Welcoming Uninvited Change

Buddhist nun Pema Chodrin said in her book, When Things Fall Apart, "Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. When there's a big disappointment we don't know if that's the end of the story. It may be just the beginning of a great adventure. Life is like that. We don't know anything. We call something bad, we call something good. But really we just don't know." She's giving us permission to be uncertain, because much of life is uncertain. My favorite definition of love is: "Love is creating a space for change to occur." Having to live in the certainty of what was is a recipe for boredom. Beyond that, it keeps us chained to playing small. I've always welcomed the New Year because it affords us the chance to acknowledge a past we cannot change and forge a new start. Yet oddly, "the roots of something new frequently lie in the decaying husks of something old" (Craig D. Lounsbrough). Out of our mistakes new life can grow. "When life takes unexpected turns, when the Universe shifts, we are provided with a brief moment to begin anew. These moments allow us to become fearless, and to let our perfectly created souls shine" (Cori Garrison).

Real-life stories seldom have fairy tale endings. We wind up on a different road than the one we started out on because we are ever evolving, and while we're not looking, other people have changed. We are treading on shifting sands, and in some cases, quicksand. Wanting things to stay the same is human and yet the cowardly response though there's a bit of the coward in all of us. We usually change when it hurts bad enough. What inconveniences us and pains us ironically becomes our greatest teacher. When we can't take it anymore we sever ties to old ideas of who we thought we were and take on a new identity, slightly larger and more spacious than the one we inhabited before. We embrace metamorphosis not because we welcome it, but because it is thrust upon us. Standing on the threshold of a new beginning, we instinctively fear the fall. Precipices are risky places; one misstep and you've thrown your life away. Yet the change points that push us to the end of ourselves are saviors in disguise. Like a silent undertaker, change comes knocking at our door. This is why Pema Chodrin suggests we get comfortable with not knowing...because it always comes back around.

All change is first perceived as unwelcome and intrusive. It's not until later that we look back and see what a pearl of wisdom was hidden inside it; at first all we can see is the ugly outer shell of the oyster. Were we to pry it open we'd gasp in amazement that something so ugly harbored a delicate and dazzling treasure inside. That's the way life is. It's a delicacy-a gift concealed inside horrible trapping. Life is always beautiful to the person who, despite discouragement and disappointment, decide they will welcome change rather than resist it regardless of the cruel box it comes wrapped in. Holding life loosely means surrendering our agendas for something much greater than we first imagined. The beauty of life is found in exchanging the old for the new when we create a space for change to occur.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Why I'm Not Afraid of the Monsters Under The Bed

To live authentically and fully I had to turn away from the shadows that were dogging me and embrace a life I felt like I didn't write and I didn't want. I had to learn to welcome the blistering, ego-shrinking, unattractive truth about who I'd become before I could reclaim my life. I'm going to give you the secret sauce to defeating fear, but it has nothing to do with being strong and everything to do with being real:

False 

Evidence

Appearing

Real.

Let's consider the reality of that acronym for a minute. A lot of what we face in life looks scary, sounds scary, smells scary. Around every corner is a new and thus risky, threatening vista. If the truth be told, it is our minds that interpret circumstances and people as threatening. Most of the terror we feel is manufactured by our own terrified minds. Yet fear can be the springboard that launches us into the experience of being fully alive. Author Veronica Roth said: "Fear doesn't shut you down-fear wakes you up." Jack Canfield said: "Everything you want is on the other side of fear." It isn't until you defy fear that you realize it doesn't have any teeth. Fear is like a rat with a megaphone: it's got a big mouth but it's nothing to be afraid of. Remember being a kid and the monster under the bed? It felt real, but once you looked, there wasn't anything there to hurt you. Like the monster under the bed, when you uncover your deepest fears they lose power over you. Get to the point where something else is more important than your fear. For me, that something was my daughter.

After my teen daughter took her own life in 2013, I couldn't accept her death without making something meaningful of her memory. For me, it wasn't enough to bury her and visit her grave on holidays. When there's a suicide, you're supposed to hush it up...or like a dog, kick dirt over the spot so nobody notices the mess. And although in our last years together, she was depressed and I was running out of hope for her and we were a mess together, I loved her...more than life itself. That's why I couldn't just leave flowers and walk away. If I was going to grieve I wanted to grieve in a big way, shouting as loudly as I could: DO YOU SEE? SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL. She was also tortured; but her mental illness didn't dim her magnificence one little bit. The something more important than my fear became my daughter's untold story. She was a gorgeous, smart, vivacious girl named Moriyah, who we called Mo, who scarred and marred my heart, then set it free. 

What was I so terribly afraid of, you may wonder? I was afraid to tell the truth: that I am human and therefore imperfect, and sometimes I screw up; that my life has been messy, uncertain, and just plain full of ego and sometimes, madness. The monster under the bed was myself: my own mistakes, my shortcomings and imperfections...and I wanted them to stay under the bed. I would have preferred people see the big, bad me, but it seems life had other plans. Anyone who knew Moriyah knew she would have wanted me to "keep it real," because that's the kind of down-to-earth girl she was. So I wrote a tell-all, honest-to-the-bone book about my life with her. As author Marion Crook characterized it: "Nina Bingham rips apart the façade of coping to show the devastating aftermath of a child’s suicide and how a mother, flawed but courageous, learns to live again."

When my daughter took her own life, I remember looking into the mirror and perhaps for the first time seeing what was really there instead of seeing what I wanted to see. In that clear moment, a lyric from a Michael W. Smith song came rushing back to me: "We are what we've become." It was a seering moment, a moment I'll never forget. I realized it is not our titles, our jobs, or our educations that matter; it is not our cars or houses, our social status or even our own bodies. What's most essential to creating our characters is what we consistently DO. Our behaviors dictate who we have come to be.

I had allowed myself to become a woman who was taught by my fearful and cold-shouldered lineage to hide, cover up and turn away from vulnerability, and I did it well. I'd cloaked myself in a plethora of academic degrees, yet had become so removed from my own humanity that looking back on it now, it's alarming. I thought I was super-woman and impenetrable. I'm pretty sure the Bible says: "Pride cometh before a fall." When you have a big ego, you have a long ways to fall. When she died, it felt like I fell from the Empire State Building, and the landing wasn't pretty. Since then, I've fallen many times (I have a real knack for it). Each time I scrape myself off the pavement my reaction isn't shock or justification like it used to be. Now I just smile lopsidedly and think: 'That's too much of a mess to cover up, but forgive yourself because you are a human.' I've gotten to the place where I can "own" my messes. And that's the whole point of our humanity: that we admit how un-perfect, needy and screwball we can be and ask to be loved anyway. Freedom is found in the middle of all the muck and mistakes, in our quiet forgiveness of each other. 

