t have learned…

I wouldn’t have tried…

I wouldn’t have met…

I wouldn’t have…

If you want help to explore the gifts of your condition more deeply, or you’re really struggling to believe your situation offers any gifts, I invite you to consider participating in Positively Chronic, a 6-week mental fitness program to help rewire your neural pathways from negative thinking to positive thinking. Through it, you’ll build your “mental muscles” to be able to more quickly and easily find the gifts and opportunity in any situation or event. It’s been a game changer for me in how I manage the mental burden of living with a chronic condition, and I know it can help you too. Reach out if you want to discuss how you could benefit from participating.

Here’s what I know is true:

You are stronger than you think.

You have already done many hard things.

And, you are loved, no matter what. 

The Great Unshorn: A Pandemic Journey of Self-Discovery

So, how about this pandemic, hey? 

For those of us who have been lucky enough not to get sick OR have loved ones fall ill OR have loved ones die, alone in a care home or hospital OR grieve from afar OR lose in come and financial stability OR have trouble finding food, medication, shelter and basic comforts, (deep breath) this pandemic has created an opportunity to examine what is essential in our lives. 

You know, other than our health, our loved ones’ health, and our ability to procure the necessities of basic human survival. 

The fact that you’re still reading tells me you’re probably one of the lucky ones. For those of us who are privileged to be able to maintain a semblance of pre-pandemic life, or absorb the punches coming at us and remain standing, the opportunity to question our first-world daily luxuries is ripe. And I say we pick ‘em. 

Case in point:

I’m noticing in the circles of women with whom I’m intertwined, there is a lot of chatter about the state of our hair. 

(Now, in the life-threatening seriousness of a pandemic, talking about hair may seem frivolous. And it totally is. But stay with me here. 

I want to use the example hair provides to examine all the choices we make about our discretionary resources, and even our entire lives. We’ve all had a relationship with hair in some capacity (whether we currently have any or not) so it offers a tangible starting point for diving deep within. 

And by looking within, we can discover what’s driving our choices, and therefore either continue to make those choices from a place of conscious alignment, or be empowered to make different ones that will create the world we want on the other side of this pandemic. ‘Cause it’s not gonna be like it was before, and neither are we. And our hair can help show us the way.)

Back to pandemic hair. 

I’ve seen and heard lots of lamenting of grey hair, too-long hair, unshaped hair. I’ve seen the tragic, hilarious and occasionally successful Quarantine Cuts that are happening at home. Heck, I performed one on my daughter. She’s happy, so let’s call it a success! I’ve seen the memes and the how-to videos, and the people growing their hat collections along with their locks. 

So, how are you feeling about your hair right now, this many weeks into quarantine / self-isolation / lock-down?

I’ll tell you how I’m doing in a bit. But first, let’s focus on you. 

For many women (and men, too), our hair is a major source of identity and pride and confidence. We’ve all had “bad hair days,” amiright? The fact that’s even a thing tells you how important hair is in our culture and in us feeling confident and worthy and capable. There’s something about having a “good hair day” that makes things feel easier, more enjoyable, and like we can take on the world and maybe more importantly, that we deserve to take on the world. It’s even been studied. 

Our hair is a major investment of both time and money. Let’s start with money. The global hair care product market in 2018 was estimated at close to $88 billion US. Yup, BILLION with a B. B for Big Money. (During the pandemic, it’s already been projected that in the US people are spending almost 75% less than normal on personal services (77% less in the UK), including trips to the salon or barber, so while that’s moolah in consumer’s pockets, it’s leaving hair stylists empty-handed. 

What to do about that? Send them some love...in the form of money, if you’re able. Your hair stylist is likely struggling in the income department right now. Why not send him or her payment for any missed appointments you might have had during this time? They get to eat and pay their rent or mortgage, and you get to feel good. Win win. 

Next, consider how much time you spend on your hair. Let’s get hypothetical: You travel to and from your stylist once every six weeks, which takes you 30 minutes one way, plus chair time of (conservatively) an hour. That’s 8.67 appointments a year, so let’s round that down to eight to account for holiday weeks and to make the maths easy. So, eight appointments times two hours each equals 16 hours. Not bad. Only two business days a year going to the salon. 

Let’s add in your at-home hair-care time. I assume you wash your hair, and I know there are different practices culturally and occupationally and whatnot here, so let’s just go with five washes a week and a 10-minute shower time and call it even. Again, keeping things simple. So, that brings us to 50 minutes a week times 52 weeks equals 2600 minutes or 43.3 hours of hair washing a year. Cool. 

Let’s style those locks! We’ll apply some product, comb or brush, blow, curl or straighten, maybe stick it in some rollers or twisters or whatever new things are on the market, or slap it into a pony or in some braids, or spike it all up, squeeze it into a banana clip old school, whatever. The options are endless and so are the time allotments...so let’s just say it’s 30 minutes a day spent styling, and let’s just count five work days a week (you get weekends, whatever those are, off!). So, 150 minutes per week equates to 7800 minutes or 130 hours a year styling your hair. Neat-o!