I'm pretty sure Moriyah would be proud if she were here today. Not of the book, but of me, because I allowed my grief to make me real. I'm not blaming the monsters anymore for my fear or failures, because I discovered that I was the only monster under my bed. I guess you could say that the tragedy I endured saved me from myself. And that's the way it's supposed to be; and truly, we are the only ones who can.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Grief and the Holidays

Holidays are, for most people, are a mixed bag of blessings. As depicted in The Griswold's Family Christmas, anything and everything can go wrong, from a squirrel infested Christmas tree to the strange, inappropriate relatives descending upon your home, to a Christmas light fiasco. But that's not really why most of us get the holidays blues. Studies show that for lonely people (those not surrounded by family and friends), those who grew up in dysfunctional families (which, studies suggest, is about 60% of America), and for those who experience family alienation, the holiday happiness may never arrive. Additionally, there is a group of people hiding in the shadows for whom holidays and anniversaries may be almost torturous: the grievers. I've been the guest of many radio shows answering questions about my grief process, and about suicide prevention. Inevitably, somebody asks about how I handle the holidays. I cringe and tell the truth: I dread them, too. I grew up in an abusive and dysfunctional home, and I also experience family alienation. Then I lost my teen daughter to suicide (the kid who was my Christmas spirit-decorating the tree and house, and who had Hallmark Christmas movies playing non-stop). Suddenly I turned into the Grinch (or maybe Ebeneezer Scrooge). So how does someone in the clutches of grief, alienated from their family or with no family, reclaim their holiday spirit?

Redefining what makes you happy, what brings you joy during the holiday and then doing it is key to being able to enjoy some holiday cheer. If you are grieving or have a difficult time like so many of us do during the holidays, cut yourself some slack. Don't be afraid to say to your family and friends, "This is a rough time of year for me," and don't feel obligated to justify your feelings. Your feelings are neither good nor bad, right nor wrong, and you have a right to them. If I learned anything in my 16 years as a Life Coach, it is that feelings should never be judged. The holiday blues are very real for grievers but they are also fleeting states that will pass once the holidays blow over.

Angie Cartwright, long-time griever and the co-host of the National Radio Show, Grief Diaries ( http://www.blogtalkradio.com/alybluemedia/2014/10/16/grief-diaries-with-guest-nina-bingham ), asked me on-air how I got through the first Christmas without my daughter. I told her about how I pushed myself to put on a happy face and attended my fiance's family holiday dinner. She gently and wisely recommended that while jumping into the festivities is great if you can, new grievers need to give themselves permission to take care of themselves instead of doing what other people expect of them. She recounted one Thanksgiving that hit right after her mother had died. Because Angie was tuned-into her feelings, she let her family know that she was sorry, but she wasn't going to be participating this year, see you next year! "I had to give myself permission to cancel Thanksgiving. I had to find the strength within to let myself be true to myself. I have lived in silent grief before and gone to Christmas parties smiling on the outside while feeling like I wanted to kill myself on the inside. I hope listeners will give themselves the permission to feel the grief, even during the holidays. It's taboo to do that, because we're supposed to "show up" at our family's celebration and our work holiday party. I don't know who "supposed to" is, but I'm not listening to that voice anymore. I need to embrace the difficult feelings I'm having and honor who I am, right where I am. This is also my way of honoring the relationship I had with the loved-one that passed. When I was willing to be honest about my feelings, I didn't feel the need to hide my grief from others anymore." I thought this straightforward approach to the holidays was very brave of Angie. She had the guts to do what her grieving heart was telling her to do; she didn't allow herself to feel obligated to participate while she was feeling overwhelmed. I admire her refreshing honesty and respect her grief recovery work immensely. Angie is advising us to listen to our inner voice of grief; to take better care of ourselves than we do of other people during the often difficult holidays.

This holiday, if you aren't able to be the twinkling bright picture-perfect family member, glowing with zest and goodwill, don't feel bad-you're not alone. Watch The Griswold's Family Christmas, and you'll be reminded anew that many of us struggle to find that holiday twinkle, even in a room packed with family and friends. If you happen to be one of the lucky ones who experience genuine holiday mirth, wonderful for you! But if you don't, give yourself permission to be real; to acknowledge and even admit your feelings, and let go of the stereotyping around the holidays that says we are all "supposed to be" deliriously happy. Maybe being honest with yourself and others is the biggest gift of all.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Teen Suicide & Warning Signs to Look For-Charlotteview Radio Show with Nina Bingham

Click here to listen to Nina discuss losing her teen daughter to suicide, and warning signs to look for: 

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/charlotteview/2014/12/01/dec-1-charlotte-view-teen-suicide-once-the-storm-is-over-nina-bingham​

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Writing An Autobiography That Sells-Guest Post with Nina Bingham

Writing an Autobiography That Sells-Guest Post with Nina Bingham

http://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/2014/11/27/guest-post-what-it-takes-to-write-an-autobiography-that-sells-by-nina-bingham

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

When I Stand In Your Shoes: An Open Letter To a Teen

Just because I don’t understand you, talk too much and don’t listen, think I know everything (which I definitely do not), can be demanding and harsh, expect too much of you, and don’t show an interest in what you are into, doesn't mean I still don’t love you. I get so worried about how I’m going to pay the bills, buy the groceries, make the rent and car payments, and buy you the things you need like new clothes and stuff for school that I lose sight of you as a person. I start thinking of you as one more responsibility that I have to take care of, and that’s when I turn into a dreaded parent. I stop being ME, and I take on this super-mom attitude, and then we’re reduced to the parent and child, which isn't working anymore, because you’re not a child anymore.

You’re becoming an adult, and it completely throws me off. Your friends have become the people you talk to now; suddenly I’m the odd man out. I’m supposed to know how to handle all this change, but I don’t, not really because I got used to being your best friend. I’m expected to let go one day like you’re a balloon, and let you fly away you’re supposed to, like I taught you to. But here I am, still holding onto this string, my fist just won’t let go. I see you’ve grown into a sane and strong person, sometimes stronger than me. But I can also see (because I’m older) when you’ve chosen the wrong path. It’s in these moments that I get worried and lose my cool. Instead of talking to you like ME, the understanding person that I am, I talk to you like a parent (which you hate) and suddenly I’m talking but you’re not listening because I’m lecturing. And I’m using that “know-it-all” tone because once, when I was younger I faced the same kind of decisions and got hurt. So really, when you look at it, the “mom-tone” is used when I’m feeling scared for you. In an irritating way, that should tell you I care-A LOT. I care enough to stop and lecture you, enough to stand up to you when you’re angry with me, enough to hug you when you go stiff on me. I probably care too much, which is why I either give up when you’re mad at me (because I really, really don’t want to alienate you), or I push too hard. It’s frustrating, wanting to help and feeling you can’t see me over my mom voice. Sigh.

So here we are, you on that side and me over here, both of us wanting the same thing-to be close and to have a healthy relationship. This has been a problem for every single mother and daughter and they've had to work through it. Some do, and some don’t. Some mothers and daughters just give up trying to understand each other and stay estranged. Others keep trying through their whole lives, trying to stand in each other's shoes. I think that’s what it takes to have a good relationship-any relationship: seeing for a minute through the other person’s eyes. When I stand in your shoes (and I wouldn’t want to go back to being a teen, not for a million bucks), I see a world that’s completely messed up. And you’re probably wondering how the heck you’re supposed to grow up to be normal in a society like this, where everything is depicted as perfect and romantic and enchanted, but where everything is actually screwed up, dysfunctional and crazy. Sometimes I wonder how I will get through this life, and I’m an adult! 

When I stand in your shoes I see things this way: I feel like I don’t stand a chance because I’ve grown up in a family where nobody understands me, and everybody’s busy with their own problems, and so it makes me feel like I’m ganna have to do this alone, and that thought scares the crap out of me. So I hook up with a boyfriend or a girlfriend, which is what I’ve been dreaming of, this amazing soul connection-only to find out they are messed up too, but at least I’m not doing this alone anymore. When I stand in your shoes I begin to get the sinking feeling that life is going to be this way forever: insane, confusing, frustrating, and just plain pointless. So I start to get depressed, because the world, which commercials tell you is just waiting for you to conquer it, is, in fact, unconquerable. As I look through your eyes, I see a world where everything is upside-down from what it's supposed to be.

My daughter, when you’re depressed because the world and everybody in it seems completely untrustworthy, I want you to remember one thing, probably the most important lesson you’ll ever learn. It is: Life is hell-not just for you, but for everybody, and that’s why there are so many crazy people in the world doing crazy things to hurt each other. While you’re in your room thinking that nobody understands what you’re going through, I’m in my room thinking the exact same thing. Kind of ironic, isn’t it, that we feel the same way, yet have such a hard time reaching out to each other? I’m in the next room feeling left out, misunderstood, pushed away and confused, just like you. So I’ll try harder to be brave-to ask you for a hug when I need reassurance, and I’ll try not to pretend I’m perfect (because you see how messed up I can be). In exchange, I hope you’ll try to bust out of the myth that I don’t care, or that you’re unimportant, because the truth is: YOU ARE EVERYTHING- everything that’s important to me. I just get scared to say it and I get too busy, just like you do. You see, we’re not as different as we thought.

Here’s my motherly advice (this time, said from the heart): When you feel you can’t go on, please try and remember me, because I’m probably just barely holding on, too. Maybe if we stand in each other’s shoes for a minute and are honest with our feelings, we’ll be able to get through this crazy hell-hole called life TOGETHER. I don’t know about you, but that’s all I really need-to know you’re on my side.

Loving you imperfectly, but forever-
Mom


To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Getting Rid of the Guilt of Mental Illness

Guilt is defined as: feeling responsible for wrongdoing. But isn't it interesting that we can feel guilt simply because we ourselves, or someone we love, has a mental illness? Guilt is a very confusing emotion. How do we know when it’s right to feel guilty?

The average person has what I would call an exaggerated sense of guilt. I believe this is because of the rules society has imposed on us. An unspoken rule of society is that mental illness is shameful and should be hidden. I'd like to explore this further, because at least in America, research tells us that 26% of Americans have been diagnosed with a mental illness. This number does not include the innumerable people too afraid or too ashamed to step forward. Freud was the first psychoanalyst to explain guilt. He theorized it as a function of the Superego, that part of the mind which is our moral gatekeeper; the "voice" that helps us distinguish what is right from what is wrong. Freud said that when parental morality was modeled for us in childhood, we internalize it. This internalized voice, better known as our "conscience," then becomes the guiding force as we age.

Case in point: My daughter was 11 when her father died, and as a result she developed clinical depression. She was 15 before she would accept help because she was terrified of being stigmatized. She didn't want to be seen as the "crazy girl" (her words). She'd only been on her anti-depressant for 3 weeks before she secretly stop taking it, and as a result, took her own life. She stopped taking it because she feared she would look too fat in a bathing suit, and was worried the medicine would make her gain weight. She didn't want to be labeled as mentally ill, nor didn’t want other girls calling her fat. America's obsession with unrealistic perfection is killing our children…but so is the stigma of mental illness. 90% of suicide completers are people who had a diagnosed mental illness. This should tell us that suicide completers are people who feel ashamed and misunderstood-afraid of being mentally ill because of the cultural stigma, so afraid they would rather not be here.

So how do we rid ourselves of the stigma? How does the parent of a child that took their own life due to a mental illness like depression, get free of blaming themselves? If everybody does their part to reduce the stigma, that is, to educate others that it's a medical problem and not a character weakness, perhaps those hiding their symptoms will feel safer talking about it. The best way to reduce the stigma is to get comfortable talking about your own symptoms. You see, stigma comes as a result of NOT talking about it, rather than talking about it. If everybody got comfortable talking about it, there would be no stigma.

The next time you're tempted to feel guilty about something, stop and take a hard look at what's causing the guilt. Is it yours to take? If you are feeling guilty because you have a mental illness, or your child committed suicide due to a mental illness, it is time to stand taller than ever before and to tell the world that mental illness causes suicide, and for that you are not to blame.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Why The Turtle In You Is Going To Win the Race

Imagine standing on the precipice of a very great adventure. The jubilant excitement, the breathless anticipation; then imagine standing there at the tired and sagging age of 51. What seemed thrilling at age 20 now looks daunting, maybe even exhausting-too much to ask. But some of us are turtles and not hares in the race of life. Some of us will come across the finish line a little later than most. Yet it's always been the chubby, older marathon runner that struggled across the finish line, near last in the dark of night, when everybody else had gone home and nobody was watching, that I loved the most. It was their perseverance I admired...their stubborn refusal to give up no matter how ridiculous they looked, because they weren't doing it for the crowds or the press coverage. They were doing it for themselves, for a fire that got started that they tended and protected for years, long after others gave up believing in them.