Basically, if my math works out, an *average person (*completely unscientifically substantiated) spends almost 175 hours a year, or 3.4 hours a week, or just over ONE WHOLE WEEK (of 24-hour days) a year on their hair. And we didn’t even count the hours spent searching the internet for the perfect picture of that cut you want. 

Bottom line: Big Money, Big Time.

So, I’m just gonna leave those numbers there for pondering. 

Back to pandemic hair. Again.

During this pandemic, the inability to access professionals to shape, colour, tame, extend, curl, blow out and otherwise coif is sadly impacting many women’s self-esteem. (Here’s a resource for understanding and assessing the relationships between our appearances and self esteem.) 

And I get it.

We all want to look how we want to look.

Cool. 

Even if the only humans who will see us are either in our homes, or other unshorn grocery shoppers, food delivery drivers, or online meeting attendees.

Again, I get it. We’re visual creatures. We make millisecond decisions and assessments based on how someone looks. And, what has also been studied, is that we care a lot more about how we look than others do. 

So it’s one thing to take pride in how your hair is did. But, if you are crippled with anxiety because your roots are showing, or your ends are splitting, or your bangs are too long, we should maaaaybe look at that. And, if you’re feeling resistance to looking at that, then we should reeeeeeeally look at that! 

Park your internal critic and dial down your judge-o-meter, and with pure, open curiosity, ask yourself these questions and see what comes up for you: 

• What does your hair say/show about you? 

• Why does your hair matter (so much)?

• Who expects your hair to look a certain way? And why? (If it’s not you, why does that person’s opinion matter?)

• Who would you be without your hair? 

Take some deep breaths. If difficult emotions are coming up and inner truths are hard for you, then switch to your logical brain and consider:

• What is the true investment you make into your hair, and what’s the return on that investment? First, figure out the dollars and cents of it: What do cuts, colours, tools, and treatments cost? And, give yourself an hourly rate for the time you put into it -- and add up what you are not earning while doing your hair.  

• Then figure out what you get in return that’s a direct result of your hair: Your job? A promotion? Confidence? Compliments? 

• Is the ROI bountiful and balanced enough for you? 

• If not, where might you rather invest your time, energy and money? 

Then, if you’re feeling brave, return to your emotional brain and ask:

• From where might you rather source your confidence and self-worth?

That’s a lot of questions. Take your time with them. 

Back to my pandemic hair. 

That time it was a tad windy in Keflavik

I’m doing fine. Hair is actually not a concern of mine, which is maybe why I notice it being an issue for others and started thinking about it. In fact, my initial (ahem, slightly judge-y) response to hearing someone complain about the condition of their hair is an incredulous internal, “It’s just hair!” 

That’s likely because when it comes to hair, I am beyond low maintenance. I just don’t place value on appearance in the same way that some other people do. Some would suggest I place too little value on appearance, but that’s for another time.

My hair is long and greying.

I have three styles: loose, low ponytail or high ponytail.

It needs a trim, but in non-pandemic times, I get it trimmed, like, two to three times a year. Tops.

I like simplicity and comfort and a low-maintenance lifestyle. That’s just how I roll. 

It hasn’t always been like this. I started playing with colour back in about grade seven or eight, and have been everything from platinum blonde to flaming red. I’ve worn long styles, pixie cuts, perms (hello ‘80s!), a shaved head on numerous occasions, and all kinds of “needs weekly maintenance” coiffures over the years. But for the past 10 years, it’s been free of chemicals, and for the past seven, it’s been long and ponytailable. 

Evidence that a professional styled my hair once for a fancy occasion

Why? Well, first and foremost, like a lot of women, I wear my hair how I like it, whether that’s au naturel or chemically processed or what have you. (Anyone else into grombre?) Unlike what the North American brainwashing beauty industry tells us, I CANNOT WAIT for it all to turn grey and I think it’s gwaaahhhrgeous!

And second, I would rather spend my time doing about a hundred other things, including sleeping in, than working on my ‘do. And I would rather spend my money on things that bring my life more meaning and joy, like books, travel (maybe someday again…) and really good coffee beans.

My values of simplicity and realness drive my choices around my hair… and a lot of other things in my life. Go figure. Your values of beauty and luxury and pampering, or something else, might drive your (different) choices. Cool. We all get to be ourselves!

Here’s a practical challenge for you during the pandemic (again, if you are one of the ones in a position of privilege and minor inconveniences): Let your hair continue to grow in whatever way it shows up. Meet it as it is. Let it be. And notice what that brings up for you. 

• What can you learn about yourself by being in the discomfort of not looking how you want to look right now?

• What’s available to you from the discomfort?

• Who are you without your “normal” or preferred hairstyle?

• And do you like that person, or would you choose to be someone who isn’t defined / influenced / limited by their “bad” hair? 

Now extrapolate the learning from that to other luxuries of your “normal” life.

• Where are you investing your time, energy and money?

• What’s the return you’re getting? Is it worth it?

• When you look at the choices you make, are you living from your values, or not? If not, what are you putting ahead of what you value most?

• What do you want to do about that?

Let your hair show you the way.

Reach out if you want some help untangling all this.