A "turtle" I've always looked up to is a dynamo woman faith healer you probably never heard of, or don't know much about whose name was Kathryn Kuhlman. She started out as a backwoods, 16-year old girl preacher in the early 1920's who wasn't afraid of anyone or anything, despite her total ignorance of theology. The only thing she feared was wasting the precious life she'd been given-she was terribly afraid of that. Regardless of your opinion of her claims that God healed through her, Kathryn's unwavering dedication and passion was a marvel. At age 16, she voluntarily slept in chicken coops and preached in condemned churches until a real church was willing to give her a shot. Her unwavering declaration was, "I believe in miracles, because I believe in God." Back in 1923, a girl preacher was unheard of and frowned upon, even shunned. But young Kathryn had a message burning in her heart that kept her awake at night. Simply, she believed in herself and that what she had to say must be said. Lots of press reporters laughed and mocked and pointed out the flaws of her preaching. To Kathryn, it was just a conformation that she was on the right track when she got their attention and ire up; she preached that much harder. She preached into her old age, packing out coliseums, full to the brim with thousands of desperate souls convinced of her authenticity. Now you might be thinking: 'Look here-I don't go for that sort of thing.' I'm not saying I agree with it, either. What I am pointing out is this preachers infectious enthusiasm, vision, and passion. It made her famous-and maybe it even gave her the power to heal as some people claim. But one thing is unarguable: the joy of her dream carried her miles and miles from where she started. She said this: "It is a fact that every one of us, down deep, has what it takes to meet whatever life brings." Even a poor nobody girl from Concordia, Missouri.

Towards the end of her life, her ministry was in full swing and she complained in one of her books that she would never understand why she wasn't allowed to speak to great crowds of people until she was old and almost too "give out" to pull it off. That comment stuck with me. It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, for some of us "turtles" who mature a little slower than the rest, the Universe saves the best for last. Kind of like going out with a bang. Or maybe it's that we don't have the wisdom and knowledge, patience and grace as young bucks that's necessary for the big jobs. Just maybe. If you're like me, you may be wondering why the Universe is taking so long. I have wondered that a hundred times. Why is big answer you've been waiting for so long in coming? Perhaps you may have decided that your big break is never coming at all. I'm here to tell you that there's still time. Us turtles may be slow, but we WILL cross the finish line (flashlights, please). Because it hasn't shown up yet doesn't mean it's not around the next corner. No matter the hurdles you're faced with, or how hard the wind buffets you, if you keep the fire in your heart and don't let ANYONE blow it out, you're going to astound yourself and all the people who said you couldn't.

I'll see you there-right there at the finish line. I'll be the one holding the big that sign that says: You did It. I Knew You Could! Smile.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

When To Let Go, and When To Hold On

Those of us who wage our own private battle with mental illness can tell you that on our toughest days, when life is staring us down and daring us to give in, we've got to remind ourselves that we have a reason to go on. My reason was always my daughter Moriyah. I kept trudging through the swampy morass of depression because while she was smart, beautiful and loving, she had also inherited our family's depressive gene. I wanted to prove to her that life was worth living, although there were days when I wondered why I had to go on. She became depressed after the death of her beloved father; they were soul mates, her reason for going on. Five days before her death she stopped taking her medication, and committed suicide in the next room as I slept. After waging a brave and grueling 4-year battle, she let go of hope. Grief combined with guilt left me shattered, devastated, numb, and incapable of functioning. In the months to follow I had to find a way to forgive both her and myself. How could I forgive myself for not being able to save her? How could I forgive her for giving up? What I learned about love and forgiveness changed my life forever.

What I learned about forgiveness is that it's the most potent and powerful force on the face of the earth. It can change everything in an instant. I've heard it said that we shouldn't forgive just to satisfy someone else, and I wholeheartedly agree. Don't forgive others to pacify or placate. Forgive because it is the merciful art of release. Most importantly, you are freeing yourself of bitterness, and embracing the possibility of a new tomorrow. Forgive yourself because you are as deserving of compassion as anyone (the Buddha said that). Release others, letting go of the drama and emotional poison, so they are free to face their own karma. You don't need to prove their wrongdoing; simply LET GO of having to adjudicate, leaving them in the capable hands of the Universe. The most important life lesson I ever learned is: "You cannot save people...you can only love them" (Anais Nin). Anais Nin and The Buddha can't be wrong.

What I learned about love is that it never ends. Sorrow ends, and hate definitely ends. But love...it is the only feeling that lives on, unquenchable and enduring. When I finally released my daughter (it took me a whole year to whisper the word "goodbye"), I thought I'd stop feeling her presence and we'd drift apart (which is why I held on for so long). I don't feel her presence as acutely anymore (hey, she's got more important things to do than to hang out with Mom), and I believe it's because we are both able to stand on our own now. I have a knowing inside that whenever I need her help, I can call and she'll be there. We have this spiritual connection that can't be broken, a bond forged that's as strong and enduring as steel, as tough as nails. It's like the Bible says: Love never fails.

While my reason to go on isn't my daughter anymore, I do have a reason. It is, well...YOU. I go on for every reader who has lost a loved one to suicide, so they see that pain is a surety but suffering is optional. I go on for every person struggling with the scourge of mental illness, so they don't give up before help has a chance to arrive. I go on for every teen and young adult who was promised a beautiful life but who feels betrayed and sees life as a lie, because for them it is nothing but suffering. I go on for every hopeless person on this planet because when I lost my daughter I was hopeless and out of answers. I go on for YOU, and you go on for ME; we go on for each other, because that's what it's all about. That's what we are here to discover. We exist for one another. Everyday we choose to go on because every day is a new opportunity to release old patterns of thinking and adopt fresh ways of relating. Love is the reason we go on, because love never fails.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Suicide and Obituaries by Susan Soper, Author of ObitKit and Grief Expert for Legacy.com

Last week, a former colleague emailed me wondering if I had heard about another writer from we know who had died last summer. Shocked, I immediately looked up his obituary online. The obit said he had passed away at age 65. As I read further into the obituary, my shock deepened -- and my sadness:

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

It’s not often that you see the word "suicide" printed in an obituary; in this case it wasn't listed as cause of death but the suggestion to donate to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention indicated as much.

When one reads “died suddenly” or “passed unexpectedly” without further explanation, one often suspects suicide, albeit sometimes incorrectly. In recent months, I have read, “struggled with depression,” “had fought demons” or “could not find peace here” in obituaries for those who've died by suicide. With suicide the 10th leading cause of death in the U.S. – according to the Centers for Disease Control – the numbers and instances are too frequent (and increasing) to ignore.

People who have been bereaved by suicide face many questions during a time of unimaginable grief, misplaced guilt and 'what ifs.' One of the hardest may be how to explain what is most often referred to simply as a “sudden” death. Increasingly, though, it seems that many parents, spouses and children of those who take their own lives are opening up about the cause of death.

In Don't Omit from the Obit, PsychologyToday.com blogger Julie Hersh (author of Struck By Living: From Depression to Hope) writes, “I understand why people mask suicide. Some religions won't bury their dead if the surviving family is honest about the cause of death. Often life insurance policies have exemptions for suicide. Shame also plays a role. Social standing must be protected. Families are hurt and want privacy. No one wants the blame for death or to have her family dynamic scrutinized as the reason.”

She goes on to say that even though painful, being honest about the cause of death “allows something positive to emerge from a devastating loss. Omission of the real cause of death allows mental illness to remain impersonal, a silent killer.”

Hersh described a case in point involving the son of a friend from high school.

Austin Betts Frazier, a junior at James Madison University in Virginia, committed suicide in 2009. In a follow up story that ran in the Daily News Recordin Staunton, writer Kate Elizabeth Queram, described the dilemma Austin’s dad, Bibb Frazier, faced: “He could be purposely vague about how the 22-year-old died, or he could say, straightforwardly, that it was suicide, caused by his son’s battle with bipolar disorder.” Frazier chose to be open.

Our son, Austin Betts Frazier, died Wednesday, Oct. 7, 2009, at his grandparent’s home. He succumbed to a quiet, insidious disease: Bi-Polar disorder. Austin suffered valiantly from the ravages of this physically transparent illness since early adolescence. Bi-Polar is incurable and as deadly as cancer or heart disease. It is a disease of the mind and one’s mental outlook.

Said Frazier: “… I chose, in this case, to do something to make people think about a very real problem. This is a situation where it’s best just to be honest and try to save some lives in the future."

His friend Hersh wrote: “My guess is Bibb's courageous act has saved a life. Someone listened, realized mental illness is a deadly disease and got help. Someone else called or interfered with a friend who had isolated himself and prevented that final disconnection. Bibb sacrificed his privacy, but saved lives and honored his son. His noble gesture deserves emulation.”

Such openness is valuable. Whether written in a newspaper obituary or revealed in a funeral or memorial service that is honest about the life that has been lost, the wake-up call could save someone else’s life.

Here are a few suggestions, adapted from eHow.com, on writing an obituary for someone who has died by suicide:

1. Begin the obituary with a simple statement such as "John Doe passed away at his home on May 1, 2011." You can leave out the location, if need be.

2. While it is acceptable to not include the cause of death, consider mentioning it briefly. Including a reference to suicide as the cause of death helps to raise awareness of an issue that is more prevalent than people might think, and could help save a life.

3. Include standard obituary information: date and place of birth, parents, schools and degrees, employment, military service, achievements, marriages, children, other immediate surviving family members, and those immediate family members who have preceded in death. Also be sure to include funeral service details.

4. Stay focused on the positive aspects of the person's life. A paragraph about accomplishments, interests, or special attributes always is appropriate. This could include mention of the suicide in a brief way, such as "John will always be remembered for his courage during difficult times, and even though he took his life we know he is at rest (without pain) now."

5. Suggest a donation to a suicide prevention group or hotline. Memorial donations can create a lasting and positive legacy for the loved one who has died.

***

Susan Soper is the founder and author of ObitKit™, A Guide to Celebrating Your Life. A lifelong journalist, she was formerly the Features Editor at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, where she launched a series called "Living with Grief" shortly after her father died. Susan lives in Atlanta with her husband.

USA Today interview

CLICK HERE to go to Susan's Grief Support Blog:

http://connect.legacy.com/profile/SusanSoper

The Suicide Club | The Grief Toolbox

CLICK HERE: The Suicide Club | The Grief Toolbox

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

I Want To See You Be BRAVE

I've never publically promoted music before, but the first time I heard songstress Sara Bareilles sing, "Brave," (http://youtu.be/QUQsqBqxoR4) it was a painful moment for me. Everything in the room faded; it seemed Sara and I were the only ones left. She was singing the words I had wanted to say to my daughter but didn't get a chance to. Tears ran down my face and her voice literally brought me to my knees. My daughter had just committed suicide, and while she was an extraordinarily bright and exotically beautiful girl, at age 15 her introverted personality and severely depressed brain wasn't brave enough to accept the help she'd been offered. She was so much sicker than any of us ever suspected. Sara sang, "Nothing's ganna hurt you the way the words do when they settle 'neath your skin. Kept on the inside and no sunlight, sometimes a shadow wins...maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live. Maybe one of these days you can let the light in...show me how big your brave is." Like the old Roberta Flak classic, "Killing Me Softly With His Song," my broken mother's heart was being crucified by her haunting lyrics. I've listened to the song many times since, each time marveling at Sara's genius lyrical acumen, how she crafts pieces of elegant poetry and humbly labels them "songs." Recently I heard the song "Brave" again, and was surprised when Sara showed up in my office for the second time. It was just her and I again, although this time she wasn't singing about my daughter, this time she was singing about me.

I had been worrying, which is nothing new for me. Even though I can teach clients anxiety management strategies until the cows come home, when it comes to me, I'm blind as a bat. As a Life Coach, it's an occupational hazard: I can never take my own advice. Even psychic Sylvia Browne, perhaps the most famous psychic in modern history, dispenser of predictions and sage advice, freely admitted she could never objectively see her own life or what to do about her own problems. If Sylvia couldn't, I certainly can't. I'm a special brand of worrier, though. I'll cover all my bases and then go back and check all my bases, just to make sure I really did get them covered. One of my professors good-naturedly sent me a picture of a woman biting her nails attached to the research paper I had been ceaselessly checking on, and said while I had earned one of the highest grades in class on my research, I had gotten an "F" in trusting the Universe. Ouch.

I hope you're smiling because you can relate. Recently I heard Sara's song again and it hit me at a time when I happened to be caught in the rip-tide of a worry-funnel. Caught in what you might call a "Shame Spiral." Do you know what I'm talking about? The worry builds into a storm cloud, picking up speed and before you know it it's built up so much steam that the insecurity becomes a worry funnel. It grips you in a deadly shame spiral (something like a death spiral), and down you go. On the ground once again, Sara Bareilles appears in my office. As I'm groveling on the floor she looks at me and shakes her head knowingly and says, "Say what you wanna say! And let the words fall out. Honestly, I want to see you be brave!" I thought about how my daughter kept all the words back-the secret shame of being mentally ill is what had killed her. In my mind, my daughter Moriyah showed up next to Sara, and both of them were killing me softly with their song. My office was getting a little crowded, and then like the icing on the cake, my favorite professor who scolded me showed up. In a chorus they sang: "I just wanna see you be BRAVE." I got a lump in my throat and was reminded (thanks to Sara's son) that past failures shouldn't determine our futures. Now I wanna see you be brave.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Synchronicity & Mimsy Jabberwocky

Synchronicity or chance? Are the fates conspiring for me, or is this just dumb luck? I've been fascinated lately with a pyramid-shaped green crystal I have in my gemstone and crystal collection, so drawn to it that I found myself ignoring the Friday night movie so I could inspect it. I suppose you could say I was being drawn to it. Mind you, I'm not "into" crystal power, but I admit I couldn't keep my eyes off it for a few days now. I Googled it and found its name is Pargasite, and these are it's metaphysical properties: "Pargasite works with the Heart chakra to slowly and gently break down those “walls” that we have built up over time to protect ourselves from hurt. Pargasite is your gentle support in this healing process. The pale green of Pargasite's energy will surround your heart with empathy and compassion for self and others." I grinned when I read its meaning because for weeks I've been blogging about vulnerability; opening the heart, and breaking down walls. Hmm. Synchronicity or chance? And how does synchronicity work, exactly? Psychiatrist Carl Jung coined the term. Basically, a meaningful coincidence.

In 1952 Jung published Synchronicity, claiming a series of random events can express a deeper order, and that the realization of this was more than just an intellectual exercise, but also had elements of a spiritual awakening for him. Because I have studied psychology far too long, my analytic left brain cautioned me to be skeptical about synchronicity, because of a phenomenon known as Confirmation Bias. Confirmation Bias is a tendency to interpret new information in a way that confirms one's preconceptions. Was I irresistibly drawn to the gemstone because I knew it had a metaphysical meaning and was hoping it would fit my circumstances, or was it truly synchronicity-some unexplained, unconscious vibration that drew me to the Pargasite? Fifty years after Jung wrote about it, synchronicity is still a mysterious controversy. Contemporary spirituality attributes these surprising and often delightful occurrences to a divine connection. Psychoanalysis attributes them to the all-knowing unconscious mind. And science would say I simply found what I was looking for (Confirmation Bias). While the hard-boiled social scientist in me would like to explain it away, I have noticed synchronicity beginning to pop up more frequently. Or am I just paying better attention now...perhaps remarkable coincidental occurrences were happening all along and I was simply too busy to notice.

One of my favorite literary classics is Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. I have always both understood and pitied Alice; she trapped, and trying earnestly to make sense of a nonsensical world of upside down and backwards. In it, the White Queen explains to Alice how to live backwards, to which Alice replies, "I don't understand you-it's dreadfully confusing!" The Queen says kindly, "That's the effect of living backwards...it always makes one a little giddy at first." Giddy-that's what I feel when I've stumbled into synchronicity. The distinct yet vague feeling of being exactly in the right place at the right time. Perhaps there is something beyond human bias; maybe a "deeper order" as Jung surmised. For those of us who dare to believe in synchronicity, we live in an enchanted Wonderland where it's all mimsy jabberwocky, but frabjus, too.    

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Running Into The Fire

My latest book, "Once The Storm Is Over: From Grieving To Healing After the Suicide of My Daughter," is a complete departure from my other books (poetry, and a recovery workbook), all safe and sane subjects. This one is unquestionably different-it's a counselor's autobiographical confessional of her own struggle with the family curse of depression, and a heart wrenching description of her 15-year old daughter's suicide. That counselor happens to be me. A blogger who read an early version said, "It was like crawling up into your soul with you." Writing it was like emptying my soul; evidently it worked-the blogger felt she knew me. Months before the book's launch I started to get nervous. Nervous, because since the 4th grade I've had a star in my eye, dreaming of the day I'd become an author. I'm still that starry-eyed girl, and as I stood at the precipice of launching a new book, I wasn't sure if I was going to soar or fall. Once you've taken a leap of faith and published a book, does it really matter if it's popular? Isn't the act of leaping what matters the most? What matters is the leap of faith you took all by yourself. Those brave moments matter the most; moments when nobody is watching are the moments when character is made. The bravest thing I ever did was to defy the voice in my head that told me to stay quiet, to fade into the background, to bury myself with my daughter.

After her death, something deep inside that I didn't even know existed wouldn't let me die. It pulled me off the ground, picked up all the cracked and busted pieces, and said: You will not run from the fire-you will run straight into it. The crazy fighter gene in me rose up to defy that confused and humiliated voice of shame. I turned to face the blaze that had been nipping at my heels, heat so hot I felt my heart was melting. The shame of all my failures stood before me, immovable and immobilizing, it's fiery eyes defying me. "You'll never do it," it sneered, "you'll never be able to tell the whole truth, because it will ruin you." I was certain it would ruin my career. "People will see how small you are, how powerless," it scoffed. I did feel small-so, so small. It was inching towards me, heat rising like a vat of boiling oil, and as it spewed accusations, it dawned on me that if I was already ruined, I had nothing to lose. I had already flopped and failed in the biggest way possible when I lost my daughter. I smiled because I saw I'd been running from shame so long that I'd never stopped to consider doing the opposite. Running into fear might actually be the only thing that could save me. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and dove. I walked into the flames without any guarantees, without anyone there to rescue me. The pain took my breath away and singed my heart, but as I fell, I didn't burn like I thought I would. The threatening flames had evaporated. As I laid my head back on the ground, hair spilling all around me, I began to laugh. The laughter came bubbling up from the girl inside me. She was laughing because she was forgiven, and because she was forgiven, she was free; girls always laugh when they are free.

My leap of faith required me to forgive myself for my humanity, my shortcomings, and my failures-to defy the shame that had tried to engulf me. When we surrender our self-imposed stories of failure, we become a fresh new page that life can write upon and become untouchable by the past, innocent as a child. We can also set those around us free. Delighted to be let out into the world again, I ran to play, knowing it's okay to look back because nothing was chasing me anymore. I sense my daughter doesn't have to look back anymore, either-ever since the day I ran into the fire.

 To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Unimaginatively Beautiful Vulnerable YOU

"I wish people would know when they break down...that they are just unimaginatively beautiful."-S. C. Lourie (from "Butterflies and Pebbles").

This author is affirming something we all know is true: people are most beautiful when they are soft, when they are open, when they let their guards down, and when they speak truthfully from their hearts. Why then do we have such a difficult time with vulnerability, when we know how precious it is?

An odd thought crossed my mind (which is not odd at all, considering I have odd thoughts all the time). It said: what if for one whole day you risked being vulnerable with everyone you met-what would happen? Would I die from acute honesty and softness? Would they take advantage of me(who is "they" anyway)? I can't say exactly what would happen if for just a day I opened my heart wide to the whole world. I know what it feels like to completely open my heart to a lover, to my children, sometimes to select friends (when I've had enough wine), and I've even opened my heart to clients when they open their hearts to me in the privacy of the counseling office. But to be vulnerable to the whole wide world for a whole day?? Gulp.

Dr. Brene Brown is a research psychologist and professor who studies human connection. Dr. Brown was trying to figure out what key elements were important for one human to connect with another, and one word kept popping up with surprising regularity, a word she never expected to find: vulnerability (what I call the "V" word). In her book, "Daring Greatly: How The Courage To Be Vulnerable Transforms The Way We Live," she concluded this:“Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren't always comfortable, but they’re never weakness.” What an extraordinary statement coming from a research scientist! As a scientist, she admits the “V” word scared her. But enough about Dr. Brown; let’s talk about you and me for a moment. We aren't any more comfortable with the idea of being vulnerable than Dr. Brown is. The general concept of being open, honest, and transparent might not seem so bad; we might even say that on our best days we are all those things. However, the following words describing vulnerability aren't as sweet and harmless: Exposed. In need of support. Susceptible. Succumbing. And my very least favorite, the Latin origin of the word vulnerable, which is vulnerabilis, meaning: “to wound.” Ewww. 

If I may, I’d like to offer my own humble opinion of what it means to be vulnerable: the willingness to risk being hurt. It is also the willingness to look foolish. The willingness to give without strings attached. The willingness to respond authentically. The willingness to not know. The willingness to be taught. The willingness to be led. The willingness to be receptive. The willingness to be judged. The willingness to stand up for whatever I believe in. The willingness to ask for help. And the queen mother of all vulnerable situations: the willingness to risk being hurt time and time again by the same person (not abused, however); what is commonly known as "commitment." Dr. Brown says without the quality of vulnerability  we have less of a chance of connecting with others. Hmm.

I’m getting more comfortable with the real meaning of it instead of the distant concept I used to be a fan of. I used to be of the opinion that a strong person couldn't be vulnerable. Now I’m of the opinion that a vulnerable person is the epitome of strength. How about that for a 180 turn-around? How did I come to the conclusion that vulnerability may be the most powerful force on earth? I hurt bad enough, that’s how! In 2013 when my teen daughter committed suicide, I had this concept of myself...actually, it was a wall. My wall was about a mile high, but I would have told you then it was my professionalism, my scientific objectivity, or my academic knowledge that gave me special permission to hold back all the things inside that were hurting, that were weak, that were imperfect, that were unacceptable and ugly (according to me they were). Looking back, I clearly see what I looked at in distaste and disgust was really my willingness to risk being hurt. My daughter’s tragic death brought that wall crashing down. 

I stood in the rubble that had become my life and I couldn't hide behind the wall of perfection anymore. Furthermore, once I was free of it, I didn't want to live behind it anymore. I was sick of hiding, tired of being too strong, and for the first time I could see over the wall…and what I saw amazed me. I saw a bunch of faces-faces just like mine. I saw myself in everyone. I either saw their feigned strength, or I saw their need. For the first time I was seeing life as it really was. Although my heart was trembling and my knees were quaking, I was ALIVE. I could acutely feel pain, but curiously, my heart had also expanded with enormous joy. What shattered the barrier was the fall I took. I fell a long way down. As I was falling, I simply surrendered. I let go of control because I realized the truth: I never really had any control over life-I just pretended I did. The next thing I knew I woke up on the concrete and I limped away, leaving the old me behind.

The new me walks with a limp, but I walked away a free woman. Most importantly, I embraced my humanity; exquisitely messy and mistake-riddled. Vulnerability is like the perfume inside the alabaster jar; it has to be broken to be released. You will either set if free, or life will simply drop you. In either case, your heart will be opened and you will see your true nature-unimaginably beautiful yet vulnerable you.    

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

The Flaws in The Diamond

How do you respond when someone gives you the greatest compliment of your life? Today my wife saw something in me I didn't see, or couldn't see, because we are always too close to see the truth about ourselves. We think we know who we are, when in truth what we know is a compilation of our successes and failures, and we hold our failures dearest. We do not see the gem we've become but the flaws within the gem. What, if like God, we only saw the sweetest profile of one another, overlooking the inclusions?

Most diamonds have flaws...there is believed to be less than 600 diamonds in the whole world without flaws. A flawless diamond is considered to be the symbol for absolute perfection. I've met only one truly enlightened being in my lifetime-a diamond without flaws. No corruptness or impurities were in him so Light could shine through unhindered. Like a diamond, he could slow the rays of light down to a crawl so that we who did not have eyes yet to see at the speed of light, could for the first time see how he bent light and made it into a rainbow. I stopped trying to be a perfect diamond when I met a perfect diamond. I was so far from it that it was shocking to me. Instead, I am learning to love my flaws.

Tonight, when my wife said that what she sees is a perfect diamond, I knew she was speaking the words of a fool, the words of love; one and the same. I cried...tears gushed out, spontaneously, the way I like them...not forced or rehearsed in my mind but tears from the core coming up and out. The way a mountain spring bubbles up naturally from the center of the earth. She didn't understand why I was crying, and I couldn't explain it. I cried not because I am a diamond, but because she compared me to one...

First my wife said my nose was just like my Grandma Ruths, and I smiled, because its the only large body part I don't have a problem with. Then she went deeper and said: your character is like your Grandma Ruths...your strength-and you have gained her wisdom. That's the point at which I lost it. My grandmother Ruth was the fiercest protector of my childhood, refusing to let me be anything less than a diamond, all the while seeing my flaws keenly. She was the strongest woman I've ever known, and without being conscious of it, my deepest desire was in some way to emulate her. It was the most meaningful things anyone has ever said about me. I cannot hope to be the diamond that she was, but it was enough to know there was a little of my Grandma shining through that she could see it, and that much sweeter because it came from my wife, someone who sees my flaws plainly everyday.

I wish for everyone a perfect moment like this, where someone sees the beauty in them what they fail to see in themselves. I hope they can ignore the imperfections long enough to hold them up to the Light, letting their brilliance shine through. I think that's what we're supposed to do for one another: hold each other up, leaving the inclusions for another day, marveling at the colors. The light and the diamond need each other: without light a diamond wouldn't sparkle, and without the diamond the light couldn't bend, displaying its many hues. I got as close to perfection as I'm ever going to get when she compared me to my Grandma, and that's enough for me. We may be diamonds with many flaws, but we are diamonds just the same.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Anxiety Management Strategies

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0

Be Patient Towards All That Is Unsolved In Your Heart

I don't do patience. I mean, look at my genetics: my father was a Bipolar Alcoholic who, when you said stop, he laughed. My mother was a single mom struggling to make ends meet with three children-she couldn't afford to slow down. Having patience with others means slowing down and taking into consideration their limitations. I find this incredibly challenging given that I'm a full-tilt kinda gal with "the persistence of a bulldog" (a boss once told me that). I didn't like the metaphor then, and I don't like it any better now (sorry, but I've never been a lover of slobbery, loose-jowled dogs). I must admit, even though it hurts, it fits me. As I mentioned, I was born into a family where persistence was king: my maternal grandma was, as my new book puts it, "a sturdy, stalwart woman who lived through the Great Depression, and who at 12 was left to care for her two younger brothers when her mother died of cancer; she had a no-nonsense approach." During the Summers my siblings and I stayed with my grandparents while my mother worked, and when we five grand children had gotten on my grandma's last nerve, she'd wave a beautifully tapered finger at us and scold: "No more foolishness." When she got to that point, we kids knew it was time to back off. My grandmother even chased off my father who, after my mother left him, hunted us down with a shotgun. My grandmother was nobody to trifle with. This is the stock I hail from, a hearty breed that doesn't take kindly to foolishness (or patience).

Persistence is an admirable quality. Sometimes though, it can get in the way. Like in relationships, which is pretty much what the world is made of; life is nothing but a web of relationships. Sometimes determination works in your favor, and sometimes it works against you. When a bulldog gets its teeth into something it's real tough to shake him lose. In fact, I saw a news report recently where a bulldog got hold of this lady's poodle and had locked down its jaws on it. The owner grabbed a broom and was trying to brush him off but was unsuccessful. Then she grabbed an ax (yes, an ax), and began hitting him on the top of the head with the handle of this ax until he finally released his grip. Suffice to say her poodle Miss. Peppy was rushed to the animal hospital. Or maybe it was a Pit Bull and not a Bull Dog...at any rate, her poodle didn't fare too well. Sometimes we bulldogs don't know when enough is enough. And sometimes we have to get hit pretty hard on the noggin to realize it's time to BACK OFF. Poor Miss. Peppy.

Ranier Maria Rilke, a favorite author-philosopher advises, "Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves." He is advising us to embrace confusion. Wow-that's deep. How do we learn to accept confusion, uncertainty, even fear...to be patient with the mess in our jumbled brains? What I hear him saying is that we must accept that which we do not yet understand (in ourselves, and in others) with grace. Ahhh...the word grace itself makes me give out a tiny sigh and relax a little in my chair. Grace-don't we all want to be the receivers of grace? Yet why do we have such a hard time giving it? There's another voice that springs to mind here, an author/Buddhist Nun named Pema Codron. Pema advises us to, "Lean into the sharp edges," to welcome the uncomfortable instead of chasing it away. I'll never forget reading her best-seller, "The Places That Scare You," because her ideas, though appealing to my spiritual sensibilities, scared the crap out of me! Lean into the sharp edges? Was she serious? Was she even from this planet? Most of us spend our whole lives trying to insulate ourselves from discomfort, pushing confusion as far away as possible. She was advising me to be patient, and not patient with the other guy-patient with myself! Now that's a novel idea. Then it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the other person who didn't understand, or the circumstance that was being contrary. Maybe it was me who didn't understand the other person, and me who was being contrary! (One of those light-bulb moments).

When I am fighting something so hard, or as psychology would say, when I am in resistance to another person or situation, I cannot possibly see the real problem. I am blocking the answer coming to me through my insistence on seeing it from only one angle-MY angle, my narrow perspective. However, if I were to release my GI Joe Kung Fu grip, I could see that the unsolved problems do not all have to be solved today. In my insistence on persistence I've forgotten that I have a whole lifetime with which to work, and that most problems are exaserbated by my inability to simply BE PATIENT and WAIT.

Have you ever noticed that problems (irritatingly so) seem to dissipate the moment you're able to shift your perspective about them? The other day a friend asked what she should do about a co-worker who is terribly overbearing, bossy and just plain "off the chain." I advised her: do the opposite of what you've been doing, which is getting riled. This coworker was used to intimidating people, making everyone around her jump at her bark. I advised her to keep a cool head and IGNORE her. This attention-monger thrives on the ability to intimidate and she does it to get attention. Stop paying attention to her? Problem solved! I asked how it went after she'd pretended this lady was nothing more than a fly on the wall? She reported it had worked beautifully-the lady got bored of harassing her and took her circus elsewhere. Now let's replay this back in slow-mo. It was my friend who adjusted her attitude-not the bossy coworker. The bossy coworker didn't actually do anything differently. She still harangued my friend. It was my friend's willingness to shift her response that turned the tide. My friend's refusal to get upset was the game-changing strategy. We commonly externalize problems, blaming our environment, yet we're seldom able to see that it's our inability to step away from the problem that IS the problem.

I think it's a safe to say that when we're knee-deep in problems we have trouble seeing them objectively. The sanest solution is stepping away from them, or as Pema Chodron would say, be patient with ourselves. Insanity ensues when we insist on having to be right, because in truth, there is no "right way." There is only your way and my way. Unless it's hurting somebody, opinions are just that: opinions. Yet we always assume that our opinion is the right one. Someday I'm going to do an experiment, just for one day, wherein I assume that I am wrong and see what happens. I wonder if I could do it. I'm so used to believing I am right. It's that persistence gene at play again...it sure gets me in a lot of trouble.

I have many unsolved questions in my heart. If I'm patient enough they will all unfold at the right time. I don't have to push or shove to get to the answer, because they are not going to come out of hiding as long as I'm pushing and shoving. Problems are more complicated than we like to make them. Other people do things that we don't like or agree with for complicated reasons. Expecting other people to be uncomplicated just because I'm in a big fat hurry is not helping. There is no right way or wrong way-there is only my perspective and your perspective. I can't make life perform on demand. Instead, I absolutely must accept that I have limited understanding, and other people have limitations. Their limitations are complicated by a lifetime of hurt, rejection and fear, and so are mine. "Beating a dead horse" is not going to make it run any faster.

Slow down, you're moving too fast...be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart.

To see all of Nina's books: http://www.amazon.com/Nina-Bingham/e/B008XEX2Z0